#the third game he appears in and still. no. romance.

[fxstpace]

the very first night.

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

pairing. kim mingyu x fem!reader genres. romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, roommates!au word count. 19.7k

↳ warnings. profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ↳ a/n. title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

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

Karmic retribution, if you will.

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

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

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Y/N.”

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

You turn around. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

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

“Something on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was I doing?”

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“You think so?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…” You pause and consider. 

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

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

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

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

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

What a pair, you think drily.

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

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

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

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

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

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

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

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

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

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

“How about one of everything?”

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

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

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

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

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

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

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

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

FIVE

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

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

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

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The more you know…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

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

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

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

SIX

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

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You guffaw. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

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

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

EIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

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

One of them is Mingyu.

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

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

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

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

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

“You too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

A situation that she knows nothing about.

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

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you want?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

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

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

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

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

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

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

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

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

“No thanks.”

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

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

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

“...Yes.”

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

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

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

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

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

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

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

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

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

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

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

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

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SIXTEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEVENTEEN

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

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

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

“Give it up,” he advises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who cares?”

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

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

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

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

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

EIGHTEEN

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

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NINETEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[icharchivist]

On one hand, why would you have sex with a guy who clearly curses the people he sleeps with???

On the other hand, at least he's good at that, indeed. I'm a Belial stan, I actually don't have a leg to stand on

Counter point, why would you not have sex with a guy who looks like THIS

and he IS very good at it.

You're on a deadly mission anyway, you'll die sooner than later, may as well have fun while at it--

[gojhoes]

my good neighbor

synopsis: You've lived next door to Geto for nearly a year, yet your neighbor remains all but a mystery. But as for you- he knows everything about you, from the shampoo you use to the books you keep by your bed.

warnings: MDNI 18+, NSFW contents: geto x fem!reader, yan(?)!geto, age gap, breeding, masturbation, no curse au, dubcon(?), somno, p-in-v wc: 6.3k

It all starts when an Amazon package with your name on it somehow ended up in Geto's mailbox. He would later refer to this occurrence as his greatest gift from God; the most blessed twist of fate to ever work in his favor.

A pink cardboard box sits on his counter, jarringly bright in comparison to the deep neutral design of his apartment. If the package's appearance wasn't proof enough, printed on top is an address nearly identical to his own, except his is 3-D, not 3-C. Clearly, it belongs to the tenant to his right- an easy mistake to be made by someone who reads hundreds of names and address every day.

Geto knows that he could march back down to the mail room and leave the package in the correct mailbox. He could walk away without another thought but given that the box is this specific shade of pink, he figures it might be something you're really excited for. You're probably wondering about it right now, peering confusedly at the 'Delivered' notification from your email. Besides, you both live on the third floor, so he'd be saving you an extra trip. He's just being a good neighbor.

But then he starts to think- he recognizes this shade of pink. His ex-girlfriend had once received a very similarly shaped package in the same color. Inside that package had been a vibrator that he'd grown quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. Could it be the same thing boxed up right here addressed to you?

Your door is cracked when steps out of his apartment with the package in his hand. From this angle, all he can see is the door to the coat closet directly to the right of the entrance. In his apartment, the same closet is on the left, confirming his suspicions that your bedrooms do, in fact, share a wall.

It also meant that your living rooms were connected, but Geto was already well aware of that. Yours seemed to be the gathering place for all of your friends and given the amount of chatter that trickled through the wall every evening, you had quite a few of them. Not that he minds- he works nights as a pharmaceutical lab tech, so it's not like he's there when you're having your get-togethers.

It was less bothersome during the week than on the weekend, which was when you hosted your entire gaggle of acquaintances for what sounded like game night. He was still working out the details of all the different voices, but over time, he'd developed the ability to recognize certain voices by the pitch and cadence of their speech.

It hadn't been on purpose, but the walls were stupidly thin, hardly a step up from a curtain. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when the voices dwindled to only yours and another that was undeniably male. Geto'd glue himself to the wall trying to hear what the two of you were getting up to, but it seemed you weren't that kind of girl.

Or maybe Geto was assuming incorrectly that there was any type of romance going on. But for the last several weekends, he would hear the two of you chatting, then it would be quiet for a bit, as if you were pausing the conversation to make out. He has not, however, heard any sounds of pleasure from your side of the wall, and that alone has piqued his curiosity.

However, during the day, your side of the wall typically was quiet. Just as he would be getting out of the shower in preparation for bed, he'd hear your alarm blaring right at 7am. If it was loud to him, he could only imagine how your ears still functioned properly after such repetitive torture. He'd hear you getting ready through the walls and smell the coffee you brew while you take a shower. By eight o'clock, there is a jingle of keys followed by hours of silence, and he sleeps just fine.

It had to have been nine months or so since you'd moved in, yet Geto hasn't laid eyes on you even once. Your apparent opposite schedules have managed to keep the two of you from crossing paths despite living just inches from each other.

As he stands between your neighboring doorframes, he thinks about how strange it feels to know someone's daily routine despite never having glimpsed you. Based off your schedule and the lively nature of your social life, he's deduced that you must be an undergraduate student at the nearby university. He himself had graduated the semester before, but the rent was cheap and moving was too much of a hassle.

But what were you, 19? 20? With your own apartment, an 8-3 schedule, and enough time to hang out with your friends nearly every day? He couldn't be sure of your age, not without seeing you, but your behaviors made him sure that you were young.

Geto glances down at the box again, reading your name aloud to test the sound of it on his tongue. He eyes the opening of your door again, craning his neck to see what else might be behind it, but no dice. Maybe if he should just go in and leave it on the counter. He would get to see your place and hopefully satiate this prolonged curiosity, even for just a moment.

Besides, you've left your door cracked. Every front door in the building locks automatically when closed, so technically, it would be your fault if this was a robbery situation, regardless of the value of your things. It's too tempting- he's been too intrigued by the box clutched in his hand. It was fate for the two of you to meet this way. Every time you held it to your clit as you came, you'd think of the moment you saw him with the box in his hand at your door.

His hand hovers over the doorknob- is he really about to do this? Wherever you've gone, you'll likely be back any minute if you've been so careless about your door. No, it's not the right time. He's already nervous about how you will react, even more so knowing he's going to be seeing you for the first time.

You know when someone just sounds hot? The music your body makes is so human, yet so graceful and controlled until your friends come over. You sound perfect when you're just simply existing by yourself. He feels, in so many ways, that he knows you so well already. It wouldn't take him any time at all to learn how to give you what you want. Maybe he'll tell you that, if the moment presents itself.

He's fortunate yet again for the lack of insulation used by the contractors. There is a rushed set of footsteps echoing from the stairwell at the end of hall, giving him enough warning to take a step back until he's standing just the perfect distance between your two neighboring doors. He looks up as the footsteps close in, and his heart skips a beat when he finally, finally sees you.

"Hi!" you chirp. "You must be my neighbor."

The last few steps you take give him enough time to drink you in. You can't be older than 20 with plush lips and a pretty smile, one that lights up your face and showcases your lack of smile lines. And what you're wearing makes his mouth go dry. It's a baby blue pajama set with thin straps and the shortest goddamn shorts Geto has ever seen in his life. He's staring, he knows he is, but you're even more gorgeous than he could've imagined. Your hand shoots out to shake his, small and soft enveloped within his grasp for just a wink of time.

It's not enough, not even close to satisfying the desire you've instilled in him. He forces himself to look at your face and not at the tops of your tits threatening to spill out of that useless pajama top. God, and he can see your nipples straining against the thin fabric-

"I believe this belongs to you," he says, holding out the pink box.

Your face lights up impossibly as you pull it into your hands, and Geto thinks he might die right there. He smiles at your excitement; he was right- you were excited to get this. God, he would be so good to you if you'd let him.

"Oh, thank you!" you say enthusiastically. "I've had a lot of packages go missing lately, so it's really nice to actually get this one. Thank you so much."

You're practically worshipping him with the sinful sweetness dripping from your words. So well-mannered. Would you be this polite if he brought you into his bed and offered to give you his cock? Would you smile at him as you are now, and say please every time you ask him to fuck you? He'd do it for you- he'd give you everything simply just for being such a sweet girl for him.

Geto smiles and introduces himself. "It seemed like a pretty important package."

He catches the way your shoulders tense and the slight flush of your cheeks- shit, was it actually a vibrator in there? Clearly, you're embarrassed, so it would make sense, but there's no need to be ashamed of getting one.

But you're smiling sweetly again, any trace of worry wiped clean. "It's nice to finally meet you, Geto," you say, and he swears that he sees your eyes flick down to his lips.

He hums, tilting his head to side as if to study you. "Likewise."

You send him one more polite smile before disappearing into your apartment. As he's closing his own door, he's imagining you making a cup of coffee like you do every morning. Are all of your pajamas that pretty? He's met you once, but already he can tell that you're a princess. He bets your parents pay your rent and send you money for groceries anytime you ask. A girl as sweet as you was probably well-accustomed such doting and pampering.

Someone was taking care of you, but were they making sure you were safe? Who was reminding you to keep your doors locked? You were a young pretty girl living on your own in the city- anything can happen. Clearly it seems that you need someone to look out for you, and who could possibly be better for the job than him? He lived so close by already; checking on you would be no problem at all.

And after seeing your perfect thighs in your little shorts, the swell of your breasts straining against the blue fabric...he'll do anything if it means he might get to see that again. He'd come up to you from behind and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your ass against his hips. One hand holding your chin as he kisses the side of your neck, squeezing your thigh with the other...

You need him. Someone older and more mature to nurture you properly. Besides, he was just being a good neighbor.

That evening, he rearranges his room so that the head of his bed is flush against the innermost wall of his apartment, the one that he shares with you.

*** Geto will admit that somewhere deep inside, he does feel guilty. This part of him is disgusted and ashamed, constantly wishing he could be different and cursing himself because he's not. But he was going to make you love him. Once you let him in, you'll wonder why you hadn't come to him sooner. You'll see- he'll prove it to you, and then you'll understand that everything he does is for you.

But the rest of him, the more dominant parts of his personality, run rampant once he's fallen for you. He isn't acting right, deep down he knows that, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to know every secret you might be hiding. The home a person keeps says so much about them, and he wants to know everything. You won't have to hide from him, not ever, and he'll make sure you know that. Maybe he's obsessed, but can you blame him? You're just so perfect.

He's starving for you, but he's got to be subtle; if he's too forward, he risks upsetting you or scaring you away. He doesn't want to stress you out, either, but it's essential that he sees your apartment. He needs to check your locks, especially the one on your balcony and make sure that you're keeping up with your cleaning.

It means taking advantage of the several minutes you leave your door cracked when you've gone down to the basement to do your laundry. Every Saturday afternoon, before your friends come and steal you away, you gather your basket and leave your deadbolt extended to avoid locking yourself out.

He's managed to pull it off twice, the first time being harder than the second. It took him three days to work up the courage to even try thinking of a plan, but after moving his bed to the wall, closer to you, he's descended quickly into absolute agony. It's a stroke of luck- no, of fate- that has made you put your bed against the same wall- and he can hear everything.

A few days have passed since the package mishap, and by that point, Geto had almost forgotten about the contents of the box. That night, just as he's getting ready for a shift at the lab, he hears a strange buzzing as he's brushing his teeth. It's an electric toothbrush, so his first thought is that maybe it's time to replace it. But as he rinses out his mouth, he finds that the buzzing had not ceased. It's go to be you, he thinks, immediately drying his face and flying over to the wall to press his ear flush to it. He's just in time to hear the beautiful, merciful sound of a mewl escaping from your lungs.

A shaky breath passes his lips. He's dumbfounded by the pleasure that flows through his abdomen when he realizes what you're doing. He'd totally been right about the package. Even through the wall, he's able to recognize the same vibrations. Maybe he's just been Pavlov'd, but immediately he can feel the blood rushing south as a faint throb starts in his cock.

He knows without a doubt that you've got the cutest pout on your lips, maybe a few strands of hair falling into your face as you lay your head back. "Feels good," he whispers, despite knowing that you can't hear him. Do your hips buck up into your hands, or do have those plush thighs squeezing them tight while you try to cum?

Is this really happening right now? Heat creeps up his neck and high on his cheeks as another moan, albeit quieter this time, blesses his ears. He can't stop his hand from finding his cock and palming at himself as he eyes slip shut.

He's dying to know- he wants to see you right now, wants to watch as you spread apart your folds and fuck yourself until you're trembling. He needs more, he needs everything that you can give him- and you will give him all that you can. He knows you will because you're just that good of a girl.

Fuck. He's got to get to work on time before the cultures expire and he fucks up three weeks' worth of data, but you are killing him with each sweet little moan that leaves your mouth. He's picturing you on your knees with your ass in the air, two fingers pumping in and out of your tight cunt while your other hand has a death grip on the vibrator.

He's waited so long to hear your pathetic little whines as you fuck yourself as fast you can on your too-short fingers. You're so desperate, and with how hard you're trying, it's obvious that you're getting frustrated. He wants to help you- it's clear from your desperate cries that you need him to. He would help you cum, over and over if that's what you wanted. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keeping going, it's okay."

Using a vibrator for the first time can feel almost painful if you're not used to the intensity. You're so overstimulated that you're struggling to reach the orgasm you chase so desperately. He feels genuine pity for you as cry out, "please! so close...mm." If you'd just asked him, he would've been able to introduce it your sensitive clit the right way.

He's begging you more, anything you could give him. He knows you'll do it for him soon. You were just that good of a girl, and maybe you were too sensitive to cum without a little bit of a help. If he was inside you, you'd have creamed all over his cock by now, too fucked out to ride him anymore as he pounds into your pretty pussy from behind.

As much as he would love to see you beg for it, he truly thought that you deserved to cum and felt frustrated for you. You were such a sweet girl; the only reason it took you so long to try your new toy had to be because you were nervous. Good girls deserve the best orgasms, after all.

Shit, were you still a virgin? Did you even know how to make yourself cum yet? That would explain why he hadn't ever heard those pretty sounds before. Fuck, you were going to make him lose his goddamn mind if you didn't cum in the next 60 seconds. "Y-you'll cum for me, right? I know you can do it."

Geto did not make it to work on time that day, quintessentially ruining over 300 specimens all because you wanted to play with your pussy right as he had to leave for work. It was terrible timing, but he can't say he regrets bringing himself to one of the best orgasms he'd ever had without even touching you. It wasn't enough, though, just hearing you. He needs to see it, needs to feel your warm, tight cunt squeezing him dry while you moan into his ear.

A plan comes to him, albeit a risky one. The next time you leave to do your laundry, propping your door open like always, he slips into your apartment. It's an inverted copy of his own- the same appliances, same gray tiles, a balcony at the back of the living room. Your apartment is so girly, so shamelessly you, and not to mention spotless. Geto makes a poignant effort to keep his place clean, but only a control freak would keep their apartment this organized. You must be an anxious person- but that's okay, because he'll be there to help you through it.

Two minutes pass- you should be back any moment, and while he has an idea of what he'll say if you catch him, he really wants to avoid scaring you. He can't have you feeling scared around him, so he turns to leave- he can always come back another time after he's more prepared. But then he sees a set of keys lying on your counter, and the gears in his head start turning.

You've left your door open, so you'll be able to get back in- he doesn't have to worry about that. He knows you won't be leaving anytime soon. He's confident that he'll have enough time and he doubts that you'll notice your apartment key missing if you're not actively needing it. So, he pockets the whole set and slips right back out as silently as he'd come.

Early on Monday morning, Geto waits until he hears the jingle of your keys and the click of the deadbolt as it slides into place. The smell of coffee lingers, and his clock reads 8:06, but he can't risk you coming back, so he forces himself to wait a little longer. He's nearly vibrating with the anticipation of getting so much unadulterated time in your apartment. The copied key in hand is representative of everything he's done to get closer to you. This observation will help him learn who you are- what shampoo you use, what you keep on hand in your fridge, what toys you have hidden away.

He decides it's been long enough when 20 more minutes pass, and Geto makes a beeline for your bedroom. Compared to the rest of your apartment, your room is much more lived-in. The white comforter topping your bed is rumpled, exposing light pink sheets under a plethora of stuffies and pillows. He's more interested, however, in the nightstand on the side.

He pulls open the single drawer and sure enough, there's the white vibrator that you've been using quite often lately. Aside from a bottle of lube, there's nothing aside from some medications and a pair of nail clippers. His suspicion that you're a virgin persists from your lack of sex toys- no wonder you were so embarrassed when he hinted at the contents of your package. Already, he was half-hard thinking about how good he was going to make you feel. He was ecstatic to think that no one else had touched you yet. Whoever that guy was, the one you your often spent evenings with alone, wasn't going to stand a chance.

Geto steps away to make toward your bathroom, and feels something soft under his foot. He glances down and bends to retrieve the black lacy thong you've left so mercifully on the floor. It's foul, it's intrusive, it's perfect- he brings the fabric to his face and breathes in your scent. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for attention- for your attention, but he can't have you yet. No, it has to be perfect because you are perfect, and you deserve nothing less.

He shoves the thong in his pocket before going into the ensuite bathroom.

Later that week, the universe finally gives him a break.

That fateful Friday evening, he calls in sick to work. His throat is a bit sore, and he knows the ache in his muscles isn't from last night's workout, so he opts to take his temperature, which reads 38.2°C. He knocks back some cold medicine before burying himself in the blankets on his couch, dozing in and out as the effects sweep him away.

He's roused by a rap-rap-rapping on his front door, and even through his medicated haze, his heart jumps- is it you? Is he really about to get this lucky? He glances at the clock above the stove to see that it's half-past 11, and from the din coming through the wall, he knows that you've got your friends over. As he crosses to answer the door, he does feel a bit better aside from the persistent fog clouding his brain.

And it is you, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink top that shows off your midriff. Your cheeks are painted with a light flush and your hair is bit disheveled, obviously tipsy from the way you're swaying a little. He smiles at you, drinking in the soft curves of your hips that he's been dying to dig his fingers into.

"Hey," you say. Your speech isn't quite slurred, but there's a lilt to your words that says all he needs to hear. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, I know it's a little creepy, but-"

He doesn't mean to cut you off, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, it's no trouble at all. Bother me all you want."

You're tipsy enough that the line works- you even laugh a little, and the sound makes his heart skip a beat. Every sound you make is so sweet

"Right," you say. "D'you have a wine bottle opener by chance?"

He shoots you his best disarming smile. "I do."

"Could I borrow it for a moment? I promise I'll bring it right back, I'm right next door."

He'd give you his left lung if you asked for it. He considers inviting you in, but the state of his illness deters him. All the lights are off in his apartment and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gray sweats and black sweatshirt. His hair is down, likely tangled and flat from dozing on his couch. No, you deserve to see him at his best- he'll get you to come over soon enough.

"Of course," Geto says. "Just a second."

He leaves the door cracked in the same way he's seen yours over the last month. Your fingers linger on his own when he places the wine opener in your hand. Even that slight contact sends a wave of excitement through him.

"Swear you'll come right back?" he teases, smirking a little.

You smile again, making him fall even harder when shoot him a wink before disappearing back inside of your apartment without a response. If this was your way of flirting, he's even more enamored with you. So coy, yet so sweet as you look at him over your shoulder before the door closes.

Geto goes into his kitchen to heat up a bowl of broth. Your tits sat so pretty in that little top- did you always dress like that? Not too revealing, showing off just enough to drive him mad with desire. He didn't get to see your ass, but if it was anything like he remembered, he knew that those jeans would cling to it like a film.

As he's sipping on his soup and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, there's another knock. He's on his feet and at the door in seconds, not even bothering to hesitate to swing it open so he can see you again. This time, you're holding a bottle of rose (because of course, you are) and his wine opener.

"Can you do it for me?" You're looking up at him with what he swears is a pout, and with how you bat your eyes through the question, how can he refuse? It would be criminal not to help, especially when you're asking so nicely with that cute look on your face. "None of us can get it open."

He's delighted that you've asked him. Were there no boys over there to help you? Did you choose him over them, or were you truly just too clumsy to do it yourself?

He cranes his neck to see if anyone else stands in the hall, but it seems deserted save for you, so he pushes forward. Geto does his best to seem mildly disinterested yet nice, not wanting to scare you away with the words he really wants to say. If he didn't fuck this up, maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to get you to come back. His plan would get to move so much faster, but he had to be careful.

"I should probably do this over the sink," he says, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp. He purposefully lets his thumb brush the tip of your pinky- enough to test the waters, but not so much that it can't be played off as sheer coincidence. As he turns to go into the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, "Feel free to come in, by the way."

The suggestion is very forward considering you've said less than 20 words to the guy since moving in a year ago. Had you been of a better state of mind, you would have politely declined- you barely knew the guy even if your beds were separated only by a few inches of drywall. But you can't deny your curiosity; not once have you glimpsed what lies on his side of the wall. So you indulge yourself and step over the threshold, making sure to pull the door as you do so.

There's no way he's getting this lucky right now. All the plotting, the strategic timing of your meetings, and his careful research are finally paying off. You are walking right into his apartment without him having to lift a finger. He doesn't think you can get any more perfect- he hasn't even touched you yet, and you seem to already know what he wants. It was proof that the invisible string was real.

You stand at a safe distance on the side of the bar opposite from his, watching intently as Geto works the wine opener into the cork. There's a satisfying 'pop' as he gives it a firm tug. What would've taken you an embarrassingly long amount of time is accomplished with one quick flex of his forearm and a small grunt of effort.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

You stare at him blankly. "Huh?"

He returns the wine opener to its rightful drawer, drawing out the motions to maximize how long he's got you in his apartment.

"It's champagne, so I figured maybe it was for something special," he explains. "Or are you just fancy like that?"

You're smiling at him again and his heart soars. He prays that you'll always look at him like that, and only him, but he gives no indication of the depth of his feelings. He wraps his hand around the neck of the now-open bottle and extends it toward you as he rounds the side of the counter.

"You could say that," you reply with a giggle. "Thank you..um, it's Geto, right?"

He nods. "Anytime. What's mine is yours."

It comes out wrong- way too intense to say if he's trying to stay above ground with you. But you don't seem to mind. If anything, the flush on your cheeks deepens as you take the bottle from him. From where he stands, he can make out a faint scar dragging across your exposed collarbone. He wonders what it might feel like to run his tongue across you delicate skin and leave marks. Would you keen into him and clutch at him as the quick, sharp pain pulls a whine out of you?

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm ever loud or anything," he says. "I work nights, so I think we have opposite schedules." A white lie, but he doesn't want you to leave yet. If he just keeps you talking, maybe he'll get the chance to ask you to hang out. He's desperate, honestly, but he tries to hide it as he stands between you and the front door.

Your face lights with a carefree wave of your hand. "Oh no, I can hardly tell you're there most of the time. I'm a super heavy sleeper, too, so don't worry about it."

He hums and shoots you a grin. "Guess I've been worried for nothing, then."

"Same to you, though," you continue. "I have people over like, all the time, I know they can get really loud."

It's awkward now, as you stand there with your eyes darting around the room and occasionally meeting his. You're nervous, he realizes, shifting your body in a way that makes your hip jut out. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's less apt to make you too uncomfortable, so he makes to walk you out.

"Thank you again," you say, smiling at him widely. He returns your thanks, and watches you disappear into your apartment once more. Already, his mind is reeling as he checks the time. Your friends should be leaving in a couple of hours- the noise usually diminishes around 2am, which will be no trouble to stay up until.

And he makes it despite taking another dose of medicine, having long since grown used to being awake during these hours. You should've have mentioned that you were a heavy sleeper, because now he has to do this.

His clock reads 3:10 when he quietly turns the lock with his copy of your key. The lights are off and it's silent, such a vast difference from the earlier commotion. He leaves his keys on the counter in case there's an unfortunate jingle when he finally enters your room.

You sleep naked- god, you make it so easy for him to love you. Your lips are parted and the passive rise and fall of your chest signals just how deeply you're sleeping.

He slides a hand between inner your thighs, unable to help himself any longer. He teases at your entrance to see how wet you are, dipping his fingertip in just far enough to get a taste of you as he brings it up to his mouth.

And fuck, his index finger slides right in and your cunt flutters around it.

But you don't stir; there's not even a hitch in your breath as he curls his finger into that spongy tissue that he's sure should've roused you. You weren't exaggerating about your being a heavy sleeper, and Geto silently sends praise to whatever gods that were helping him pull this off. However many drinks you'd had earlier were keeping you pulled under the sea of unconsciousness.

He thinks about sliding his hands under your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking at your clit to properly taste you. Surely you'd have to wake up from that, but his patience is wearing thin.

He needs this- he needs you. He's so desperate to finally sink into you, to fuck you like he's been aching to for months. His hands are on the waistband of his sweats and he's pulling out his cock, the tip already weeping as he thumbs at his slit. He wraps his hand around his shaft and starts thrusting into it, finally letting himself begin to unravel as he lets out a pleasured sigh.

God, he doesn't know where to start. Your perfect tits bounce ever so slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. The collarbones he's been wanting to bite are so vulnerable and delicate, sitting right there for the taking. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment by waking you from too much stimulation. He leans over your still body, holding himself up on his palms as he glimpses your pretty face.

He feels that he might die if he doesn't fuck you right now, lining up his cock with your entrance before he buries himself inside you.

"Ohh, fuck," he breathes. So tight, so warm, so perfect- his own perfect little pussy, so much better than anything he could've imagined. He fears that he might cum right then, digging his fingers into the sheets in attempt to steady himself. Even in such a deep sleep, you're soaking his cock with each slow thrust. Are you dreaming about him fucking you right now? Is that how your slumbering brain is making sense of all the pleasure?

Once he's got some semblance of control, he rolls his hips into yours, sinking back into you until. It's too good, and he needs more, he needs to have his cock as deep as you'll take him. He moves his hands to your knees and bends your legs until your thighs are pressing against your chest. It's desperate, the way he fucks you, but somehow, you remain as still and quiet as you'd been when he first came in. Your body jostles with each thrust and he sees the tip of your tongue creeping out from between your parted lips- fucked dumb, even fast asleep.

He knows he should probably pull out, but he's too fucked out to think straight, not to mention the cold medicine running through him right now. It's not right, but with how fucking good you feel, he doesn't care. You're going to wake up with his cum dripping out of your aching cunt, wondering obliviously if your period came early. Traces of him will be all over you and he just knows you'll love the feeling. He can already tell you're going to be his little cumslut- you're too sweet to deny him such a pleasure.

His thrusts get faster until his balls are full on slapping against your ass and his muscles tense all over. You're squeezing him so fucking tight, it's a wonder he's lasted this long, especially with how needy you've made him.

An involuntary flutter of your cunt sends him over the edge. His orgasm wracks his entire body and he's trembling with each spurt of his cum that covers your gummy walls, uncaring as to what consequences might await him. He moans out your name, panting as he empties every drop into you, and you just take it so well. Just as he's about to pull out, your eyes flutter open ever so slightly.

But you're so tired- you don't even notice that it's Geto hovering over you before they slip shut again. "Mm," you murmur. "Wh-what are you..mm." The words trail off, and a moment later, your breaths are soft and even again as sleep takes you once more.

You're adorable. He slips out of you as gently as he can, he waits until he can see his cum start to trickle down to the curve of your ass. He lifts a hand to stroke your cheek and brush away the stray hairs on your face, but he doesn't want to risk waking you when you're already so sleepy. With how pliable and motionless you are, it's clear that you need your beauty sleep.

As he slips out of your apartment and back into his, he can't help but think of how lucky he is. He's so lucky- how is it that fate has blessed him so richly? He was going to make you his. You were going to get so addicted to his cock, to his scent, to his taste that you'd never dare to leave him. You'll belong to him, free for him to use and praise as he pleases. But he will always reward you for being his sweet girl.

And, he thinks, you are so so lucky to have such a good neighbor.

i felt like a mad scientist the entire time i wrote this. if you've thought about trying to write fanfic, JUST DO IT because sometimes it's really fun.

[amaltheas-garden]

Jon and Sansa will bring the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna full circle:

We have very few details on the relationship between Rhaegar and Lyanna, but what we do know is Lyanna was in an unwanted betrothal to Robert at the time she disappeared with Rhaegar. Whether she went willingly or not is up to speculation. Aside from Robert, most accounts agree that Rhaegar embodied the fairy tale prince-like character (prior to the war). Lyanna wept at the beauty of his music, and was crowned his queen of love and beauty before leaving her family forever. Her story ends alone in Dorne, dying in her bed of blood, abandoned by the man she thought would save her, begging to go home.

It's easy to see then, the parallels between Lyanna's ill-fated romance and the romantic dreams of her niece, Sansa Stark. Although the two share few similarities in personality and hobbies, both became enamored by princes who hide their darker nature, and lured them away from the safety of their homeland, before going to war with their families. However, Lyanna's story ended far from the North, dying in childbirth, whereas Sansa has escaped that fate (even more interesting considering Lyanna's book storyline is a near one to one of Sansa's in the original outline). And, if we recall the very beginning of A Game of Thrones, Robert proposes to Ned that they wed Joffrey to Sansa, joining their houses as he and Lyanna might have. There is a conscious effort on Robert's part to set the past right through the relationships of their children. So right from the jump Sansa is cast as the Lyanna stand in, though she too escapes her "Baratheon" betrothal, and is on course to run straight into Rhaegar's son (as per the girl in grey theory).

So where does Jon lie in all this? If we take the girl in grey prophecy to be about Sansa, we know the two will meet sometime in the near future. Sansa has already become disillusioned of her chivalric ideals of love and knighthood (that's not to say she doesn't believe in heroes and honorable knights, just that she's far more skeptical of surface appearance), and yet, it will be her bastard brother who will embody the traits of the hero Sansa has been searching for. Rhaegar appeared as the perfect prince, yet was the one to kill Jon's mother, and Sansa, in a similar situation, is seduced by the charm and beauty of Prince Joffrey, only to be exposed to his vicious cruelty, narrowly escaping his family (even more interesting to consider Lyanna, had she survived, would not have been Queen, as Elia was still his lawful wife, and would be considered a mistress to the King as there was no chance of her escaping Rhaegar now that she carried his child, similar to Joffrey marrying Margaery, while threatening to make Sansa his mistress). Jon on the other hand is the brooding, solemn, plain-featured bastard, sharing no traditional qualities with that of the typical hero. That is to say, he's about as far from Rhaegar as you could get. And yet, it is Jon who commits himself to defending and protecting those who cannot (Sam, the wildlings, Alys Karstark) because that's who he is. No songs are sung for the men of the Nights Watch, he doesn't gain anything by protecting those others might deem weak, unworthy, or exploitable, but he does it anyway. Jon does not look nor act the part, but the strength of his moral character is what distinguishes him as the unconventional hero of the story.

I would also draw a comparison between the legend of Azor Ahai sacrificing his wife Nissa Nissa and Rhaegar's "sacrifice" of Lyanna, to bring about the third head of the dragon he thought necessary to save the world. After reading @/stormcloudrising's phenomenal metas on Sansa's connection to Nissa Nissa/the Amethyst Empress, I believe the idea of sacrifice will appear again in relation to Jon's character arc. Many in the fandom have speculated that AA/NN and the Bloodstone Emperor/Amethyst Empress are one and the same, the former featuring the sacrifice of a wife, the latter a usurpation of a sister. Sansa already occupies the (false) position as Jon's sister, while Jon has refused to usurp her rights as heir to Winterfell. However, with Jon's parentage reveal, the opportunity of a Jon/Sansa romance becomes possible, potentially elevating her to the status of love interest. And, if we're going with the NN/AE are the same theory, it would mean she occupied the role of both sister and wife. As for Rhaegar, his prophecy obsession is what led to him endangering Lyanna, placing his need for the third dragon above her own safety, ultimately killing her. Jon spends a good chunk of ADwD with Stannis, a claimant to the title of AA/the Prince that was Promised, who similarly struggles with the question of sacrificing one life to save the world, "What is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?” (ASoS) To which we already know the answer, Everything. Stannis, like Rhaegar, will fail the moment he sacrifices Shireen to fulfill his "greater purpose". Daenerys is also a claimant to the title, and we will likely see a contrast between how she and Jon approach being Rhaegar's heirs and inheritors of the prophecy. Stannis will lose everything after Shireen's death, the same as Rhaegar when he left Lyanna to die, condemning House Targaryen to death in the ensuing war. Jon will likely face a similar decision of sacrifice upon discovering he could be the subject of prophecy that consumed his father and once honorable king. And just as he refused to usurp Sansa's claim, he will reject the sacrifice of a loved one (lover perhaps?) as prerequisite to fulfilling his role as AA/TPtwP.

Jon's character always comes back to his identity as a Stark. Discovering his true parentage will undoubtedly be a source of inner conflict, culminating in his decision between Stark and Targaryen (spoiler: its Stark). It's a classic case of sins of the father, and how Jon asserts himself as an individual outside of his father's tainted legacy. Jon being the hero to Sansa and helping her return home would effectively resolve the generational conflict caused by Rhaegar's "kidnapping" of Lyanna away from the North. Rhaegar caused immense amounts of pain to the Stark family through his one act of selfish cruelty, which Jon will rectify through one of loyalty and selflessness. And narratively, Lyanna's son being the one to save her niece and return her to Winterfell would just be so chef's kiss.

[temis-de-leon]

One bed - 500 F.C.

Characters: Solomon x gn!reader

Main Masterlist

500 followers masterlist

Requested by: Romance anon

CW: the bed is third-wheeling in this one. Secret relationship and ✨communication✨, mushy af. Mammon is not jealous, he's just the most annoying older brother ever.

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Mammon’s indignant screeches followed them well after they separated from the group on their way to the room, echoing in the emptiness of the hallways and remaining even when they closed the door; muffled and incomprehensible, but still audible.

“Does he think we’re dating?”

Hearing his words, MC immediately looked at the sorcerer, who was placing his bag on the bed and eyeing the sheer size of the mattress with great interest. It occupied half of the room, almost as ridiculous as Lucifer’s back in the House of Lamentation.

“Would he be wrong in thinking that?”

He smiled sheepishly in return, scratching the back of his neck in a poor attempt at trying to hide the obvious blush on his cheeks. He watched as his beloved fellow human slowly walked towards him, hands behind their back and an innocent sway in their strides.

They enjoyed the way his eyes lingered on their body and he perfectly knew it, which was the reason why he didn’t bother hiding it.

“How could he not?” MC added, letting their hands drag over his chest before hugging his neck. “Just by the way you’re looking at me, I’m surprised no one has said anything yet”

Solomon chuckled, hugging them back and closing the distance between them. Their lips were touching, but not enough to properly kiss, and when MC tried to do just that, he leaned back a little and softly laughed again.

“What can I say? You’re irresistible”

“Flatterer”

“I’d rather call myself an honest man”

They opened their mouth to reply, but he effectively shut them up with a quick kiss, staying only for a short few seconds before turning around and rummaging through his bag like nothing happened.

Dumbfounded, still dizzy after his brief affection, MC stood with a pout before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Well, now you’re looking at me like you want everyone to know” he said at their silence, trying to appear nonchalant despite his curious eyes.

His hidden words were clear. Did they want to go public? Their secret relationship had been fun for a while, hanging out behind everyone’s backs, stealing kisses in the dark and subtly throwing flirtatious remarks under a façade of friendship, but maybe it was time to end the game and start the real thing.

And it wasn’t like MC was embarrassed about being with him; on the contrary, they were thrilled and over the moon. They couldn’t wait to hold his hand in front of whoever would watch, go on dates without worrying about their surroundings and spend the night at Purgatory Hall without lying about the reason.

Were they ready, though? Were they ready to look him in the eye and profess their love in front of all of their friends? MC’s found family?

“You know there’s no hurry, right?”

Solomon was smiling with fondness, but MC could see his slight and almost imperceptible disappointment. They walked towards each other again, like magnets, and stayed face to face in the middle of the room. In a certain way, it looked like a wedding ceremony.

Their heartbeat increased at the thought.

“We can keep this the way it has been for another while” he continued speaking, voice soft as a murmur while he cradled their face. “As long as I’m with you, I’m okay with it”

“Such an honest man you are” they replied with no bite, caressing his skin back at his confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Sol…”

They sat again, this time bringing him with them, and grabbed his hands without breaking eye contact.

“I want to make this official as much as you do, I’m just afraid” then continued speaking before letting him intervene. “What if this changes once everyone knows?”

“In what way, change?”

“I don’t know…” MC averted their eyes, wondering what they could say so he would understand them, but no words came to mind. Suddenly, they felt embarrassed, blushing in self-consciousness under his watchful gaze. “Maybe the brothers will spoil our dates or keep me inside the house so I can’t see you! You know how they are!”

“Oh, I certainly do” he laughed, raising his arm as an invitation for a hug. MC wasted no time in scooting closer, letting their head rest on his shoulder and smiling in contentment when he kissed their temple. “Listen, okay? I assure you, I’ll curse all of them if they ever attempt any of those things”

“Lucifer would probably curse you back”

“Lucifer knows me enough not to try”

They hummed, not knowing what to answer to the sternness in his voice. Despite that, Solomon’s touch was gentle and caring and, if they stayed like that for longer, it would make MC fall asleep.

“It’s your choice, MC” he whispered, tilting his head to get closer.

Still speechless, drowsy and drunk in love, MC craned their neck and kissed him with all the warmth they could muster. He let out a sound in return, not a whine or a moan, but something similar. They could feel his fingers tightening his grip around their arm, pulling them even closer and turning them so he could lay them on the bed.

Just then, having the preciseness of a Swiss clock, the door opened and crashed against the wall behind it. The noise pulled Solomon and MC away from each other and made them stare both in amazement and irritation as Mammon screeched like a banshee while pointing at them with disgust and horror on his face.

“ONE BED...! KISSING! THEY'RE KISSING!! WHY…? GET OFF THEM, YOU SHADY SORCERER! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The rest of the brothers’ voices, as well as the prince’s, his butler’s and the angels’, came closer and closer.

It was like being trapped under the threat of a tsunami, except a tsunami would be preferable in this particular case.

“Then again, maybe, it’s our luck the one who decides our fates, my love”

MC smiled at Solomon’s playfulness, which only increased when Mammon sat down to catch his breath so he could keep screaming.

“Then so be it”

.

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Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Question...? Act III - “Situations, circumstances, miscommunications…”

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader Summary - After years of back and forth, years of unknowns, a lifetime of questions, it's time for answers.

Question...? Mini Series List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

10 Years Earlier...

“Can I ask you a question?”

Steve jolts at the sound of your voice coming from the other side of his locker door. “Jeez, you scared the hell out of me.”

He slams the locker shut to find you standing there with an odd expression. You ask again, hoping he doesn't notice the urgency in your expression, “Sorry… so can I?”

He nods, “Sure.”

“You can’t get mad.”

“I won’t get mad,” Steve promises. “Seriously, what’s up with you, you’re all -”

“Bucky and I kissed,” you blurt.  

Thoughts race through Steve’s head, and yet, there’s not a single adequate response he can say to finding that out. Words fall out of his mouth without a thought, “That wasn’t a question.”

“Are you mad?” you hedge. You see Steve’s eyes examine your face, trail down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. There’s a blank look on his face as his lips purse. “You’re upset.”

“That you kissed Bucky?” he repeats. 

Once again, he realizes that there’s a million other words to accurately describe his tumult. Then again, he’s not sure what he feels. He’s not sure what he’s entitled or allowed to feel. Technically, you were just friends. You were all friends.

You and him. Him and Bucky. You and Bucky.

Was he allowed to feel a tinge of anger? A murmur of heartbreak? A healthy dose of envy? 

“Lower your voice!” you hiss. 

He didn’t even realize the volume of his words, but as he looks around the hallway, he can tell there’s a few people sparing second and third glances at the two of you. “Why? You had no problem kissing him. Why do you care if anyone knows?”

“It was a stupid game of truth or dare! You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“I’m making a big deal of nothing? You kissed my best friend!” 

“He’s my best friend too!” 

“Bucky knows how I-” His brain finally catches up to his mouth to stop the rest of his sentence. ‘Bucky knows how I feel about you.’ He definitely can't admit that. Not now. Not after you and Bucky kissed. 

“Bucky knows how you what?”

“Bucky knows how I feel about the two of you getting drunk and doing stupid things at parties.” 

“I’m sorry. We talked about it this morning-” 

In that moment his brain finally catches up, putting the rest of the puzzle together as the pieces fall into place. That's why he walked by himself to school this morning. That's why you and Bucky, both chronically late, were already at school by the time Steve made it to his locker. “That’s why you two left early, why you walked to school together without me.” 

“Yes,” you morosely reply. “And it didn’t mean anything to either of us. We were just drunk and playing the game. Nothing is gonna change.” 

He rolls his eyes like he clearly doesn't believe you. He knew this song and dance. He'd seen it a dozen times over. Maybe not with you and Bucky, but plenty of times in the hallways of high school. It always started out small. A kiss. A date.

And he couldn't think of anything worse than watching you and Bucky fall in love.

There would be nothing worse than watching Bucky get to take you on a date. Watching Bucky get to hold your hand. Bucky getting to dance with you. And then that classic bitter ending of any high school romance.

In that moment, one way or another, Steve is certain he's about to lose at least one best friend.

“Nothing?” 

“No. We’re all friends. We’re all just friends…." In his own whirlwind of emotions, Steve misses the hopeful look in your eye as you stare at him. "Right?” 

“Right." The words are bitter on his tongue. He knows it. He knows that you know it too. "We’re all just friends.” 

"Who's still friends?" Bucky abruptly asks, suddenly appearing behind Steve. 

Steve jolts at the sound of Bucky's voice from behind him. He turns around, glaring at Bucky, “Will everyone quit doing that?” 

“What’s with him?” Bucky doesn’t even need your reply to know exactly what was on Steve’s mind this morning. Bucky groans, shooting you a disapproving look, “You told him.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to lie to him."

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head at you, “And I told you that I would tell him!” 

Steve's never felt more of an outsider as he does watching you and Bucky bicker back and forth about who reserved the right to tell him about his best friends kissing at a party that Steve was stupid enough to leave you and Bucky at alone.

He mentally curses himself. He should've insisted that he walked you home. He should've told Bucky to sober up before he walked you home. Even as mad as he is in the moment, he knows a completely sober Bucky never would've knowingly kissed the girl he liked. 

Even with this knowledge, there's a very big part of Steve that feels the compulsive urge to strangle Bucky. He settles for a demanding huff, “Will you two stop talking about me like I’m not standing right here?” 

“Sorry,” you and Bucky simultaneously reply.  

Just as he's about to demand the whole recounting of events, the school bell above rings out through the hallway. You sigh, gripping your textbooks in your hand, “I have to go. I can’t be late again or I’ll get detention.” 

Steve nods once, muttering a flippant, “See ya.” 

Bucky winces. “Steve?” 

Steve slams his locker door shut. He tosses Bucky an agitated look, “What?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?" Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes as he debates the ethics of beating Bucky with his heavy textbook. "You’re sorry?” 

“It was a stupid game, that’s it. We literally just pecked. I swear.” 

“Is that supposed to make it better? You still kissed the girl that you knew I liked!” 

“I know, I know, and I really am sorry. It was a shitty thing I did, but you can’t blame her for it. She has no idea how you feel. Mostly because you won’t tell her.” 

Steve tosses up his free arm. “So now it’s my fault that I don’t want to ruin our entire friend group?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky backtracks. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Bucky takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he was the one in the wrong here, that Steve had every right to be upset with him, “I’m sorry, Steve, but I promise you, she’s yours through and through.” 

Steve sarcastically slaps his forehead, “Oh, you’re right, I forget, you usually kiss the best friend of the guy you like. Silly me!” 

“Do you know what she said to me the second I pulled away?” 

Steve takes a long moment. He does his best to shove that image out of his head. He'd spent four years of high school watching Bucky have his pick of girl. He watched him go on date after date. Have kiss after kiss. And the picture of you and Bucky, kissing, touching, was taunting him in the empty school hallway. “What?” 

Bucky sighs, swallowing all his pride as he admits, “She said, and I quote, I can’t do this to Steve... And then she wiped her mouth.”

Steve's eyes widen, a laugh bubbling from his lips, “She wiped her mouth?” 

“Right in front of everyone," Bucky affirms. "Was real good for my ego.” 

Steve offers Bucky a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you for telling me that.” 

“You should just be honest. Tell her how you feel.” 

"What if it ruins everything?"

"And what if it doesn't?" 

Question...? Mini Series List Inspired By Taylor Swift Steve Rogers Masterlist

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan

[seaoflove07]

Love Planted a Rose 🌹

~ Cover Reveal ~

• Artwork by The Drawables • Oc •

🔪 Azusa & Rose 🌹

Before they met,

He was the young man from her nightmares

She was a Princess in his dreams…

~ Dark ~

Story Description:

The year was 2022 when Karlheinz discovered a special young woman named Christine living in the United States. He formed a new plan. The Adam and Eve project is still not completed but it was going his way. Yui Komori made her choice and chose Ayato as her Adam. Both of them are madly in love.

When a new situation came to Karlheinz's attention, he saw Christine could be the key to solving what was about to come to the Demon World.

That summer he offers her a good salary pay to work as a housekeeper at the Mukami’s Mansion in Japan. The payment was too good to pass on. She accepts the job not knowing that they are vampires. She will find out and he made sure that escaping will cost the lives of her loved ones back home. Before he can go through this new plan, Christine needs to interact with the Mukami brothers, Yui, and his sons first.

Until then, He will let them all have their little fun. Till the time comes for his plan to be ready.

Blood from a special rose will be needed. 🩸

“I want you… near me… even if you end up… hating me… I will still want you… by my side…”

- Azusa. Quote from Chapter 3.

Art Cover Inspiration:

~ Hans Zatzka ~

I've been a fan of Hans Zatzka’s fantasy paintings since I was a little girl. I love the entire aesthetic of Nature, Fairies, Angels, Rivers, Flowers, Dresses, and Romance. He includes all these in his paintings.

Even though Azusa and Christine’s story is not a fantasy fairytale. I still wanted this inspiration for the cover because three weeks before Azusa met Christine. His dreams were in a world that looked like Hans Zatzka's Paintings. The dress that Christine is wearing on the art cover is the dress that she was always wearing when she appeared in Azusa’s dreams. It's also a dress that I chose from Zatzka's Paintings.

I chose this one because of the blue waist ribbon. This same exact shade of blue is Azusa’s color representation from Rejet.

So I used this as a hidden symbol that she is his. 🔪🌹

For him, I choose an official art by Rejet. I wanted an outfit to represent that he is a vampire.

These are the rest of Hans Zatzka's paintings' inspiration for the artwork cover. 🎨

A little Information:

Dark Novel setting will be in the Summer Season.

During the School Year setting, I will add that in the second and third novels. (Maniac and Esctasy)

Why the year 2022?

That year I was in a Dark place mentally and was very depressed. Some of my dark issues, I wrote it through Christine. They say writing is a good way to heal. So part of this Fan Fiction story has been my healing process.

That's why I am so passionate about this ship. Christine and Azusa are my comfort characters. Both of them make me happy.

Writing Style:

Will be like the game routes.

Script Style.

Arts:

I will include artworks in some chapters.

I decided to add the artworks in Black and White to give it a little novel style. Once I complete publishing the full story, I will do a post with all the artworks I used for the story in color.

Where will it be published?

Tumblr and AO3.

Story:

Masterpost. 🔪🌹

Note:

I am not a professional writer. Writing is new to me. This is my first time ever writing a story. I have written small fan fiction of Azusa and Rose before but that's basically it. I started writing last year, and I am still learning.

[salisburyliam]

My WORST to BEST ranking for Heaven's Secret 2 LIs

Oh boy I finally did it!!!! never want to read this book ever again, lmao

NOTE 1: We all know that HS2 has its flaws —S1 feels like a fever dream— but personally one that really irks me is not being able to choose whether or NOT you want to marry your LI. I mention this because many LIs routes are (negatively) affected by this sudden marriage imo

NOTE 2: Winchesto you deserve so much better than Rebecca.

7. Dino - He's never been a character I've been particularly fond of, but at least in HS1 he had some narrative importance (the dynamic with Lucifer was a lot of fun too). His relevance in HS2 is, well, zero & I personally don't feel the chemistry between Vicky and him at all. That being said. Of all the LIs, the only one with whom the wedding makes absolute sense is with Dino - he's 100% husband material.

Being good should not be equivalent to being boring… but in Dino's case, it is. 4/10

6. War - His dynamic with Vicky is… okay-ish? I guess??? They are a hot couple (I personally love his design & his laugh is sexy af) but the connection is lacking & there is no emotional intimacy whatsoever. They keep saying they're in love but are theeey? You don't know each other. Also, if you decide not to k*ll him and don't romance him later in s2 he's literally just a background character. 

I don't think this man is ready to be a husband - he should get therapy first. 5/10

5. Hunger - If it were a matter of rating characters, Hunger would be in the top three. His first appearance is one of my favorite scenes in the book along with the board game moment, lmao. But if it comes to rating him as a LI… The relationship feels rushed, to say the least. Marrying a character who appears halfway through the second season makes no sense at all - their wedding scene is just weird.

You guys met like five episodes ago. How about we start by dating first? 6/10

his smile is unsettling lol 4. Malbonte - Replaying this book so many times has made me really appreciate Malbonte. A soldier who will do whatever it takes to win. I love how everyone assumes that he always, always, has a plan (he usually does). But as a LI? His main emotion is rage and pure indifference. As a husband for life, I don't understand how that could work: I can imagine Vicky asking him how his day was and Malbonte's only response being '….' 😐🙄 Go boy give us nothing!

Seriously though. I really love him as a character, but he needs to join War in that therapy thing. 7/10

3. Astaroth - The first interactions are awful & personally his sprite doesn't help either (he's literally a male M*ley Cyrus) but he has so much chemistry with Vicky, it surprised me. Their relationship feels organic as you progress, but just like the rest of the characters that appear in the second book, it all feels rushed. The wedding option should ONLY have been available for characters that appeared in the previous book - with new ones it just feels unearned.

Still, it had potential. 8/10

2. Mimi - The only female LI (how's that legal) and one of my favorites. tbh I think she's TOO good for Vicky??? lmao. A character who is impossible not to adore (even judgy Rebecca gives her approval), in-laws anyone would love to have, and a route that is equal parts endearing and passionate. I confess I kinda miss her sprite from the first book tho

The only reason she's not at the top of the list is the motherf*cker below. 9/10 

1. Lucifer - Simply put, they feel like soulmates (he was my LI in the first book so that also plays into it). I haate his behavior in S1, but even with that rocky start the dynamic between Vicky and Lucifer is, and will always be, one of my favorites. They have everything: chemistry, banter, passion, vulnerability moments... I love the contrast of the Lucifer from HS1 with the Lucifer in the final episode. That's growth.

I sincerely hope the third book focuses on their married life and, hopefully, Lucifer being a girl dad 😍😍 10/10

CREDIT

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Look, neither Meghan nor Harry are details people. So chances are extraordinarily high that they never bothered to actually read the papers or understand the laws about how the titles, succession, transition, and accession actually worked.

RTA, I'm not sure I'm buying this one: primogeniture (aka the firstborn son gets everything) has been *the law* for the English aristocracy for centuries; as dumb as Harry is, this must have been a central fact of life for all in his circle, no way he wasn't aware. He just expected that an exception would have been made for his own self, because Mummy.

That's why Andy had to "Pitch at the Palace", and Charles had the Duchy.

And there are about a million Harlequin Regency romances - not to mention Austen, Thackeray, and the like - where the rakish second son of a Duke, or what have you, has to find his fortune in the army, because again the firstborn gets everything. The spare gets the army. The third son gets the Church. It is known.

They wanted to be the exception to the law of land: I suspect this is what they meant with "modernizing the Monarchy".

I see what you’re saying but just because we know and most of the family knows it and it’s the subject of countless historical fiction/regency romance novels doesn’t mean that everyone knows it. It doesn’t mean that everyone gets it.

Does Harry get it? Does he know this? I’d say yes. Yes, he did. Because by all accounts, that’s the trajectory he was set up for. But obviously something happened because in 2015, he left the army instead of remaining in and going for a full career. Allegedly, he left the army because he wanted a promotion without doing the work and qualifying for it and Granny wouldn’t bend the rules and just give it to him and everything suggests that he couldn’t understand why she refused to help him in this regard. However, Harry still planned to remain associated with the military, only by aligning with veterans’ groups and Invictus Games instead of actually serving. So I think he gets it.

Where it all went belly up is Meghan. She didn’t get it. She doesn’t know this. She’s an American so how could she know the intricate details of heir, second son, third son, etc? She’s definitely not reading any regency romance novels. She’s definitely not doing that kind of homework - she’s only reading as far back as Diana’s biography and which French couture fashion houses she wants to be dressed in.

She probably is the one that had these ideas in the first place. Which goes back to my original point - she didn’t have a good grasp of hereditary succession and thought she could change it through PR, popularity, and media. And I suspect that once Harry was on board with the idea, his understanding of “this is how it works” disappeared. We all know Harry is dim anyway - and Diana even confirmed it herself about him - so it probably doesn’t take much to get him to change his mind, especially if it’s not something he fully understood in the first place.

So all this woulda coulda shoulda, it appears the inflection point in this timeline is Harry’s decision to leave the army in 2015. Had he stayed in and did a full 20+ like his godfather Uncle Andrew did, there’s no telling what kind of royal family we’d be watching now. I don’t think Meghan would be here if he stayed in.

[m-jelly]

Levi, right? Levi, but... What if Reader was like an Assassin like Eivor Wolf-kissed from Assassins Creed Valhalla?

I used to play Assassins Creed so much, I loved the game. Ezio was my fav character but after Revelations, I tried the third one and didn't enjoy it anymore, I came back for Syndicate because it was in my country and during the Victorian period which I love. It was an incredible game and the last Assassin's Creed game I played. I know about Vikings, I know a lot about them but not about the Assassin's Creed game. So, I hope you don't mind but, I'll base it on the ones I know.

Assassin

Levi x fem!reader

Assassins, game-inspired, Assassin's Creed Brotherhood, 1500s era, romance, teasing, enemies to lovers concept.

You've been trying to assassinate a terrible rich Lord for a while, but his prized guard keeps stopping you. You have been trying to convince him that his boss is a terrible person but he's loyal to his duty. One day you decide, enough is enough.

Levi admired the light heat, it wasn't as unbearable as it had been recently and he liked that. It made him smile when he had a sense you were watching him. When you first appeared months ago when frost still clung to the land, you were butting heads and fighting so much.

However, as the warmth arrived and the heat the feelings between the two of you matched the weather. Touches were lingering, gazes were longing and the banter was now flirtatious and teasing. It'd become a fun game between the two of you, but you still had a job to do and a target to kill.

He turned to face where he thought you were but saw nothing. "Huh."

You dove for him and tackled him to the ground. You rolled with Levi before pinning him to the floor as you growled. "Finally, I've got you. I'll tie you up and kill your boss. It's taken so long to get here."

Levi smiled a bit. "You're cute when you're confident."

You pouted. "Levi."

He chuckled. "I'm so glad I told you my name because it sounds so good on your lips." He bucked up against you making you release him. He grabbed you before rolling over onto you. "Now, this is a better position."

You felt your heart race. "You!"

He leaned closer making you gasped. "You're beautiful."

You nipped your lip as your eyes searched his perfect face. "You're finally being honest, huh?"

He cupped the side of your face and started playing with your hair. "I am. You going to try and tell me about how terrible my boss is?"

"He deserves to die."

"Says who?" He eyed your heaving chest. "I didn't know you were God or your order was."

You pushed your fingers into his hair. "Shut up and kiss me." You yanked him down and kissed him passionately. "Mm." You gasped. "Better than I imagined."

Levi pressed his body against yours as he kissed you over and over. His hand ran down the outside of your thigh as he pushed your leg up. "You're incredible."

You panted a little. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

You punched him in the side of his ribs making him roll off you. "For that. I have to kill your boss." You got up and sprinted towards the building.

Levi grunted and watched you climb up a tree and leap to an open window with beautiful grace. "Fuck." You were beautiful to him, he liked how strong you were.

The care for his boss was gone, he wouldn't mind him dying because he was a terrible person. He beat a lot of his workers, traded in people and stole from anyone. Levi stayed because it paid well and he owed the man because he saved him. However, you were becoming more important to him.

He rushed inside the home not to stop you but so he could witness you kill your target. Levi wanted to see how godly you were when you achieved your goal when you took a life and watched it slip through your fingers.

He shoved the double doors for the grand hall open to see his boss shouting at another poor worker. His boss was about to strike the worker but you appeared. He smiled as you leapt from the ceiling like you were some kind of goddess or angel.

You landed on your target with your hidden blade raised up before slamming it into his neck. "I hope you reflect on the pain you caused to others. You played god so we returned that back to you. Was it worth it?"

He gasped and choked on his blood for a moment. "I just wanted control, order and respect. I gained that and then lost control. I kept taking."

You yanked your blade out. "Rest in peace." You carefully lay him down before rising to your feet and staring at Levi. "Is this the part where you chase me down and try to kill me?"

Levi walked right up to you and grabbed your hand. "No, this is the part where we run off together."

Your eyes widened. "You want to join the assassins?"

"You inviting me?"

You smiled. "Yes, always."

He yanked you close and kissed you. "Let's go."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08

@levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife

@demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid

[war-of-heirs]

Demo | Forum | Discord

War of Heirs is a low fantasy story where you are thrown into court intrigue, conspiracy, and rivalry with your siblings.

The game focuses on family, romance, war, and relationships.

You’re the third-born son/daughter of Queen Celine and Emperor Otto. Your mother declared your name for succession without your say-so, making you a contender for the Golden Throne and a threat to Queen Helga and your older half-brothers. Will you manage to build a power base, an army, and most importantly, win the throne, or will you die trying?

Play as a prince or a princess.

Have a beast of a companion by your side that is ready to die for you.

Customize your appearance and personality.

Have children.

Be a cruel person or kind or both.

Survive assassination attempts.

Build and lead an army.

Gather support from outside of the empire.

Fall in love.

ROs (Portraits are still in the works and could be changed later.)

Lady Gossa

Lady Gossa of House Noorga, known as the Blood Queen of Noorga.

Gossa is an unstable, sadistic, and cruel woman, even by her house standards. She suffers from the Noogren madness that plagues her entire family. She sees and hears the world differently from others.

Unlike her mad mother, Gossa is good at hiding her true self. She will not leave you alone until you fall in love with her, whether you are into women or not.

Nobody knows what she will be like as a partner, but having her support will mean having access to her father’s large duchy and the feared Black Guard of her house.

She can be romanced by a male or female MC.

Lady Sabrina

Lady Sabrina of House Astilaa is a known figure in the Northern regions of the empire. As the younger sister of the Duke of Ouwdel, she commands great respect as a member of one of the strongest houses in the area, serving as a bannerman to the Northern Archduke.

Sabrina possesses a sharp mind and ambition, always looking to expand her power and influence. She has earned a reputation for throwing extravagant parties and being a trendsetter in fashion, drawing the attention of many throughout the empire. She rules her brother’s duchy while he spends most of his time at the brothels, making her the true power in the duchy. A duchess with the title of a lady.

As an ally, Sabrina's intelligence and influence make her a valuable asset, but as an enemy, she is not to be underestimated. Those who cross her would do well to beware of her formidable wrath.

As your enemy, can she even be trusted?

She can be romanced by a male MC.

Lady Quella

Lady Quella of House Goldstone, the Hand of the Emperor’s daughter.

Quella is a sweet, shy, kind-hearted, and compassionate young woman who has devoted her life to improving the lives of others. While some dismiss her as naive or overly idealistic. Quella is beloved by the common folk for her tireless efforts to champion their cause.

Using her vast wealth and resources, Quella has established numerous charities throughout the city, providing aid and support to those in need. She has also taken it upon herself to build an orphanage to house the countless children left homeless and destitute on the streets, constantly funded by her.

Despite her soft-spoken nature, Quella is fiercely protective of those she cares about, and she will go to great lengths to support those who share her kindness and compassion. Her unwavering dedication to doing good in the world makes her an invaluable ally to any who seeks to make a positive impact on the world or improve their reputation.

Those who would seek to take advantage of her kindness, however, would be wise to tread carefully. While she may seem gentle and unassuming, Quella is no pushover, and she will not hesitate to use her wealth and influence to protect those she holds dear.

She can be romanced by a male MC.

Lady Varina

Lady Varina of House Stefield: Your friend and companion. She was sent to serve you in exchange for you to find her a good marriage offer and to secure the alliance between your grandfather and her house.

She can sometimes be a controlling freak over everything and everyone around her.

As a fifth-born, most see no future for her but to marry into a minor nobility. But Varina always strives for perfection and will never rest until she achieves her goals.

She can be romanced by a male or female MC.

Sultana Layla

Sultana Layla of House Morved: A foreigner from a rival empire. She is the sultan’s favorite child.

Layla is a strong-willed and free woman that likes to do what she wants. She will hate anyone who tries to control her. She loves riding horses and hunting. She also learned how to fight from a young age and prefers fighting using a spear

. She will be a supportive and strong partner that will stand with the MC no matter what happens. Having her support will mean having access to the sultan’s massive resources and the empire’s formidable army, maybe even war elephants.

She can be romanced by a male MC. (Maybe also a female MC?) ¯(ツ)/¯

Lord Sandor

Lord Sandor of House Noorga. The crown heir to his house and Gossa’s older brother. Like his family, the Noorgen plague haunts him every day. He’s in a constant battle with his other self, the other Sandor that wants to control him.

Yet Sandor still remains strong, but for how long? Which one of them will win in the end? The MC can help him in his battle.

He is also a formidable commander that can cause havoc across the battlefield. His enemies never see him coming. If romanced, he will cut the tongue of anyone who speaks ill of the MC and will do his best to protect her.

He can be romanced by a female MC.

King Vlad

King Vlad of the Kindom of Avridia. Betrayed by his uncle, Vlad is forced to run away from his kingdom with his mother and some forces loyal to him.

He crossed the empire border seeking the support of The Vorla Empire to reclaim his throne. Unfortunately for him, Emperor Karl is yet to grant him an audience, so Vlad sets his eyes upon his heirs. He will do everything in his power to reclaim his throne, no matter what.

At first, he will see the female MC as nothing more than a naive little girl that can be easily manipulated, but he will be on a tough ride once he finds himself in love.

He can be romanced by a male and female MC.

Prince Karif

Prince Karif of House Morved: A foreigner from a rival empire. He is the sultan’s second child.

Advangerer, fighter, mercenary, and explorer, Karif had the most freedom among his siblings leading him to follow his dream of exploring the world.

From the Far East to the Deep North, Karif wants to experience and explore everything the world has to offer. He would very much love to explore it with the MC.

He can be romanced by a male or female MC.

Lord Oliver

Lord Oliver of House Stefield: Your friend and companion. He was sent to serve you and to secure the alliance between your grandfather and his house.

Oliver wants to be your bodyguard in hopes of raising in status. Unlike his twin sister, Oliver is chill and outgoing. He doesn’t care about what others think of him.

Oliver will cherish and love the MC with all of his heart and will do anything for her.

He can be romanced by a female MC.

[sailorgundam308]

Got pretty annoyed yesterday while discussing the game with a friend (don’t worry, we’re still friends lol). But truly, I got annoyed at, once more, seeing how there are wrong assumptions weaved into the community discourse - things based out of someone’s ass, apparently, that got traction and now are repeated by players as if it’s true. But, of course, if anyone stops 2 seconds to actually pay attention to the game, these ideas prove to be just wrong.

This friend, for example, was mentioning how Astarion and Karlach NEVER agree or disagree together in anything. That’s a lie. I’ve (me myself, so I KNOW firsthand) been screen shooting every time there’s an agreement between them and when there isn’t. There are much more agreements than disagreements between Astarion and Karlach. They do come across as having different alignments, but they think alike MUCH more than ‘the internet’ (or even some devs?!) tend to believe. They might justify their rationale in different ways but they do agree together and disagree together way more than they disagree with each other. So that is something I personally can attest to.

Then I heard the argument that Karlach and Astarion don’t get unique scenes between each other: again, untrue. The tiefling party scene with Karlach, for starters, is the only unique romance scene for Astarion. The only person who has back and forth with Karlach after the paladins of Tyr are defeated is Astarion. They have (out of the top of my head, at least 4 unique short banters while both are in the party - again, more than Karl with any other companion.

Then the wrong assumption Astarion can’t go to Avernus : he can and he goes, both as ascended and spawn if you’re playing origin Karl. Ascended if you’re playing him.

A lot stems, again, from simplistic and shallow interpretations of both these characters’ story arcs and personalities. Others come from prejudice, from passing judgement on their appearance instead of their “content”.

Moreover, though, there will never be as much this x that content if it’s involving Karlach (and worse for Wyll) SIMPLY BECAUSE there is LESS than A THIRD the amount of content for Karlach in ANYTHING.

For some reason writers/devs took a long while to decide to put the work into Karlach and when they did they clearly made a bet that blew in their faces - that she’d be a lesser origin character and that’d turn out alright. But she’s the second most popular character and because people like her, they are paying attention to her story - and the massive lack of work and resources dedicated to her arc. Imagine if she had received the attention in detail and the game time / in game content, say, shadowheart received? Instead of a temple Shar, we went to Avernus? In place of Shar, ZARIEL made a personal appearance? We could’ve gotten a young Karlach flashback cinematic, an extra dungeon in act 3, then a personal quest closure with Gortash instead of SH’s parents, so we’d know what the fuck happened. As someone who can’t give two shits about SH, that would’ve been incredible to play. Half of that would still have been a blast. But we get nowhere near. And I’m only bringing Karlach to attention here as an example - if you look at Wyll (who was the front page origin boy since the conception of the game), the disparity is even more shocking.

I’ve read on a writer’s twitter a while back (can’t remember who exactly so you’ll have to excuse me), that they were the writers for Durge, and for a time they got to write some stuff for Astarion for a bit, due to some task delegation changes and whatnot, and they explicitly said they “managed to put in things specific to their “main” character (durge) in Astarion’s writing” - or something in those lines. Honestly… what the fuck? Not sure if that was the intention, but to me it sounded like someone with their own precious OC, which they are obviously attached to, pushing content in to benefit their “main”. In a game where there are several “mains” and many with glaringly less content than others. Again, in my interpretation of what I read that day, this information came across as the most unprofessional shit I’ve seen - if you are tasked to write someone else’s character, you should act as that character’s writer - not a fanfic writer trying to push a personal headcanon or narrative because it pleases YOU, in detriment of other characters. It was wild at the time and I just kinda… walked away and pretended I didn’t read it. It was just shocking and not the attitude I expected from a serious professional.

Whether that’s the whole truth or not I can’t say, but what I can say is that this left me with a weird taste in my mouth and perhaps that’s why until today I couldn’t finish a single run with Durge despite trying several. There are other issues with Durge for me personally in term of the actual writing of the sentences and the way they were worded that just seems impossible to take seriously. (But I’m trying to get over it still, as I want to experience this part of the game too, so I won’t give any sort of personal final veredict).

Also, the idea that Durge was supposed to be the main character… that’s a new assumption for me and my friend also brought it up. That sounded very sus and I went to read more about it and, of course, that’s also wrong. In previous BG games, we always played a Bhaalspawn. It would make perfect sense we played one again - but the butler shit, the amnesia, the gore erotic fantasies, that wouldn’t fly for the average BG3 player - and wasn’t supposed to. When they decided to split tav to leave the “absolutely neutral protagonist” they parted with the bhaalspawn narrative that was a very big part of the previous games, so I assume they didn’t want to just toss it, but put it to another “dark tav” or whatever shit that means. And then they doubled down with the evil and edge lord of kitschy horror narrative. It’s FINE. But isn’t supposed to be the main character.

TLDR: instead of taking random assumptions about bg3 as yours, pay attention to the game itself. And think critically about it a bit. All the origins are presented AS equals but they’re nothing but. And Larian should be (yes, troubleshooting tech issues but also) trying to even out the absurd gaps they allowed to happen in integrating the narrative of, especially, Karlach and Wyll into the game. Make more and decent content for them, fix the plot holes, rewrite the shit that doesn’t make sense for them FIRST.

Tbh, I wouldn’t be complaining if Larian had owned it to their content and presented us with Karlach and Wyll as sort of Halsin or Minthara type of companion - non origin, lesser tier of companion. Then the production choices they made would be at the very least justified. And I won’t EVEN start on the fact that these two, Karl and Wyll, are the two PoC origins… the black guy and the southeast Asian woman. Because, oh, boy, things start to look VERY bad when you put THAT into this equation… 👀

[queer-ragnelle]

So, regarding your novels, what made you write backwards? I'm so curious about it.

TL;DR I started writing in Mordred and Galahad perspective. I then became possessed by the "older" characters and went "back" in the timeline to write their origins (starting with parentified Agravaine). I did this several times until I ended up with Ragnelle/Gawain as book 1, "the beginning," of what turned into an Epic many books long.

Let me give you a timeline...

1900s: I am born and develop Arthurian brain worms.

21st century: The worms declare Ragnelle/Gawain are my favorites and I write their Wedding multiple times for fun based off what can be gleaned from Wikipedia and retellings as I have no medieval resources at my disposal.

February 2020: I think Mordred and Galahad would make neat narrative foils and write a short story about them playing chess.

March 2020: The plague. I'm furloughed from my job. Writing becomes my full-time focus. I write 60,000 words in Mordred and Galahad perspective, plotting their story to be a trilogy.

June 2020: I'm back to work but I'm still writing. With money and curiosity at my disposal, I begin hoarding Arthurian books. Local quirky secondhand bookstore owner had an Arthurian fixation in his youth—I clear his shelves. He asks if I'm a medievalist major and I have to break it to him I'm just a High School drop out at the mercy of the Tell-Tale knights chattering in my head. I learn more lore. I splurge to buy the Vulgate cycle. I'm forever changed.

Late 2020: Reading medlit and retellings and watching all the movies super charged the brain worms. The Vulgate especially. I develop an obsession with circumventing the Orkneys/Welshmen blood feud with the power of gay sex. (Joan Wolf did it first in her 1988 book The Road to Avalon with Agravaine/Lamorak.)

January 2021: Historical research shows that Islam didn't exist yet during the 5th/6th century I'd been writing in. I order Zoroastrianism by Mary Boyce to make sure I'm depicting Ragnelle and Gromer's religion properly. But it's nbd their page time is minimal as background characters right? ....right?

2021 continued: The Agravaine/Lamorak brain worms take on a life of their own as I'm hospitalized and bedridden. Chronic pain and isolation become my themes. I write endlessly on my phone from bed. 2/3 novels are completed and readable straight through with a third book in pieces. These are currently at a combined total of nearly 140,000 words. (Plus the notes file with scenes I haven't moved yet...whoa.)

Late 2021: I rediscover old Ragnelle/Gawain stuff and decide to write about their wedding. Again. But this time with legit sources. Except Ragnelle isn't some ambiguous character of color, she's now very specifically Persian [Iranian] Zoroastrian. So the whole thing takes place in Persia and research goes crazy. Someone gives me their college log in so I can download and hoard essays and textbook PDFs. I do beta-read trades with people in facebook groups (bad bad idea) and yet...

End of 2021: I get sample edits from various editors including one guy who insulted my "lack of education" and said emulating J. R. R. Tolkien's old style didn't work anymore and I should take inspiration from The Hunger Games....for my queer romance in Persia. Right. Anyway I pay the $100 for the pages edited so he'll go away and continue searching for my unicorn editor....

2022: Ultimately facebook group scouting finally yields results as I stumble upon a fellow Ragnelle/Gawain enthusiast who would become my editor!! Editor says I have to cut the giant book into thirds, so what is now book 1 ends up chopped.

2023: I'm still revising book 1, now titled The Moonlit Knight, with my editor. All the while I'm drafting book 2, sporadically cheating to write in other books including an Elaine and Perceval book that appeared out of no where, and scouting out beta readers. One beta reader came via a tumblr mutual who connected me through instagram. A second beta reader discovered in a discord server. Another beta reader from a different discord server. So on and so forth.

Early 2024: Beta reading continues, until I have readers for every angle I require; queer people of all flavors, Zoroastrians, Arthurian enthusiasts, Jewish readers, people with DID knowledge etc! Slowly but surely I work through revising the book with all these wonderful people to a final 95,000 words!

Mid 2024: But now...it needed a cover. I commission a tumblr mutual and work for weeks with them on that, still editing/revising and having betas read book 2, Sunshine's Lady, which is currently almost 132,000 words long and half edited/beta read.

September 2024: I still haven't published. lol. But the process takes a long time and has a lot of moving parts!

So why do I actually recommend this method? Well, this has been hugely helpful to write foreshadowing. Forgetting for a second the blueprint drawn from Arthurian Legend itself, I know how my story with my version of the characters is going to go, so I can set all of that up way in advance. It's all well and good to know (spoiler) Arthur dies at the end, but it's never been about the conclusion so much as the journey there and the unique perspective of whichever character the author has chosen to focus on. I mean, Godfrey Turton's The Emperor Arthur is Pelleas point of view. He's instrumental at the battle of Camlann. It's the same with Bernard Cornwell's Warlord Chronicles and our one-handed friend Derfel, the reasoning for which isn't revealed until book 3. The world is your oyster! Fixate on your special character and set that shit up and pay it off!!!

Knowing what you're writing toward is extremely helpful during the drafting process. Even if it's only vaguely shaped it'll develop detail as you revise. Other than Derfel's missing hand, the best example of this I can think of is in Realm of the Elderlings series by Robin Hobb. It has a huge fanbase on tumblr for a reason, it's just an insane amount of set up you're not even aware of until the impact slams into you many books later and you're left going, "Whoa.....it was there the whole time." Mind blowing. I want have half as much narrative resonance as that.

Another thing that came of this is, since I wrote Agravaine/Lamorak first, and I'm obscenely Ragnelle obsessed, she pops up in their pov as a hag, only for them to not realize she's one and the same as Gawain's bombshell wife they "meet" later. I wrote this as the lads first, but it's extra funny now that, actually, the reader will experience Ragnelle's perspective first. Hottie uncursed Ragnelle does know she met them before, but feigns otherwise. So it's very fun to see the same encounters happen a second time a few books later. Agravaine is like, "Okay granny whatever. Bye... :^/" and Lamorak is like, "That granny was weird but I like her! :^)" meanwhile the reader is like, "AHHHHH! I KNOW HER!!! YOU FOOLS DON'T KNOW HOW IMPORTANT SHE'LL BE AHHH!!!" At least, that has been the beta reader reaction, which is gratifying. Even better, the books can be read out of order, so actually if you read Agravaine/Lamorak before Ragnelle/Gawain, it works in reverse, too. So if the reader knows who Agravaine is from reading his perspective, when Ragnelle or Gawain runs into him, the reader will realize who he is before it clicks for the point of view character. I had a lot of fun developing all of this across the series for multiple characters, it certainly happens more than once.

Wow that was long but I hope it makes sense and gives you an idea how it all went down. Thanks for taking an interest and I hope you enjoy my books when they're out. Take care! :^)

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Bedeviled | Chapter 5: Rotten Company

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, drama, romance, angst, horror

WC: 4.5k sorry she's short :(

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, humiliation, depictions of Hell and people in it, anxiety, pain, fear, cruelty, some suggestive content, and some more tEnSioN ;) ((if there is anything I didn't note and you think should be included pls kindly let me know!))

Previous

You haven't even been in the third circle for long before your gut is twisting with horror and anxiety. 

A few minutes after your panic attack, you pull yourself together enough to move. 

A hundred feet away are trees filled with rotten fruit of all kinds; the stench is enough to make you sick to your stomach even when you cover your mouth and nose, but you still feel a strong urge to go and hide behind the trunks. 

You don't even need to ask him what this circle is, you're well aware.

It can't be anything but Gluttony.

The demon seems to sense your movement as he finally turns from the vile river to look at you as you stand on wobbly legs, the cuff of your cardigan covering your nose and mouth and your eyes watery as you look back at him.

He doesn't even bother to ask if you're ready before turning and heading towards the rotting forest. 

You follow him without a word, whispering to yourself in an attempt to distract your mind from the screams that have yet to cease. It's all you can do to keep yourself from falling into another panic attack. 

It doesn't take long to get there, a confusing wave of relief and dread washing over you as you step under the branches of what appears to be a pear tree. The fruit hanging low on it is so moldy and deformed that they hardly look like pears anymore. 

Chancing a glance back, you see the river still far too close for comfort, the blind souls still reaching out for a hand that will never reach back. 

You look away and put a hand to your head, mumbling to yourself quietly. 

JK is leaning against the scratchy trunk of the pear tree, watching while you seem to have a conversation with yourself as you dig the toe of your right shoe into the crumbling dirt. 

"-gonna be okay."

He smirks at the few shaky words that manage to drift over to him. 

Pathetic human. 

The third circle is one of the shorter ones, but it's also one that he's planning on using to his advantage. 

He almost had you with that apple. 

You were so close to eating it, he could tell. Although, you do seem to have better control over your temptations than other humans...must be why your soul is so untainted. 

He wonders why. Why are you stronger than most when it comes to your desires?

Unless...

He looks over at you again to see you wrapping the cardigan around yourself tighter and blinking harshly as you continue to stare at nothing. 

Ah...

He just hasn't found your strongest temptation yet. 

Odd, since he can usually tempt a human with something even though it isn't their greatest desire. Humans are weak like that; so eager to fall prey to the alluring darkness that they don't even care what they're being fed with. 

You must be one of those humans that has no physically pleasurable desires. You should've at least been tempted by now. Even the ones that call on him for reasons far from sexual have a hard time holding themselves back from him.

Huh.

JK squints at you, trying to figure you out.

With the way you stare suspiciously at the fruit, it doesn't appear to be Gluttony either, much to his frustration. If it was, the fruit would appear beautiful and ready to be eaten. Ready to suck you into this circle and never let you out.

But only time will tell for sure, you're definitely beyond starving by now. Of course, you won't die from it. Perhaps you'll break when he least expects it, Gluttony doesn't have to be your weakness if you are hungry enough. Even the rotten fruit will start to look bearable. 

He really had his bets set on the second circle, but you didn't fall into his game like he had thought you would. Either you really want the Flame, or you're blind. 

The demon scoffs in irritation at the fact that you've not fallen for his looks, which makes you glance up at him. 

"Hm?"

"Nothing," he snaps. 

You look back at the pear hanging dangerously close to your face. 

If anything, the fruit makes you less hungry with how foul it looks and smells. If he thinks he's gonna fool you in here, he's got another thing coming. 

That wouldn't make sense though. 

He's not stupid, he can't possibly think for a second that you would eat anything here, no matter how hungry you get. 

You peek at him once more to see him glowering at you in disgust; as if you're one of the offending pieces of decayed produce dangling near him. 

Sighing, you look away again and keep running through all the thoughts spinning around in your poor exhausted head. 

You had a set plan, you thought you knew what you were getting yourself into. Everything is so muddled down here, it's almost like-...

A plan?

I had a plan?

You blink in confusion at the sudden emptiness inside your brain. 

What-

Smacking the side of your head gently, you mumble to yourself. 

JK watches curiously as you turn in a circle and then finally land your gaze on him. 

The look of complete and utter bewilderment does not go unnoticed by him as he continues to look at you silently. 

"Where-"

Your mouth snaps shut so quickly it almost startles him. 

Recognition floods your gaze, and you clear your throat and pull at the sleeves on your cardigan before yanking it more closed, wrapping it snug around you. 

"Can we just get out of here?" You say, a bit sharper than usual. 

"Sure you don't want one?" He gestures lazily at the sad excuse for a pear hanging between you two. 

You just stare at him blankly. 

A long moment passes as he stares back before you look down. 

It happened in a millisecond. 

He thought he imagined it for a moment, but he's sure he didn't. 

You almost laughed. 

He saw it, he'd swear by it. 

It was brief, but obvious. 

You had to stop yourself from breaking into a smile at his words. 

A smirk slowly spreads on his face as he pushes himself away from the tree trunk and walks closer to you. 

Maybe he assumed too quickly. 

Perhaps you aren't as guarded as he thought. 

"Well?" 

You look at him to see he's looking at you pointedly. Then you glance down and see one of his hands is gesturing you in a random direction. 

"Oh, are we going that way?" You ask, trying to keep your voice neutral. 

He doesn't give you any reply apart from a raised brow. 

"Why don't you go first?" You ask, confused. 

"I insist," he says, gesturing again.

You sigh. 

Great. 

After another moment of trying to read his facial expressions, you shrug your shoulders and start walking further into the forest. 

The direction he pointed leads you opposite of where the river with the sinners sits, which you will not complain about. Seeing so many people suffering and being unable to help them is physically sickening. You're not sure how much more of it you can take if you continue to actually see the prisoners of Hell. 

It's one thing to read about it and to be told what Hell is like, it's entirely different to actually walk through it and witness everything first-hand. 

"How-"

"-long until the fourth circle?" The demon cuts you off rudely, "Maybe if you shut your trap and walked faster, you'd find out."

Your nose twitches. 

"Why are you such a grump?" You grumble, arms hugging your own waist as you watch the ground to make sure you don't trip on anything.

"Maybe it's because I'm constantly surrounded by idiotic mortals like you."

"Ugh, just- whatever."

He scoffs at your childish attempt at winning an argument. 

"You're so- ack!"

Your remark is cut short when your foot catches on a rock and you're suddenly sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. 

One look back over your shoulder and you see him just standing there and looking at you with zero emotion on his face. 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you sigh. This is probably the hundredth time you've tripped. You're not usually this clumsy, what’s wrong with you?

Another moment of dead silence passes. 

"Are you gonna help me up or are you just gonna stand there?" You finally snap.

"I'll give you three guesses."

You bite your lip as you try not to scream. 

Then you hold your hand out, "Help me up, and maybe I'll walk faster."

You hear a loud sigh before his hand grabs your elbow and unceremoniously yanks you to your feet. 

He hadn't meant to pull you as hard as he did though. 

He certainly hadn't meant to yank you right into his chest. 

You lose your footing and collide into his hard body; your cheeks immediately flaring up with heat once again. After a moment, you gather your strength enough to look up at him. 

To your surprise, he's already looking down at you. 

His pitch-black eyes bore into yours, a few different emotions flitting through his; each as brief as the flap of a hummingbird's wings. 

At first, he looks confused, then pissed off, then a glint of mischief clouds over until his gaze becomes neutral again. 

That doesn't last long as he leans down toward you, the tight grip on your wrist that went unnoticed until now getting stronger when you flinch. 

"What's wrong, little mortal? Afraid I might try something?"

You gulp. 

"Or perhaps...you're afraid you might want me to?"

You refuse to back down and look away from him. 

"That's pretty naughty for a good girl like you, don't you think?" The smirk on his face makes your knees weak, "Then again, it's always the good girls that are the freakiest...am I wrong?"

Maybe you should look away. 

This isn't going to plan. 

But you can't. 

When you try to avert your eyes, you physically cannot. 

A sweep of panic goes through you at your momentary paralysis as the demon draws even closer. 

Move, ____. 

Move.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Not y-

His lips are mere centimeters from your own when you finally find the strength to escape. You aren't able to pull away, your muscles are not doing anything you ask of them. Thankfully though, you just kind of go limp and crumple out of his grip, his lips missing your own by the briefest of seconds. 

-

"Ohh, this one is beautiful!" 

You hold up a blue flower and wave it around, laughing as you add it to the rest of the flowers in your fist. 

Gathering your skirts in your free hand, you walk over to the water and cautiously dip a toe into it, pulling back and shrieking when you feel how cold it is. 

"I'm not sure I wanna..." You call out.

Looking over to where your shoes and stockings are resting on a rock, you turn back and let your curiosity get the best of you as you dare to get onto the rock that's about a foot into the small river. You almost lose your balance, laughing as you struggle not to fall. 

Carefully, you move from rock to rock, until you're almost in the middle of the river. You look over to where the sun is setting, joy settling deep into your heart as you look across the water where you're trying to get to. 

Your foot slips suddenly and your arms pinwheel as you accidentally let go of all your skirts and go tumbling into the small waves, the sound of your own shrieks of laughter getting cut off as the cold-water rushes over your head.

 -

You come to, spluttering and coughing. 

"W-" You cough violently, your nose burning like fire as you try to wipe at your eyes, "Wh-"

To your complete and utter befuddlement, you're completely drenched in water; your hair stringy and dripping as it hangs in your face. 

With a few more gut-wrenching coughs, you're finally able to breathe. You move the hair from your eyes to see him crouching in front of you, a lazy grin on his face, his black hair framing the freakishly handsome features he's somehow able to display. 

"Sorry, I didn't leave any for you to drink," he pouts comically. 

You clear your throat and mumble hoarsely, "I wouldn't have taken it anyway, I'm not thirsty-"

He rolls his eyes and stands up swiftly, "You know, you're probably one of the weakest humans I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."

You ignore his words as you wring out your dress and cardigan; gathering the soft cloth in your hands and twisting it until water comes dribbling out. You don’t have time to figure out why you keep losing consciousness randomly.

"Why'd you dump water on me?"

"Would you rather it had been something else?"

You look at him for a moment to see how serious he looks, so you shake your head slowly. 

Not going to put it past him to get any ideas. 

The demon crouches again, closer this time, scrutinizing your face even as you flinch away a little.

"You look like a wet sewer rat," he states before harshly flicking your forehead. 

"Ouch!" You exclaim, holding your forehead and glaring at him.

His nose wrinkles, "Smell like one too."

You freeze at that, then you take a moment to lift your arm and cautiously sniff your sleeve. 

The moldy smell that you inhale makes you gag instantly. 

Oh no. 

Not this. 

Anything but this. 

You can't handle it; you can't handle the smell of mold. Now you're supposed to get through the rest of Hell inhaling it? You thought you could make it through this circle and be done with the smell. 

What a fool you've been. 

The horrors of each circle aren't going to leave when you exit them, they're going to stick with you the entire time. 

You want to take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but the smell is so bad you literally can't. 

When you catch his eye again, you see him watching you curiously, clearly wanting to see how you'll react. 

Closing your eyes, you conjure up some comforting images and remind yourself of why you can't break your promise. 

You need to see this through. 

You need to. 

_______________________________

Each step you take, a nasty squelch reaches your ears. 

Your shoes are ruined, there's really no saving them. But your wet shoes are the least of your problems. You've started to shake, which only makes your aching tummy ache all the more. If there was anything in your stomach, you'd probably be throwing it up right now. The smell surrounding you is so putrid you can't control the occasional gag that leaves you. 

Not to mention, you keep having moments of blank confusion and suddenly forget where you are and why you're here.

They only last a few seconds, but the anxiety that comes from them sticks with you as you trudge along through the wilted forest, shivering and trying to block out the screeches and attempting to keep your head on straight as he keeps telling you to change directions every once in a while, muttering about how useless you are. 

You're not sure why he won't just lead the way, but you don't have the strength to ask him and listen to more of his insults. 

Everything is going to be okay. 

This circle is going to end eventually, they all will. You’re not a prisoner here. 

Well...

No, you are not a prisoner here. 

Not like they are anyway...

You lift your sopping wet wrists and cover your ears as you keep walking. 

I can do this. 

I can do this.

I can-

"Ah!" You shout when the feeling of someone grabbing your arm roughly startles you out of the trance you put yourself in. 

"Why are you plugging your ears, you fucking moron?"

You stare at him, eyes wide as you try to ground yourself and bring your heartrate back down after that scare he just gave you. 

He scoffs in clear disgust, "I said you're going the wrong way like fifteen fucking times! Why don't you just pay attention?! Maybe we won't take a million years to get there!"

You flinch a little at the level of his voice. 

"Sorry," You mumble. 

He laughs in disbelief, "Are you that much of a damn doormat? Shit, you're more pathetic than I thought-"

"What do you want me to say?!" You shout back, startling him for a second as your patience snaps, "If I talk back, you'll waste time thinking of every insult in the book and if I don't then you grill me about how pathetic I am! Gosh, you're insufferable!"

"Me? I'm insufferable?!" He takes a step closer, "We're only in the third circle and-"

"I know we're in the third circle! I know that! I know that! I KNOW THAT!!" You stomp your foot so hard that it shoots a sharp pain up your shin. But you don't care, you're tired of biting your tongue, "You've said that about a thousand times you idiot!” You get closer and raise yourself up on your toes to get in his face. 

“You think I don't know where we are after you've so kindly reminded me with every breath?! Are you truly so thick-headed that you think I need to be told that again and again?? Talk about pathetic! Y-"

"You wanna fucking talk about pathetic?!" He grabs the collar of your dress and drags you an inch from his face, "If you don't cut that shit out, I'm really going to fucking hurt you. I don't have to kill you to hurt you, you disgusting little roach. You think I want to be babysitting your lazy ass when I have better things to do? If you want to see pathetic, take a good long look in the mirror, maybe that'll knock you down a peg," he growls. 

Before you can say anything more, a horrible, unexpected pain shoots through your wrist and you cry out. 

"Not so courageous with your words now, huh?" He whispers as you gulp and shake in disbelief. 

"Stop crying, it's not even broken," he snaps.

A pained gasp leaves you when he finally lets go, an ugly bruise already blooming all around your skin where he held you.

You carefully bring your wrist to your chest and breathe in deeply. 

It feels like a heartbeat is pulsing just below your hand, each flutter bringing a new wave of pain. 

He could've broken your wrist. 

You look at it and wince when you see the blue and purple now decorating it. 

All he did was squeeze and it nearly shattered all the bones in your wrist. You're surprised he stopped himself from ripping your hand off all the way. 

JK watches you, just as he always does. 

Could physical pain be something that might weaken your stoic attitude?

Seems like it. 

When he notices you're looking down and refusing to make eye contact with him, he chuckles. 

He wanted to see how shaken up you'd get when it sank in that he can physically hurt you all he wants as long as he doesn't kill you. He's been holding back, but maybe he doesn't need to.

Seems like that realization finally struck a nerve. 

Literally. 

He chuckles and shakes his head before turning and walking away, not bothering to wait for you. 

Then he calls over his shoulder, "If you value your pretty little limbs, you'll do what I tell you to. Keep walking.”

The sound of your footsteps behind him makes him chuckle again. 

______________________

You say nothing, for hours and hours. 

He doesn't hold back though, continuously throwing random insults at you.

Whether it be about your looks, voice, or general existence, he isn't lacking in nasty remarks in any area. All you can do is keep walking, cradling your aching wrist in your good hand and staring at the ground numbly. 

You misjudged him. 

You foolishly let yourself believe that he wouldn't hurt you. It seemed like he was desperate enough to make the deal that you underestimated him. 

He’s not what he looks like.

You forgot what he is, you made a mistake. 

But it won't happen again. 

The stinking forest starts to thin out; the trees become smaller with more space between each of them.

Still, you say nothing. 

It seems that he's finally run out of breath, or he just got tired of you not reacting, because he stopped talking nearly an hour ago.

In a way it's almost worse, you had grown used to his deep gravelly voice mumbling in the otherwise dead silence. Blocking out what he was saying wasn't too hard after the first few hours. 

After that, you clung to the sound of him speaking almost like a lifeline. It was something to focus on aside from the moldy air enveloping you and the distant screams that eventually faded into unsettling nothingness. 

Now you have no choice but to hyperfocus on the smell and the sound of decaying fruit crushing underfoot when one of you steps in an unfortunate spot. 

Part of you wonders if perhaps he did that on purpose to torture you as much as he can. He might have realized you were zoning out. 

You wouldn't put that past him. He’s literally wired to notice changes in behavior and what might affect certain people. He can’t read your mind, but he doesn’t have to when he can read your body like a book.

It comes as a surprise when you realize he's stopped, and you look up to see a large gate. There's an inscription on it, but you can't even see all the words since they're covered with a bunch of ivy that wraps around and around the whole gate. 

It's nearly twice the demon's height, nothing compared to the entrance to Hell, but still magnificent in its own haunting way. It almost looks like the gate in front of a haunted mansion that high school kids go to in the middle of the night to go ghost hunting. 

Its once elegant structure is clearly worn down, rusted and nearly entirely covered by the ivy that seems hellbent on strangling the previously golden gate. 

"We're already at the fourth circle?" You ask quietly, voice cracking after not using it for who knows how long. 

He nods. 

JK stares at the entrance to the fourth circle, thoughts swarming in his mind. 

He had hoped to use the third circle to his advantage, but the timing was off. There's no way you'd listen to anything he said willingly after that fight. 

He needs you to do it willingly, there's no other way. If you don't open that mental door, he can't go through it. There was no choice but to hurry to the next circle.

"Fucking stupid," He mumbles to himself as he steps forward and reaches out to touch one of the vines. 

You gasp a little and step back subconsciously when the plant comes to life and slithers away from the demon's touch. You can't tell if it's a vine that's suddenly got a mind of its own, or if the gate is actually being choked by snakes.

It goes too quickly for you to see well enough. 

The vines (you're really starting to think they might be snakes) all shrink away, retreating into the darkness, a low hissing sound echoing in their departure. 

Ok, maybe you're not crazy and it really is snakes. 

His tall frame takes a step back from the gate before he turns to look at you, impatiently expectant. 

"What is it this time?" You ask hesitantly, still clutching your injured wrist, afraid of what you might need to do to pass through.

"Something important to you. Something you believe you can't possibly go on without." He looks almost bored.

"What? But I already gave something to the ferryman, I don't have anything else-"

"Then you can't pass through."

You take a deep breath, "That's not an option."

He shrugs. 

You grind your teeth and walk up to the gate, looking at it closely. 

There's got to be another way. It's not going to end like this.

"This is Greed?" You ask, still not facing him. 

He doesn't answer, but you can feel the confirmation hanging in the air. 

What're you supposed to do? You have nothing left, all you had was that ring, you didn't bring anything else with you...

You must have stared at the gate longer than you thought, because suddenly he's speaking up impatiently, "By the time we get in you won't need that Flame, you'll be dead already."

Biting your lip, you send an annoyed look back at him over your shoulder. 

"Come on," he says as he comes up next to you, settling closer on your right than you'd like right now, "Are you really that selfish that you need everything you've got? You need more than is necessary?"

That's when you realize what he's referring to. 

The unnaturally cold hand brushing against your shoulder just under your cardigan makes you snap back to reality and push him away. 

Your glare does nothing but amuse him as he looks at you with undeniable mischief in his gaze. 

"Come on, little human," he taunts as he keeps getting closer, his voice low and sultry, "You sure you need this measly dress? It hardly does you any good."

There's no way you're going to walk buck naked through Hell. 

No. 

But...

Maybe you won't have to. 

"Stop being so stubborn. Don't you want what you've come so far for?" He whispers, too close for comfort. 

You look back at him steadily, "Yes I do."

I don’t care what I have to give up, I’m going through that gate.

His smirk melts away when he sees you bend down and instead of lifting your dress off, you carefully pull off both of your black slip-ons, being hyperaware of being gentle with your wrist. 

"These will work, right?"

His jaw clenches, but before he can speak, the hissing sound grows louder, and you turn your head to see one of the slithery little guards slinking from the darkness. 

Swallowing your fear, you hold out the offering and watch as the long green snake vine wraps around your right wrist and up the shoes, squeezing them tight before uncoiling from your shaky limb and disappearing into the darkness once more, dragging the shoes with it. 

A long low creaking sound follows, and you see the gate start to open slowly. 

Anger is physically seeping from the demon standing behind you, but you pay it no mind. 

You did it. 

Who needs shoes anyway? No biggie. You try to comfort yourself, knowing the pain that’s about to come.

One step forward makes you clench your jaw. The ground is even more painful to walk on than you thought it would be. 

It feels uncomfortably warm, not scorching though, which you're grateful for. 

There are a bunch of little prickly things scattered about, poking you harshly. 

JK laughs quietly when he realizes you're still paying a heavy price even though it isn't the one he'd hoped he would get to witness. 

Patience. 

It'll get there eventually.

You ignore his laughter and start walking. 

It's painful, but not something you can't handle. 

It could be worse, you remind yourself as your body quivers involuntarily.

The demon shakes his head and follows you into the fourth circle. 

The golden gate creaks lowly once more as it shuts, then the vines creep forth and strangle it once again.

___________________________________

a/n: im so sorry it took 2 months T-T i will do better i promise, pls let me know what you think as always! ily

Tag list; @kookxin @butterymin @telepathytae @kooliv @highoffbaddecisions @meanum @smitssharon02 @kmpac @ggukkieland @jjanjankook @sugaslittlekookies @hobispriteu1306 @kimchibrat @slowlydeliciousjiminie @screamertannie  @i-dont-give-a-fok @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @ohyeahjk @babycandy111 @ttipa @ggukcanim @era-genius @katlumiiine @xmochiloverx @sopikooo @berryonasummerevening @jamlessstars @bangtannie7 @idkjustlovingbts @iftheworldiswritten @nuttykittypainter @geniejunn @mal99 @ane102 @mrswang17 @jeonssme @ashbxnny

[loquaciousquark]

So I stayed up ungodly late last night playing through the Cazador quest/conclusion (?) of the Astarion romance and I have a lot of thoughts!

Overall, I LOVED it. Absolutely loved it. I love how much he has to say about the mansion, I love the design and weirdly oppressive layout of the space, the sinister door, the annoying button/attic puzzle, his relationship with Go...dey? The bone man! When I saw that room was called the kennel I literally said "oh no" out loud.

The one thing I'm mad at myself about is that I didn't understand how to actually get into the stupid palace to start the quest! I couldn't get up that dirt incline right next to the map marker so I thought I had to get into the upper city via Baldur's Gate on the left--that the palace was in the next area altogether--so I've been dithering about with murderers and Lae'zel getting kidnapped (D:! she's safe now though) and hag children and a million other things WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN KILLING CAZADOR THIS WHOLE TIME. Harrumph.

Anyway, once I actually made it into the darned palace, I didn't have any trouble at all with the fights until I got to Cazador himself. I did think the ritual skull on the pillow was a nice touch, and I loved the confrontation with Sebastian in the cell, just in case the PC has any doubt left about how sane/human these spawn still are. Seven thousand souls! That's so many!! Seven is a lot, but seven thousand, yikes! There was also one room with some levers at the end of the tedious attic puzzle that appeared to have no purpose; I guess it was unfinished from the design stage, as dozens of Reddit threads/forum posts all agree there's no clear puzzle solution or interactable element. Really, the first design misstep I've seen from the game, and even that was pretty minor!

Then came the confrontation with Cazador, and for all I didn't even get touched in the werewolf fight earlier this fight WRECKED me. I didn't understand the mechanic and got everyone sacrificed for the ritual the first time (was focusing on the adds first), and then the second time I checked the journal and it said "Help Astarion" and so I wasted two turns getting to him only to discover they meant "help Astarion by killing Cazador," not "free Astarion with the Help action" because that sure didn't work, so he got sacrificed again! Then the third time I focused Cazador better until he Called Lightning on Shadowheart and Karlach and killed them both, and then I finally scraped it out on the fourth try. A really, really tough fight! If I didn't have the six summoned ghouls from the Thay book I don't know if I could have done it with this party.

The choices available afterwards are FASCINATING. I played through them all again, and I loved that in every version he absolutely butchers that vamp with as much violent stabbing as I've seen in a video game. And that little flip of the knife to the reverse grip! So deft! He's a rogue! It's like there's thought and care behind these animations!! Incredible! The choices where you don't help him are absolutely awful--the enraged venom in "I'd say good luck out there, but honestly, I hope you die screaming"--and the flat "Your companion has permanently left the party" made my stomach clench. The version where you help him ascend is also horrifying; are there many other quests where both companions are like, "this is a HORRIBLE IDEA, don't do this!!"? And afterwards Karlach said something about "all those souls..." and she looked like she was about to cry, which was the second worst thing in the world aside from the time I had to break up with her because I didn't realize we were dating. Everything is red and evil and we get nice close-up views of the spawn in agony and bursting and then Astarion's eyes glow red as sin forever. I did really like the explicit confirmation that the infected can use the parasites to see out of each other's eyes; that's given me a couple fic ideas already!

I will say the scene of him crying & screaming was unspeakably cathartic and I was yelling at the screen to let me hug him. YELLING. Thank God I live alone! Again, the tenor differences between this scene in the "insight/persuade him to be better than Cazador" track vs. the "flatly deny to help him" track were shocking. I can't believe how different the exact same animation set felt between the two versions! Unbearable relief & grief vs. total impotent despair--no wonder he tries to kill you in a few of the bad endings (on top of deciding on his own to snap the staff & trap the spawn forever).

Regardless, once the ritual was disrupted and the spawn were saved and freed and Cazador was a lolling pincushion, I couldn't figure out how to trigger the follow-up scene I KNEW had to be there, even though I'd already done Shadowheart's personal quest & should have known I needed to long-rest, lmao. I wandered around like a dope for several minutes before finally triggering it.

I really, really liked this romance scene a lot. I liked that there isn't even an option to break up at this point; just like ME3, the romance is locked in and you can just play around inside that structure, which I thought was fantastic! I am sad that it opened with what I expected, which is him resigning himself to eventually being trapped in the darkness & never seeing sunlight again, and the fact that the game let you pick "maybe we'll figure something out with the tadpoles" only for Astarion to express doubt does make me worried for long-term outcomes. My favorite options once you get to the graveyard were to just stay back and let him talk, but I'm honestly really delighted that we got this scene of pretty significant emotional closure for him, and I loved the animation of him carving the year into the headstone. It seemed so immersive & real that even though we can't read the text, we know exactly what he did.

The only incredibly, incredibly, INCREDIBLY minor things I didn't adore about this scene are that first, when he tells you he loves you, his head animation is weirdly still/frozen the whole time on that set of lines despite his expression changing, and it honestly broke my immersion a little bit. The ambient movements of the characters have been so realistic for so many dozens of hours that to have this seriously critical and important moment for the character be almost rigid, especially against a completely silent music-less background, made it stick out as an "oh yeah, this is a video game" reminder. Bummer!

The other thing is that it's icky to have sex in a graveyard, lmao. Tavish doesn't really care because it's just dirt under them--he's literally standing in front of her, so as far as she's concerned it's not that different from the forest--but I did grimace a little. Someone give these dingdongs a bed! or at least a roof!

Anyway! A fantastic romance and super strong writing/consistent characterization throughout, and I'm pumped to see where it's going to go next. I'm still so curious about how the tadpole outcomes will affect things and faintly hoping for a deus ex machina to keep him in the sun, though I suppose that's what fic's for. Regardless, full sign-off on an utterly satisfying romance; so many little things dropped throughout were EXACTLY what I wanted--you can even accuse him of sincerity in the graveyard scene, which is precisely the arc I was hoping he'd have! He didn't even like you in the beginning and now we're smooching next to a bunch of dead people. What isn't romantic about that?

10/10 Larian, thanks for making me a mess for another white-haired grump.

[forthegamesmyguy]

putting this all under a read more bc it's technically spoilers (on the decisions that matter from prior games)

I'm ngl I'm pretty annoyed. I had already bought the game when I watched the release date trailer bc like I'm sorry but I've been waiting 10 years, 1/3rd of my life, for my Solas closure game and I'm going to play it. But I just read the ign article talking about the old installment choices and I'm genuinely getting a bit irritated. There is a have it both ways kind of talking point here. Epler is quoted going on about how they don't want to invalidate player choice which is why they just aren't mentioning shit anymore apparently (even though inquisition healthily respects your choices for the various possible states of the world).

But like. You aren't? Not mentioning things is one thing. I'm annoyed but I understand exponentiation happens at a rapid rate and it is unreasonable to keep adding more and more what ifs for all your random background chatter or codex entries (though I have to say, I think they've sort of taken on that responsibility by not moving the time/setting around like other series would be doing to avoid this very issue, on top of INSISTING on having some characters - leliana, morrigan, etc - appear even still!). But when you also do not accommodate the depth of choices? Bruh.

To explain: we are told the ONLY things we are being asked about are who your Inquisitor romances if anyone, if they disbanded the Inquisition, and if they said to redeem or stop Solas. Nothing else. Yet my character is going to appear in this game, I know that for certain. Will the Inquisitor be mute? I believe the old VAs have already said they're in it. Will I be given the option to choose my dialogue? I doubt it. It would ~confuse new players~ (which could be solved with a toggle on choice or something ...). It wasn't in the case of Hawke, though critically we had the BAREST of distinctions in choosing one of the three personality types to dictate our auto dialogue. This does NOT stop your Hawke, who can BE a blood mage, from having a cameo that almost entirely exists to say "blood magic is evil, it's basically the only thing I know for sure in this world"... How very respectful of my choices as a player, a creator of a player character in your role-playing game world. Presumably we are going to be defaulted to one of two (possibly a slight variant of a third for a romanced Solas though romanced to completion is NOT the same as breaking up, which these games always treat as simply never having happened) personality types for our Inquisitor, one who is kinda gruff bc they're sooo mad at Solas for ruining everything wow he's such a bastard gross, and one who is kinda somber bc theyre sooo sad about Solas for not listening to them wow he's such a fool tragic. I guarantee you I GUARANTEE you 99% of solavallens are NOT my Lavellan. I can tell you already the 20 odd Inquisitors I've made over the years are NOT the same people. Yet they're all gonna be... exactly the same. Because it isn't their game anymore. This sucked with Hawke but at least it was one tiny little main quest. Your Inquisitor is fundamental to Solas' character development. Yes I'm excited to meet Rook but not at the expense of my Inquisitors girl come on now.

Now we get to the "Chelsea is mad and angrily screenshotted your quote to say how dumb she thinks it is" portion of the post.

> "you can shape to a large degree" but only in the confines of this one specific game. What happened before? Does not matter. Mentioned in later material? Well, he actually turned into One Specific Mold. Yeah, they get bland when you do this but it's so much less contradictory, don't you think?!?! You really mattered! All that stuff you did and all that Shaping To A Large Degree really mattered!! Like, you don't even want to ask me if Solas had low approval or high approval with me? You just assume stop = one, redeem = the other?

> "something of a blank slate" ah yes my favourite protagonist, Guy Who Could Be Anyone. Just like the Inquisitor was, truly truly riveting. Like when all you do, in the role playing game, is make choices but you don't also have a place in the world, you're, in my mind, not actually in a role-playing game... There is a massive difference in weight to your protagonist as the Warden to as the Inquisitor, in terms of your place in the world. It isn't just "in one conversation, says one sentence". You could just say something totally different in the next conversation and it wouldn't even matter because no one reacts to you, no one cares, it is just you saying in one conversation "I'm from Haven and I was the only dwarf there" then in the next you say "I am from Rialto and I was raised by clowns" and no one registers any information. It was a system where people met you where you were, and then inside of that layer, you could react. It wasn't just you blabbing, people could see you and build base assumptions which sure isn't ideal but this is the world and how we live, if people hear a fereldan accent they'll have a reaction to that if they're familiar in a specific way. People could see an elf without tattoos and go yeah probably not dalish, and inside that, your elf could feel a certain way. This entirely blank slate model is just cutting out the part where you live in the world and people react to you in it. Instead, you are just constantly saying your story "oh I'm this person, this was my history". But does it mean anything? Are you actually there? I sure didn't feel like my Inquisitor was any meaningful part of the world, on any of the origins. Bro the dalish route gets so much flack for all the ppl saying since Solas/elven culture is so crucial to the narrative of the world that it's unfairly favoured but like siblings. Have you played it? You have to have MORRIGAN explain your culture to you. You don't live there at all, man, like, it's NOT substantively different... it's flavour. Barely. And now, if there's not even like, different world states to play in? The lack of my PC diversity means this just like lost miles and miles of replayability bc what is the point?!!??! It's like replaying BG3....what is the point once you did it twice and chose every different binary option? That's all there really is to explore

Ohhhhhh okay okay. She's even MORE important than I thought. Hey you know what that is so cool! Tell me! Do you think she's the exact same woman in a world where she's got a child with the Hero of Ferelden, who is approaching their Calling soon, as she is in a world where she always had low approval and was denied the dark ritual or always had high approval and was STILL denied, and each the same as a best friend for the very first time ever (possibly lover, with Kieran) to a Warden who did the ultimate sacrifice? 😊 Tell me. Please. How they're all the same. The exact same flavour of woman. And the well of sorrows choice not being relevant is genuinely insulting... I get it, they had Flemeth shove Mythal into her anyways with the post credits stinger. But my Inquisitor could've possibly spent the last ten years listening to the voices of the well, and now been on standby to be compelled...my elven Inquisitor could've spent the last decade studying their language. Apparently not though!

> "the Inquisitor to some degree feels guilty or responsible for Solas' actions" see this is what I mean. About not respecting my choices as a player in your ROLE. PLAYING. GAME. This is Hawke and blood magic all over again. There is nothing that says you ever HAVE to even talk to the man!!! Yes he is there. But so what. I can accept Hawke/Varric being a high rivalry/friendship relationship by default... But only because I'm being very generous. But this? No. Your Inquisitor is never in any world state required to give a single solitary fuck about Solas. Forcing guilt on my character to advance your plot is not cute. In a, again I cannot stress this enough, ROLE PLAYING game. It's not "decide the fate of the world, the simulator" where you just make a few key choices about political shit and slay the big bad. It's "decide the fate of the world while living in it and growing with this games host of companions" and that growth can be in any number of directions that the writers allow for. But this sort of thing turns this franchise into the former. And you can't go around saying you're a leader in player agency if you're doing this sort of thing

This idiot: "granted, that might not seem like a ton of choices" motherfucker you listed THREE. And one of them isn't even a world state choice, it's who you fuckin dated. Are you joking? Game four in a franchise of easily 100+ branching choices per game: 3.

Like even just the romance thing is so. Ugh it's so stupid! It's out of context!!!! You can romance Bull and then have to kill him bc you chose one of two paths in his quest, but there's no option for this, so it doesn't matter! Every Inquisitor that dates Bull now is with him in the exact same specific way! Presumably, don't pick it if he ended up fuckin DEAD. Bc there's no room for nuance! Oh, you romanced Cassandra and then made her Divine? Well, we don't care about who's Divine because it's Just One Line of Dialogue so guess what! You will just generically say "ah Cassandra, I really love that woman tee hee" and who gives a fuck about anything else.

Sorry but who's Divine actually would matter to Northern Thedas? Tevinter may scoff and not gaf, but the Qunari will certainly be very very aware of whatever political and religious machinations /anyone/ gets into. And why would the Nevarrans or Free Marchers not care??? The Anders? Like these are places that have Andrastian Chantry influence... This is still Thedas? Even it it's not Ferelden or Orlais???????? I don't get this. Tevinter, again, reasonable, but isn't that only one small place we're going?

Bringing up the Chargers... girl ... Sucks to be any Inquisitor that didn't save them and romanced Bull (I mean that already sucks right but like to be removed from the possibility of existing? Stone cold).

Idk I just. Can't get behind the notion that simply not referencing something is inherently more respectful. But I think I'm just mostly annoyed at this take bc it seems frankly to be kinda disrespectful, actually, to remove the nuance from my experience. You genuinely don't even care if we have low or high approval with this guy but you want to say that relationship was vital and shaped him and also force a position of responsibility on my PC? You don't want to know how my Inquisitor responds to things in terms of emotional response? Every single Inquisitor is the exact same person now, even moreso than before (and I rly genuinely think inquisitor is the weakest PC by far)?

And to just handwave and say oh well, we can get away with this because we're going north. Okay... Well...what about characters from or living in the north? We could've sent feynriel, the very first dreamer to be born since the veil was erected, to tevinter. we could've forced Fenris back to his slaver, in tevinter. How is Isabela fitting into this narrative? Will we be dealing with many or any other Pentaghasts? Obviously she's a default companion again but again I find it's crucial whether or not you have low or high approval, but apparently, these things don't matter actually. In fact you are always responded to exactly the same without fail. It's called role playing!!

I did already buy it and I will play it and I know I'm going to love it like I have the other three. But I did NOT love the inquisitor and I am not expecting to feel differently for rook, and I am really only here for Solas at this point... I mean, nothing else I ever did seems to matter anymore lol. But that's kinda worrying for me, like if the series continues with games set in the dragon age, are they all just going to be increasingly The Same? So why call it role-playing if we are actually all arriving at the same destination... You can stretch the definition to fit this mold, yes, but I personally do not care for it. If every character I put into your world turns out the same and if all the choices I made actually aren't meaningful enough to change the course of the world's history (even when they're as big as who is king, emperor and pope, and who is at war and who isn't), like, genuinely does it matter? Yeah yeah every story is a journey but Dragon Age is set in the DRAGON AGE. I admit I don't know anyone else trying such an experiment and it's always been a huge draw for me. I get that it's daunting. But they've shown they actually can handle this.

The pragmatist in me says the solution to a dangerously "quantum character," as they call them, is to just stop bringing them back. If you think Morrigan's got too many permutations between motherhood and relationship status then I'm sorry but just uh, don't bring her back. Ignoring those things? Is the worst possible option. The lyrium ghost shit with leliana did have a few lines of attempted explanation, which was in the end enough for me within the constraints of this world of magic. But saying NOTHING? would've been a slap in the face. Ugh. I love this setting I really do and I love these characters, but if you can't bring them back respectfully, then, well, respectfully, fucking don't!!!! I don't ever want to hear my blood mage Hawke talk shit about blood magic ever again lol. Just don't bring them back. An even simpler solution is moving the setting, and I don't mean moving from America to Canada bc that's what tf they're doing. Northern Thedas is *right there*. I'm talking, go to another continent. THEN I can believe no one knows who the fuck the pope is in a Catholic world 🙄 Ughhhh. Of course if you use the same host of characters in four games of choice, you're going to end up in a permutational nightmare!!! This much should have been obvious from game 2!! I feel like at that point you have a responsibility to address the encroaching beast and either wrap your story up sooner so you are dangling far far fewer variables or you shift setting/relevant characters to the plot so that you can avoid them, tactfully and respectfully. They are attempting to do the latter while still bringing in characters like Morrigan or your own PC, characters that require nuance to place in disparate world states! These characters are not one size fits all 😭

I cannot stress enough that I really do get it on a mathematical level. But to say bioware doesn't have a canon while not allowing there to be room for nuance from the canon thus far :/ :/ Idk. Just not looking forward to having to turn so much of the world building that's already there into headcanon