#the words fired and let you go were not used

[verdancy-hime]

You gotta send people recreational emails.

They're fun.

Write a little story back and forth.

Send them little vignettes about your day.

It protects you from meaningless emails to write little letters to your friends that say

"I saw a news story about an apartment building in the Bronx today. They were without heat for almost a month. The landlord wouldn't return their calls. All those space heaters were a fire hazard, I guess. The facade on the building was crenulated brick, old. Not even stained from the flames licking the windows. Arcs of water glittered against the red night. It was like a painting. I wanted to divide the grainy pixilated news station video into squares, like you do in art class, and tape them all up and paint each square one by one. I wanted it to look like everything was made of blocks. High contrast red and soft brown and deep blue. I wanted to paint it with a Gouache, but I wanted a makeup sponge on a stick. The kind you used to get in old eyeshadow. Nice squared off sharp angled tip. But it takes a while to notice. Use tape but not to leave space. Just so it looks like it's a paused frame. With the red and blue lines underneath like on television, but make them out of holographic something. No words. Just sharp. So it hurts to look at them. I wanted to imagine people walking past it and never seeing it on the wall. Like it didn't exist. I want to imagine one day there will need to be a plaque on the wall to explain what it meant."

Be more stupid and pretentious.

Send people things like

"I wish there was a lamp I could wear as a hat. And I could pull the chain to change the colors, and everyone could see things like 'Distract me today. Let's talk about you. I can't talk about myself. Don't ask me how I am. I will talk and talk and talk and it will just weigh you down. It won't make either one of us feel better. Let me be selfish. Let me make you smile. Let me bask in your light for a while.' Or "I know what you are and I see your little game and I hate you and I want you to have a seizure. I am going to pull this chain so hard and so fast it leaves marks on my palm all day. Red and angry. Blue and violet like bruises. I will not play along. I will not pretend. Let's bring it all to the surface. Let me look you in the eye. You're afraid. I know you are. You are playing in my face. Lay your cards out. You know you will lose. That's why you won't.' I wish I could leave the light on until it made that low soft buzz that reverberates in your bones like a cat's purr."

Someone will send you back emails like that.

my least favourite turn based strategy game is email

[rafes-slut]

rafe and squirting plsoksolsols

Squirting

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, possessiveness, slight dominance, use of pet names (baby, pretty girl), Rafe being cocky/proud, language, reader is shy and inexperienced, Rafe loves that, slightly toxic undertones, safe word implied but not used.

You weren’t prepared for it.

You didn’t even think your body could do something like that—let alone because of him. And the way Rafe looked at you after it happened? Like he owned you. Like he was the only one who could ever make you fall apart like that.

Because truthfully. He was.

It started innocent enough—if being pinned underneath Rafe Cameron could ever be considered innocent.

You’d been teasing him earlier, curled up next to him in nothing but one of his shirts, legs bare, toes brushing against his calves as you claimed to be "too lazy" to do anything. He didn't believe that for a second—not with the way your thighs kept shifting, rubbing together, your lip caught between your teeth every time his hand landed on your thigh.

"You needy, pretty girl?" he murmured, voice low and rough, lips ghosting over your jaw as he leaned into you. His fingers pushed the hem of the shirt up slowly, grazing your hip like he had all the time in the world.

You swallowed hard, nodding, because lying was useless. Not with the way Rafe could read you like a book—especially when you were practically melting in his hands.

He didn’t waste time, guiding you onto your back, hovering over you with that smug little smirk like he already knew exactly what he was about to do to you. Like he’d already planned to wreck you.

You were already breathless by the time his mouth got on you—his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles that had your back arching off the bed. But it was his fingers that took it to another level.

Thick, long, and skilled as hell, they moved inside you in a rhythm that had your head spinning. He watched you the entire time—blue eyes dark, focused, full of this wild pride like he was watching a masterpiece fall apart right under him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, thumb pressing into your clit in time with the thrusts of his fingers. “So fuckin’ good for me. You feel that? How tight you are around me?”

Your answer was a whimper, breath caught in your throat as your legs trembled, thighs twitching with every motion. You felt like you were right there, like the tension in your core was about to snap—but it didn’t feel like it normally did. It was… more. Intense. Overwhelming.

“Rafe,” you gasped, fingers digging into his forearm as your body jolted with each curl of his fingers. “I—something’s— I don’t—”

His grin turned devilish. “You don’t know, do you?”

You shook your head desperately, overwhelmed and chasing that high, even though it felt too much—like you could barely take it.

Rafe’s lips grazed your ear. “Let go, baby. Trust me.”

And you did. Because it was him. Because the way he touched you, praised you, worshipped every inch of you—it left no room for doubt. Only the fire building in your stomach and the way his voice made your whole body respond.

When it happened, you couldn’t believe it.

Your body snapped, every nerve on fire as the wave crashed through you. But instead of the release you were used to, it was something else—something that left your legs shaking uncontrollably, your mouth open in a silent scream, wetness flooding down your thighs.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, panting, looking down at the sheets now soaked beneath you.

Rafe froze for a second, staring at you like you’d just handed him the fucking world. Then the smirk tugged at his lips, cocky and so proud.

“You squirted, baby.”

Your eyes widened. “I—I didn’t know I could—”

“I did.” His voice was low, dripping with satisfaction as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, glistening and slick. “Knew I’d get it out of you one day. All me, huh?”

You flushed, chest heaving, still not fully recovered from the high.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple before letting his hand trail over your shaking thigh, smearing your release along your skin, watching it glisten in the low light. “Look what I did to you,” he murmured, almost to himself, like he couldn’t believe it either. “Fuck, baby, you don’t even know how hot you looked when you let go like that.”

You whimpered, still sensitive, legs trying to close—but Rafe slid between them, keeping you open, needy, even though you were spent.

His fingers ghosted your clit again, and you gasped.

“Rafe—too much, I—”

“You think I’m done?” His grin was pure sin. “Not even close. Now I know you can do that for me? I want it again.”

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The weekend you came home ˎˊ-

This is a one-shot but could be read as a fic for what happened before -ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Years back when your mother and sister were alive you all had a dynamic. The boys would leave for training in the morning, your mother and sister would sew together while you would read. That's how it was for a very long while before everything happened. One weekend when you have to be at the cabin all alone Azriel fights for a weekend pass and you're glad he did because when you thought someone was breaking in it was just kittens and maybe those kittens are the official start of your relationship.

Warning: Fluff, cursing and mentions of cruel past.

Word count: 10.2k

500 Years Ago — The Illyrian Cabin

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the scent of burning pine mixing with the delicate fragrance of fresh linen. Your mother sat at the small wooden table, her fingers deftly working a needle through a swath of fabric, her expression calm and focused. The rhythmic motion of her hands was something you had grown up watching, something that had always made you feel at home.

Beside her, Kaia was muttering under her breath as she helped sew, her frustration evident in the way she kept glancing at you.

"You’re useless," Kaia finally huffed, yanking the thread through the fabric with more force than necessary. "Sitting there like some pampered noble, reading your books while we actually work."

You didn’t even glance up from the pages of your novel, leisurely turning another page. "I am working," you murmured.

Kaia scoffed. "Oh, please. How exactly does reading some dusty old book help the family?"

"Knowledge is power," you replied, smirking slightly. "Unlike you, I plan on using my brain to get out of this place one day."

Kaia gasped in mock offense. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"I didn’t say it literally."

Your mother clicked her tongue, not even pausing in her work. "Both of you, stop your bickering," she said. "Kaia, let your sister be. And you," she glanced at you meaningfully, "perhaps you could take a break from your books and help with something."

You groaned, slumping further into your chair. "Mother—"

"No ‘mothering’ me," she interrupted smoothly, reaching for another spool of thread. "You can at least prepare the tea."

You sighed dramatically but set your book aside, standing and stretching before making your way toward the small kitchen space. The floor creaked beneath your feet as you moved, the old wood worn down by years of footsteps.

Outside, the winds howled through the mountains, rattling against the cabin walls. The Illyrian war camps were far enough away that you couldn’t see them from here, but you knew exactly where Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel were right now—training until exhaustion, getting tossed around by the warlords, covered in bruises and dirt.

They’d be home tonight.

You bit the inside of your cheek at the thought, pushing it aside as you focused on preparing the tea.

Kaia, meanwhile, kept complaining. "I swear, it’s like you’re allergic to actual work," she muttered.

You rolled your eyes, pouring hot water over the leaves. "And yet, I don’t hear you complaining when I help with strategy meetings with Rhys," you shot back. "Or when I make sure you don’t get scolded for sneaking off to see that boy from the next village."

Kaia’s cheeks flushed. "That is not—"

Your mother just sighed. "Cauldron save me from daughters who can’t go five minutes without arguing."

You and Kaia exchanged glances before bursting into quiet laughter. Your mother tried to look stern, but you could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes as well.

The cabin smelled like fresh fabric, tea, and the lingering traces of the lavender sachets your mother always tucked into the linens. It was small, but it was home. And tonight, the boys would be back—bruised, hungry, and full of stories from the camps.

For now, though, it was just the three of you, the hum of needle and thread weaving its way through the quiet.

You leaned against the wooden counter, watching the tea leaves swirl in the hot water as a smirk tugged at your lips. "I think knowledge will get me further than pricked fingers," you mused, glancing at Kaia.

She let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to her chest as if you had mortally wounded her. "Oh, so now you're insulting mother’s work, too? The audacity!"

Your mother didn’t even look up from her sewing. "You do have a sharp tongue, my love," she said, amusement lacing her voice.

"I prefer to call it intelligence," you replied smoothly, lifting the teapot and setting out the cups.

Kaia rolled her eyes. "And yet, for all your ‘intelligence,’ you still don’t know how to stitch a straight line."

"Because I have you to do it for me," you said sweetly, handing her a cup of tea.

She groaned, but took it anyway. "One day, you're going to regret not learning these skills."

You shrugged, taking a sip of your own tea. "Maybe. But I’d rather outthink my enemies than stab them with a needle."

Your mother chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as she continued her work.

Kaia huffed, setting her sewing down just long enough to shoot you a pointed look. “Outthink your enemies? What, you plan to sit them down and bore them to death with all those books you hoard?”

You smirked behind your teacup. “It’s a solid strategy. Imagine it: I hit them with the full history of Prythian’s trade routes, throw in some political theory, maybe a bit of philosophy—”

Kaia groaned loudly, slumping against the table. “Mother, please, make her stop.”

Your mother only chuckled, her fingers deftly working through the fabric she was stitching. “Your sister has a point, Kaia. A sharp mind will take her far.”

Kaia scoffed. “So will a sharp blade.”

You hummed, flipping a page in your book. “Why not both?”

She narrowed her eyes, studying you like you were some difficult puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You’re really never going to learn how to sew, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Your mother sighed, though there was no true disappointment in it. “At least try to learn a few stitches, love. I won’t always be here to mend your clothes.”

The thought of a world without her sent a pang through your chest, but you masked it with a light shrug. “I’ll figure it out.”

Kaia grinned. “Or you’ll find yourself a mate who’s good with a needle.”

You made a face. “If I ever meet someone who enjoys sewing, I’ll know the Cauldron made a mistake.”

Your mother only smiled knowingly, the same way she always did when she sensed things you couldn’t yet understand.

Kaia rolled her eyes and flicked a bit of thread at you. “You’ll regret that when you’re out in the wilds with a torn tunic and no way to fix it.”

You waved a dismissive hand, eyes still on your book. “I’ll just make Rhysie do it.”

Kaia scoffed. “Rhys? Our future High Lord? You think he’s going to sit there and stitch up your clothes like some dutiful little seamstress?”

You smirked, finally glancing up. “If I’m cold and miserable enough, he might.”

Your mother chuckled softly at that, shaking her head as she continued working. “That boy would do anything for you.”

Kaia sighed dramatically. “It’s disgusting, really.”

“You're just jelly that I'm his favourite sister.”

You just grinned, but before you could come up with a proper retort, the front door creaked open, a gust of cold wind blowing into the cabin.

Cassian and Azriel stepped inside first, shaking snow from their wings and stamping off their boots. Rhys followed right after, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Mother above,” Cassian groaned. “It’s freezing out there.”

Azriel just huffed, pulling off his gloves. “It’s winter, Cassian. That tends to happen.”

Rhys, though, barely looked at them. His violet eyes landed on you immediately, a slow, familiar smirk curling his lips. “What? No warm welcome for your favourite brother?”

Kaia let out a sharp laugh. “Favourite? Please. I’d sooner claim Cassian.”

Cassian grinned. “I do have my charms.”

You ignored them, tilting your head as you met Rhys’s gaze. “You’re late.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “We were training.”

You set your book down, eyeing the bruises forming on his knuckles. “So I see.”

Azriel, ever the quiet observer, watched you closely, his hazel eyes flickering between you and Rhys as if reading something neither of you had spoken aloud. You met his gaze for just a moment before looking away.

Rhys stretched out his wings, rolling his shoulders. “Mother, that smells good.” He walked over to the hearth, inhaling deeply. “Did you make enough for an army?”

Your mother smiled, giving him a fond look. “I made enough for three very hungry Illyrians, yes.”

Cassian beamed. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

Kaia groaned. “Can you three at least clean up first? You smell like sweat and regret.”

Azriel shot her a look, but Rhys just grinned, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Don’t worry, dearest sister. We’ll be on our best behaviour.”

You highly doubted that.

As soon as Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel disappeared down the hall to clean up, Kaia let out an exaggerated groan and flopped dramatically against the back of her chair. “I swear, between the three of them, we’ll never have a moment of peace.”

You smirked, picking your book back up. “You say that like they don’t make life more entertaining.”

Kaia rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. Nothing’s more entertaining than sweaty Illyrians stomping in here like wild animals.”

Your mother chuckled softly, finishing the last few stitches in the fabric she was working on. “They’re boys. And Illyrians at that. What do you expect?”

Kaia made a face, but before she could reply, the sound of heavy footsteps returned, and soon enough, the three of them emerged from the back rooms, hair still damp but looking slightly more presentable.

Cassian flopped into the chair across from Kaia, stretching his arms behind his head. “So, what’s for dinner?”

Kaia smacked his arm. “You could at least help set the table first.”

Cassian pouted but stood, dramatically grabbing some plates while Rhys just rolled his eyes. Azriel, as usual, remained quiet, though his gaze drifted to you once again as he moved to help your mother.

You ignored the look, flipping a page in your book. But before you could focus, Rhys plopped down beside you, draping an arm over the back of your chair. “Still burying yourself in books, I see.”

You didn’t even glance up. “Still getting your ass handed to you in training, I see.”

Cassian burst out laughing while Azriel smirked faintly.

Rhys gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I—”

“You lost to Devlon today,” Azriel cut in smoothly, grabbing a set of utensils.

Cassian cackled. “Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot about that.”

Rhys scowled. “That was a fluke.”

You finally looked up at him, raising a brow. “A fluke, huh?”

Rhys huffed. “Yes. A fluke.”

Kaia snickered. “Right. And Cassian actually thinks before speaking.”

Cassian gaped. “Hey! I do think before speaking.”

Azriel muttered, “Not often.”

Cassian turned his glare to him, but Azriel only shrugged, completely unbothered.

You laughed, shaking your head as you closed your book. Rhys watched you for a moment, his smirk softening into something almost thoughtful.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He just smiled. “Nothing.”

But something in his gaze told you he was thinking about something. Something important.

Before you could press him on it, your mother clapped her hands. “Enough bickering. Sit down. Eat.”

The group grumbled but obeyed, falling into their usual places at the table.

And for that brief moment, everything felt perfect.

Dinner was its usual lively affair, filled with Cassian’s booming laughter, Kaia’s sharp remarks, and Rhysand’s ever-present smirk as he baited anyone within reach. Azriel, as always, remained mostly quiet, but his occasional remarks cut sharper than any blade.

Your mother, ever the calm presence among the chaos, waited until the plates were nearly cleared before setting down her utensils and glancing between you and Rhys. “Kaia and I will be going back to Velaris this weekend,” she announced, her voice even. “Your father wishes to see us.”

You looked up from your plate, brows furrowing. “Both of you?”

Kaia nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. And before you start, it wasn’t my idea. He actually asked.”

That had you pausing. Your father—requesting their presence? That was… rare.

Rhys, sitting beside you, leaned back in his chair, twirling his goblet between his fingers. “How long?”

“Just the weekend,” your mother said. “We’ll be back Sunday night.”

Rhys nodded slowly, but you could see the gears turning in his head. “And Y/N?”

Your mother glanced at you. “You’ll stay here.”

Your frown deepened. “Alone?”

“Well, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel have training all weekend,” your mother reasoned. “You’ll manage.”

Cassian grinned. “You scared to be all by yourself, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’d probably enjoy the quiet without you three stomping around like wild beasts.”

Azriel smirked faintly, but Rhys didn’t look as amused. His violet eyes flickered to your mother. “Are you sure?”

Your mother gave him a pointed look. “She’s more than capable, Rhysand.”

You crossed your arms, raising a brow at your brother. “Do you doubt me, dear brother?”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his temple. “No, but—”

“No buts,” your mother cut in. “Y/N will be fine. And the three of you will be too busy getting your asses kicked in training to even notice.”

Cassian snorted. “That’s fair.”

You leaned back in your chair, pretending to consider. “A weekend to myself… no Cassian yelling, no Rhys brooding, no Azriel sneaking around like a shadowy menace. Oh my cauldron and no Kaia! Sounds peaceful.”

Azriel arched a brow, his voice smooth. “You’ll miss us.”

You huffed. “Doubtful.”

Rhys sighed again, but he didn’t argue further. “Fine. But if anything happens—”

“I’ll be fine, Rhys,” you said, exasperated. “It’s two days. Not a lifetime.”

Your mother nodded in approval. “Good. Now eat before the food gets cold.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhys still wasn’t entirely on board with the idea.

-----

The next morning, your mother and Kaia were already packing their things, preparing to leave for Velaris. You stood in the doorway, watching as Kaia fussed over which dresses to bring, her nose wrinkling at a pale blue one your mother held up.

“Not that one,” Kaia said flatly. “It makes me look washed out.”

Your mother sighed but folded it into her bag anyway. “It’s just for two days.”

Kaia groaned. “Two days with father.”

You didn’t comment, but the thought sat heavy in your mind. Your father requesting them was strange—almost unsettling—but you pushed the feeling down.

Rhysand was still brooding about the whole situation, watching from across the room with crossed arms. He had already changed into his training leathers, ready to head to the camps with Cassian and Azriel.

“You could always just come with us,” Rhys murmured when your mother left the room for a moment.

You shot him a look. “And do what? Watch you three beat the hell out of each other? No, thanks.”

Cassian grinned as he passed by, throwing an arm around you briefly before heading toward the door. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn a few things, you know.”

“I know plenty,” you countered, stepping out from under his hold. “Like how to read a book instead of getting hit in the face.”

Azriel smirked slightly from where he stood by the door, sharpening a dagger. “Books won’t help in a fight.”

“Then you've never got hit in the head with one but in fairness neither will your brooding, but here we are,” you shot back.

Cassian let out a loud laugh as Azriel just shook his head, tucking the dagger away.

Your mother returned, brushing her hands together. “Alright, we should get going.”

Kaia sighed dramatically but grabbed her bag. “If I don’t make it back, tell father it was his fault.”

Your mother swatted her arm lightly before turning to you. “Be good, Y/N.”

You smirked. “Never.”

Rhys, still looking less than pleased, pulled your mother in for a quick hug, then gave Kaia a long-suffering look. “Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” Kaia quipped before stepping outside.

Your mother gave Rhys one last pat on the cheek before following, and just like that, they were gone, winnowing to Velaris.

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. “Well. Looks like it’s just me.”

Rhys gave you another once-over, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Stay inside at night,” he warned. “If anything happens, send a message.”

“Yes, Mother,” you droned.

Cassian chuckled. “She’ll be fine, Rhys. Let’s go before Devlon loses his mind waiting for us.”

Rhys gave you one last look before sighing and stepping toward the door. Azriel lingered a moment longer, his hazel eyes flickering to you.

“If anything happens—”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted. “I’ll call for my big, scary warriors to save me.”

Azriel just shook his head slightly, but you could see the amusement in his gaze before he turned and left.

And then, the cabin was quiet.

Finally.

The silence in the cabin was strange. Not unwelcome, but strange.

You were used to noise—your mother’s soft humming as she sewed, Kaia’s endless complaints about one thing or another, Rhys and the others coming and going from training. But now, with them all gone, it was just you.

You stood in the middle of the small kitchen for a moment, staring at the now-empty space where your mother and sister had been just minutes ago. Then, with a sigh, you turned and grabbed the book you had been reading earlier, settling into one of the chairs near the fireplace.

The hours passed in comfortable solitude. You read, made yourself something to eat, and even went outside for a while, letting the cool mountain air fill your lungs. The Illyrian camps were too far to hear, but you could picture what Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel were doing—sweating, fighting, grumbling about their trainers.

You rolled your eyes just thinking about it.

By nightfall, you had lit a few candles, keeping the cabin warm against the evening chill. You weren’t scared of being alone, but there was something about the stillness that made the space feel bigger.

Then, a sound.

You froze, book halfway open in your lap.

It had come from outside.

Slowly, you set the book down and stood, listening.

Nothing.

Probably an animal, you told yourself. A fox, maybe. Or a bird settling into a tree for the night.

Still, you walked to the door and carefully slid the bolt into place. Just in case.

Then, shaking your head at your own paranoia, you turned back to the fireplace and sat down.

You were fine.

Everything was fine...

Your heart pounded, listening to the silence stretch on. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the wind or a wild animal passing through.

But your gut twisted.

Azriel always told you to trust your instincts.

Without hesitation, you bolted down the hall, bare feet silent against the wooden floor. You went straight to Azriel’s room, moving with practiced ease. He had shown you where he kept his blades—“Just in case,” he had said, his hazel eyes serious.

You dropped to your knees beside his bed, reaching under the wooden frame until your fingers brushed cool steel. You pulled the dagger free, gripping the hilt tightly.

The weight of it was reassuring.

The door creaked behind you, the wind shifting through the cracks in the cabin. You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself, before standing and turning back toward the main room.

You tightened your grip on the dagger as you crept back down the hallway, pressing your back against the wooden walls to keep your footsteps silent. The flickering candlelight from the hearth cast shifting shadows across the cabin, making your pulse hammer even harder.

The front door was still shut. The windows locked. But something felt off.

You took a deep breath, listening.

Nothing.

Then—

A sound. Faint. Almost imperceptible.

The softest creak of wood outside the cabin, like a footstep trying too hard to be silent.

Your stomach dropped.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the dagger in your palm. If someone was out there, they weren’t moving anymore. Maybe they knew you had heard them.

You exhaled slowly and backed toward the kitchen, reaching for the second knife Azriel always kept in the drawer. Just in case.

Just as your fingers closed around the hilt, the front door handle rattled.

The door swung open, and before you could think, you moved. Instinct and fear collided as you lunged forward, dagger raised, your heart hammering in your chest.

But then—

“Cauldron damn it, Y/N!”

Azriel’s voice.

You barely stopped yourself in time, your arm jerking mid-air as recognition slammed into you. He had jumped back, his own hand flying toward his belt, likely reaching for a dagger of his own before he realized it was you.

You both stood there, breathless, frozen in place. His hazel eyes were wide, flickering between you and the blade in your grip. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, his wings slightly flared as if he’d been prepared to counter an attack.

“What the fuck?” he breathed, voice low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, still gripping the dagger tight. Your entire body was trembling with the leftover rush of adrenaline.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you managed to choke out, your voice rasping from fear and exertion.

Azriel let out a slow exhale, running a scarred hand through his damp hair. His training leathers were still on, slightly dusted with dirt, as if he had just come from sparring.

“You were about to stab me.” His voice was still edged with tension, but his brows furrowed as he studied you. “Why the hell are you standing in the middle of the cabin armed like you’re about to go to war?”

You let out a shaky breath, finally lowering the dagger. “I heard something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Someone outside.”

Azriel’s expression hardened instantly. His instincts—honed by years in the camps, sharpened by battle and blood—flared to life. His wings tucked in, his shoulders straightening as his gaze flicked toward the door behind him.

“How long ago?” he asked, voice all business now.

You swallowed again. “Just before you came in. I thought—” You shook your head, gripping the dagger tighter again. “I thought someone was trying to break in.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. His shadows curled subtly around him, shifting with his thoughts. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out as if to steady you.

“I’ll check it out,” he said firmly, voice like steel. “Stay here.”

Your grip on the dagger was still tight as Azriel moved past you, but before he reached the door, you found your voice.

"Why the hell are you here?" you demanded, still slightly breathless. "You were supposed to be in the camps all weekend."

Azriel paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. His hazel eyes were still sharp, assessing, but there was something else there—something almost sheepish. He ran a hand through his hair again before exhaling through his nose.

"I fought for a weekend pass," he admitted, voice quieter now. "Didn’t feel right leaving you alone out here."

Your heart skipped a beat, though you tried not to show it. Instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Rhys is going to be pissed."

Azriel gave a half-shrug, already moving toward the door again. "Let him be." Then, his voice dropped into something more serious as he reached for the handle. "Stay inside. Lock the door behind me."

And before you could argue, he slipped outside, shadows curling around him as he disappeared into the night.

The moment Azriel stepped outside, you wasted no time. Your hands were still slightly shaking from the rush of adrenaline, but you turned the lock with a sharp click, securing the door behind him.

You pressed your back against the wooden frame, gripping the dagger tightly in your hand as you listened to the quiet. The wind whispered through the trees outside, the sounds of the forest unchanged, but your heart was still pounding.

You hated this feeling. The unease of being alone. Of knowing there was no one else here except you—and whatever Azriel was searching for out there.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to move away from the door. You placed the dagger on the small table by the fireplace but kept it within reach. Just in case.

And then, you waited.

Seven minutes. That’s all it had been since you locked the door behind Azriel, but it felt like an eternity. You had barely moved from your spot, ears straining for any sound from outside. When the knocking finally came, it wasn’t forceful or rushed—it was deliberate. A pattern only you and Azriel knew.

Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap.

Your breath hitched in relief. You rushed to unlock the door, but as soon as you pulled it open, whatever words you had prepared to scold him for scaring you died on your lips.

Azriel stood there, snow dusting his dark hair and leathers, his cheeks flushed red from the cold. But it wasn’t just him.

Cradled in his scarred hands, wrapped carefully in the fabric of his cloak, were two tiny creatures—kittens, barely more than lumps of fur, shivering and covered in clumps of ice. Their pitiful mewls were barely audible, their small bodies trembling from the cold.

“They were scratching around outside,” Azriel murmured, stepping past you and into the warmth of the cabin. Snow melted instantly onto the wooden floors, but he didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on the fragile little creatures in his grasp.

You blinked, still processing the sight before you. “Kittens?”

Azriel nodded, his wings tucking in slightly as he crouched down by the fire. He carefully unwrapped them, revealing their tiny bodies. One was black as night, save for a single white patch on its tiny chest. The other was a dusty grey, its fur speckled with damp snowflakes.

“They wouldn’t have survived the night out there,” he continued, voice softer now, as if speaking too loud would frighten them.

You dropped to your knees beside him, watching as he gently rubbed the kittens with the edge of his cloak, trying to dry them off. Their little eyes were barely open, their ears still too large for their heads. Helpless.

And yet, they’d been fighting. Scratching at the cold, trying to survive.

Your throat tightened.

Azriel, kneeling in front of the fire, his strong, battle-worn hands delicately handling the smallest, most fragile things you’d ever seen—it did something to you.

“You—” You cleared your throat, suddenly overwhelmed. “You really found them just now?”

He nodded again, shifting slightly so that the fire’s heat would reach them better. “Heard them crying. Took me a minute to find them.”

The thought of Azriel searching through the snow, kneeling in the ice and cold for something this small—this insignificant in the grand scheme of war and training and power—made your chest ache.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently touching the damp fur of the black kitten. It let out the tiniest squeak in response.

Azriel glanced at you then, watching the way your fingers stroked down the kitten’s back. His lips twitched, something softer overtaking his expression. “We should keep them warm,” he murmured, like he’d already decided you were keeping them.

You huffed, shaking your head with a small smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

But you didn’t argue. Instead, you got up to find blankets, already thinking of names.

Azriel’s low, warm laugh filled the cabin as he glanced over at the two daggers you had laid out on the table—the very ones you had yanked from his hidden stash the moment you thought something was breaking into the cabin.

“All that over two kittens?” he mused, shaking his head as he carefully adjusted them closer to the fire. The black one gave a tiny sneeze.

You crossed your arms, huffing. “I thought someone was trying to kill me, Az.”

His wings twitched as he fought back another laugh, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. “So your first instinct was to dual-wield my daggers?”

“Yes!” You gestured toward the weapons. “Because I thought I was alone! What was I supposed to do? Politely ask an intruder to leave?”

Azriel’s lips curved into something smug. “And now those daggers are protecting two kittens.”

You scowled, but there was no real heat in it. “I hate you.”

He chuckled, settling onto the floor with the tiny bundles of fur still cradled in his cloak. “No, you don’t.” He rubbed a careful finger behind the grey kitten’s ear, his voice turning softer. “You’re going to love them just as much as I do.”

You sighed, glancing between him, the kittens, and the daggers. Muttering under your breath, you scooped up the weapons and returned them to their hiding place. “Next time, I’m stabbing first and asking questions later.”

Azriel just laughed again, shaking his head. “Sure you will.”

With a huff, you turned on your heel and strode toward your bedroom, muttering under your breath about insufferable Illyrians and their stupid smug faces. Azriel’s quiet chuckle followed you as you yanked open your door.

Your room was dimly lit by the fading embers in the hearth, the cool night air slipping through the wooden walls of the cabin. You made your way to the small chest at the foot of your bed, lifting the lid and rummaging through the neatly folded blankets inside.

Soft, thick wool met your fingers first, the one your mother had woven for you last winter. It would be warm, but you hesitated, thinking about the two tiny, soaked creatures shivering in Azriel’s cloak. You needed something softer, gentler.

You pulled out an old flannel blanket instead, the fabric worn from years of use. It had been yours since you were a child, the one Rhys used to tease you for carrying everywhere. It was warm, soft—perfect.

Still, you grabbed a second, heavier one for good measure before making your way back to the sitting room.

Azriel was right where you’d left him, kneeling in front of the fire, his scarred hands carefully adjusting the tiny kittens nestled in his cloak. They looked even smaller now, their thin, damp fur clinging to their frail bodies.

Wordlessly, you handed him the blankets. His fingers brushed yours as he took them, a silent exchange, a quiet understanding.

“You’re a good liar,” he murmured as he spread the softer blanket out before placing the kittens on it.

You frowned. “What?”

Azriel glanced up, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes. “You say you hate me, but here you are, bringing them blankets.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you dropped onto the floor beside him, watching as he carefully tucked the second blanket over the kittens.

“Shut up, Az,” you muttered, but you reached out anyway, gently brushing a finger over the gray kitten’s tiny head.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled the second blanket tighter around the kittens. “This has nothing to do with you,” you muttered. “It’s about them.”

Azriel raised a brow, settling back on his heels as he watched you fuss over the tiny creatures. “Oh?” he drawled, amusement lacing his tone.

You shot him a look, gently stroking the damp fur of the black kitten. “They’re helpless. Alone. No one looking out for them.” Your voice was quieter now, the words coming almost absentmindedly as you focused on the small, fragile bodies curled into the blanket. “If I left them out there, they wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

Azriel was silent for a moment. Then, softer than before, he murmured, “I know what that’s like.”

Your fingers stilled against the kitten’s fur, your breath catching slightly. You swallowed, blinking at the firelight flickering against the wooden floorboards.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know you do.”

You frowned down at the tiny, shivering kittens, your fingers still smoothing over their damp fur. “What the hell am I even supposed to feed them?” you muttered, glancing up at Azriel.

He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “Uh… milk?”

You rolled your eyes. “Brilliant, Shadowsinger. And how do you suppose I get it into their mouths?”

Azriel scratched the back of his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I don’t know—drip it in?”

You let out a huff, shaking your head. “We don’t exactly have tiny spoons lying around.”

Azriel glanced toward the kitchen, brows furrowing. “Maybe a cloth? Like, soak it and let them suck on it?”

You paused, considering it. “That… might actually work.”

He smirked, looking far too proud of himself. “See? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

You snorted, getting to your feet. “Debatable.”

Azriel just chuckled as you made your way to the kitchen, already muttering about warming the milk and finding a clean cloth.

Azriel stayed seated on the floor, his wings tucked close as he gently rubbed the kittens with the corner of a blanket, trying to dry them off. The tiny creatures trembled in his hands, their small bodies barely bigger than his palms. He frowned, his scarred fingers careful as he tucked them closer to the warmth.

You returned a few moments later with a small bowl of warm milk and a clean scrap of cloth. Kneeling beside him, you dipped the fabric into the milk, letting it soak before bringing it toward the first kitten’s tiny mouth.

“Come on, little one,” you murmured, voice softer than you meant it to be. The kitten sniffed hesitantly before its tiny tongue flicked out, lapping at the damp cloth.

Azriel exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly. “It’s working.”

You nudged him playfully. “Told you.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “That was my idea.”

You ignored him, focusing on feeding the second kitten. This one took a bit longer, weakly turning its head before finally accepting the milk. Azriel watched the entire time, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

You arched a brow at him. “What, keeping helpless creatures alive?”

His smirk faded, something more serious lingering in his hazel eyes. “Yeah.”

Your stomach twisted at the weight of his gaze, but you pushed it aside, focusing back on the kittens. “Well, let’s hope they make it through the night.”

Azriel nodded, but as you worked together to keep them warm and fed, you swore you felt his attention linger on you a little longer than necessary.

As the kittens curled up in the blankets, finally warm and fed, you leaned back against the wooden floor, watching them with a soft expression. Azriel, still crouched beside them, absentmindedly stroked one with the tip of his finger, his wings slightly flared to keep the warmth trapped around them.

You tilted your head, studying him. “So… you fought for a weekend pass?”

Azriel didn’t look at you right away. He kept his focus on the kittens, his jaw tightening slightly before he nodded. “Yeah.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why fight for it?” You crossed your arms, leaning in slightly. “Rhys and Cassian couldn’t.”

Azriel let out a quiet huff, finally meeting your gaze. “I fought for it because I could.”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s not an answer.”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “Something felt… off. Like I needed to be here.”

You stared at him, something tightening in your chest. It was ridiculous—there was no way he could’ve known anything was wrong before he left the camps. And yet…

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, looking away. “I might’ve stabbed you on instinct when you walked in.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

You glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, I would’ve gotten away with it.”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Doubtful.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his expression lingered. And despite everything, for the first time all night, you didn’t feel so alone.

Azriel leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. The fire crackled, casting warm light over the small space as the two of you sat in silence, watching the kittens squirm closer together in the blankets.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve before finally speaking. “So… what did you tell the commander?”

Azriel glanced at you, raising a brow. “For the pass?”

You nodded.

He hesitated for a moment, then smirked slightly. “Told him I had unfinished business in the mountains and he let me fight for it.”

You frowned. “That’s it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think he cared enough to question me.”

You snorted. “Must be nice to get away with anything just because you can brood well.”

Azriel chuckled under his breath. “It’s a talent.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling despite everything. Silence settled again, comfortable this time, as you watched the kittens shift in their sleep. You still weren’t sure what to do with them, but at least they were safe for now.

After a few moments, Azriel spoke again, voice quieter this time. “I meant it, you know.”

You glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Meant what?”

“That something felt wrong.” His golden eyes flickered to yours, serious now. “Like I was supposed to be here.”

Your throat tightened slightly, and you looked away. You didn’t know how to respond to that—not without acknowledging the strange comfort that had settled in your chest the moment he’d walked through the door.

Instead, you nudged one of the kittens with a finger, watching as it stirred slightly. “Well,” you said after a moment, keeping your tone light, “good thing you showed up when you did.”

Azriel hummed. “Yeah. Good thing.”

And for the first time that night, you believed it.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to the small table near the couch, where your book lay open, the spine barely holding together from how often you’d read it. He reached for it, careful not to smudge the ink with the faint traces of snow still melting from his gloves.

“You were reading?” he asked, his voice almost teasing.

You scoffed. “What else would I be doing?”

He hummed, flipping the page absentmindedly. “Hiding weapons, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you watched as his fingers traced the lines of text, his brow furrowing slightly as he read a passage.

“You always read this one,” he murmured.

You hesitated before answering. “It’s a good book.”

Azriel glanced at you, tilting his head. “It’s about a warrior.”

You shrugged. “So?”

“So, I thought you preferred stories about scholars.”

You sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around the kittens. “Maybe I like both.”

Azriel smirked but didn’t push further. He turned his attention back to the book, scanning another passage before finally closing it and setting it aside.

“You never finish it,” he noted.

You swallowed. “I already know how it ends.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant. Then, without another word, he leaned back into the couch, letting the firelight flicker between you.

Azriel leaned back against the couch, arms resting loosely over his knees as he watched you. His hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable in the dim firelight. After a moment, he nodded toward the book still sitting on the table.

"Tell me about it," he said.

You glanced at him, surprised. "You want me to explain the book to you?"

He shrugged. "You read it enough times. Must mean something to you."

You hesitated, running your fingers over the frayed edges of the blanket wrapped around the kittens. You weren’t sure why it mattered, why he cared. But there was something in the way he looked at you—expectant, patient—that made you want to answer.

"It's about a warrior," you started, shifting slightly to face him more. "But not the kind everyone respects. He's—" You stopped, choosing your words carefully. "He's underestimated. Always overlooked. But he never stops fighting."

Azriel's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "Fighting for what?"

"For himself," you said softly. "For a place in the world."

A long silence stretched between you, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Azriel’s gaze stayed on you, unreadable, but there was something there—something knowing.

Finally, he said, “Sounds like someone I know.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

A rare smirk tugged at his lips, but it faded just as quickly. “That’s not what I meant.” His voice had lost its teasing edge. “I meant you.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you masked it with a scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t have anything to fight for.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened. “That’s a lie.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, you reached for the book and held it up between you. "Want me to keep going, or are you just going to sit there and psychoanalyze me?"

His smirk returned, softer this time. "Both."

You rolled your eyes but opened the book anyway. And as you read, Azriel sat quietly, listening—not just to the story, but to you.

You read aloud, your voice soft in the quiet of the cabin, the firelight flickering against the walls. The kittens stirred slightly in their blanket, one of them letting out a tiny sigh as it nestled closer to the warmth. Azriel remained where he was, eyes trained on you, though his expression had relaxed into something almost peaceful.

After a while, you glanced up at him. "You’re actually listening?"

His lips quirked. "You sound surprised."

You snorted. "You never sit still long enough for a story."

Azriel shrugged, shifting slightly but making no move to leave. "I like the way you tell it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his tone. A warmth spread through your chest, unexpected and unfamiliar. You swallowed it down, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the book.

“Alright, Shadowsinger. Try to keep up.”

You kept reading, and he kept listening, and for the first time in a long while, the cabin didn’t feel quite so empty.

The fire crackled as you continued reading, the warmth of the cabin pressing in around you both. Azriel shifted, resting his forearms on his knees as he listened, his eyes half-lidded but focused. You weren’t sure if he was actually interested in the story or if he was just content to sit here with you, but he hadn’t moved an inch since you’d started.

The kittens stirred again, one of them attempting to crawl onto Azriel’s lap. Without hesitation, he scooped the tiny creature up in his scarred hands, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tucked it back into the blankets. The sight of him—lethal, quiet Azriel cradling something so small—made something twist in your chest.

"You should sleep," he murmured after a while, breaking the silence.

You huffed a laugh. "You’re the one who’s been running around in the snow all night. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?"

Azriel smirked. "I’ve had worse nights."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you closed the book, setting it aside before leaning back against the couch. "Fine. But you’re stuck with these two now," you said, nodding toward the kittens.

He glanced at them, still curled up in their little blanket nest. "Guess that makes us their parents now."

You snorted. "Terrifying thought."

Azriel only chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back, his wings shifting slightly. The firelight flickered over Azriel’s face as he watched the kittens, his expression unreadable. You shifted slightly, pulling the blankets tighter around them, making sure they were warm. The little creatures had barely stopped shivering since he found them, but now, tucked between the two of you, they were finally settling.

Azriel reached out absently, his fingers brushing over one of their tiny ears. “They’re so small,” he murmured.

You huffed. “That’s usually how kittens work.”

His lips quirked, but his hazel eyes remained distant, thoughtful. You recognized that look—the one that meant he was somewhere else in his mind, somewhere darker.

You nudged him lightly with your foot. “Where’d you go?”

Azriel blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts had stolen him away. “Nowhere.”

“Liar.”

His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled through his nose. “I was just thinking.”

You didn’t push, waiting instead. That was always how it worked with Azriel—if you waited long enough, he’d let you in.

After a pause, he said quietly, “They would’ve died out there.”

You swallowed, understanding now. It wasn’t just about the kittens. Azriel had once been left in the cold, too—left to die, left to suffer. And no one had come for him.

But tonight, he had been the one to save something small and helpless.

“They’re safe now,” you said softly.

Azriel nodded, but you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed as if he still wasn’t sure if safety was something real, something permanent.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing his wrist. Just a small touch, grounding. Azriel looked at you, startled, but he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled, the wind howled faintly outside, but here—here, it was warm.

And maybe, just for tonight, that was enough.

Azriel’s eyes lingered on where your fingers brushed against his wrist. You half-expected him to pull away, to close himself off like he always did when something felt too much. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.

The kittens stirred between you, one of them curling into your lap, the other nestling against Azriel’s side. His gloved fingers twitched before he carefully, hesitantly, stroked the small creature’s fur. It let out a tiny, contented sigh.

You watched him, your voice softer now. “Why’d you really fight for that weekend pass? I know you trust me to be alone so what's the other reason.”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. His thumb traced absent circles on the kitten’s head, his gaze still far away. Then, quietly, he admitted, “I just… I didn’t want to be there.”

Your brows furrowed. “The training?”

He shook his head. “The camps. Being surrounded by them.” He didn’t have to say who they were—the other warriors, the ones who had spent years taunting and ridiculing him. Even as Rhysand and Cassian fought for him, as they carved out space for him, there were still plenty who saw him as nothing more than a bastard-born wretch with shadows for blood.

Your stomach twisted. “You could’ve gone anywhere, then. You could’ve gone to Velaris for the weekend.”

His hazel eyes flickered to yours, something hesitant lurking in them. “I wanted to be here.”

Your breath caught. With you. He didn’t say it, but the words hummed in the silence between you, unspoken but there.

You swallowed, looking down at the kitten curled in your lap, stroking its soft fur to distract from the way your heart was suddenly pounding. “Well,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice light, “lucky you showed up when you did. I had just armed myself to the teeth over a pair of kittens.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a sight I won’t forget anytime soon.”

You glanced down at the two tiny kittens, who were now curled up in the blankets you’d gathered. One of them let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, its little paws twitching as it dozed off.

Azriel was still stroking the other absentmindedly, his touch lighter than you’d ever seen it. His scarred fingers barely skimmed the soft fur, as if he were afraid he might break the tiny creature.

A thought struck you, and you smirked, tilting your head to look at him. “Did you even check what gender they are?”

Azriel blinked, looking up from the kitten like you’d just asked him the most complicated question in the world. “What?”

You grinned. “You heard me, Shadowsinger. Did you actually check, or did you just swoop in, play hero, and assume?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes at you. “I was a little preoccupied with the fact that they were half-frozen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, let’s see then.” Carefully, you scooped up the kitten in your lap, gently tilting it to check. “This one’s a girl,” you announced.

Azriel eyed the one still in his lap. “How are you so sure?”

You rolled your eyes. “I grew up taking in strays, remember? Unlike someone, I know how to check.”

Azriel gave you a flat look but still, hesitantly, lifted his own kitten to check. A second passed. Then another.

“Well?” you prompted.

Azriel sighed. “Another girl.”

You grinned. “Looks like you just brought home two little ladies, Shadowsinger.”

He muttered something under his breath, but you could see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he set the kitten back down.

“They’re going to need names, you know,” you mused.

Azriel just hummed, eyes still on the tiny creatures. “You name them,” he said, voice quieter now.

You blinked, glancing at him. “Really?”

He nodded, fingers still idly stroking the soft fur. “You’re better at that sort of thing.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest at that.

Maybe it was the firelight flickering in his hazel eyes, or the fact that he had chosen to be here, with you, instead of anywhere else. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t just a girl in a cabin with her books.

You were his person. The one he came back to.

You turned your attention back to the two tiny, shivering kittens. Their fur was still slightly damp from the melted snow, but they were tucked in so deep in the blankets that warmth was finally settling into their small bodies.

Azriel was watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness there—something rare. Something reserved only for moments like this.

You ran a gentle finger over one of the kittens' tiny ears. “Alright,” you murmured, thinking. “How about… Nyra for this one?” You pointed to the smaller of the two, the one with the white-tipped paws.

Azriel considered it for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Nyra,” he repeated. “Sounds fitting.”

That alone made you smile, knowing he wasn’t just humouring you—he genuinely liked it.

You turned to the second kitten, the one currently curled into Azriel’s lap. “And this one… maybe Sora?”

Azriel hummed, running a careful hand down her back. “Nyra and Sora,” he mused. “They sound like trouble.”

You snorted. “Like you wouldn’t take in the most troublesome creatures you could find.”

He smirked, a glint of amusement flashing through his hazel eyes. “I took you in, didn’t I?”

You gasped, swatting at his arm. “I took you in, actually. You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep with these two.”

Azriel laughed, and it was a sound so rare that it made warmth flood your chest. It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was real.

For a moment, the cold outside didn’t exist. The camps didn’t exist. There was no looming war, no responsibilities, no future heartbreak waiting in the shadows.

It was just you and Azriel, in your tiny cabin, with two tiny creatures that now belonged to you.

Azriel was still watching the kittens when you hesitated, shifting slightly on the floor where you sat. You fiddled with the edge of the blanket draped over your legs, suddenly unsure if this was stupid or not.

But then you sighed, shaking off the hesitation, and reached beside you to grab something from under the chair.

“When I got bored earlier,” you started, keeping your voice casual, “I actually tried making something.”

Azriel glanced at you then, interest flickering in his gaze. “Oh?”

You nodded, rubbing your thumb over the woven strands of fabric in your hands. “Yeah. I, uh…” You huffed a quiet laugh. “I felt like stabbing something, honestly, but my mother would have killed me if I started hacking at her sewing materials.”

Azriel’s lips twitched. “That’s fair.”

“So,” you continued, holding up the thing you had made, “I figured I should braid something instead.”

You let the piece of fabric unfurl between your fingers, revealing the long, intricate fishtail braid you had spent hours working on. The deep blue and black threads were woven together tightly, not perfect, but solid.

Azriel reached out, running a scarred finger over the braid with an unreadable expression. “You made this?”

You nodded, feeling a little ridiculous now that you were actually showing him. “Took me four hours,” you admitted, wrinkling your nose. “Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds pathetic.”

Azriel picked it up, turning it in his hands carefully. “It doesn’t.”

You scoffed. “It does.”

He ignored you, still examining the braid. “Why did you make it for me?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know. I was thinking about you while I was doing it, I guess.” You forced a smirk. “And I know you’re dramatic enough to wear something like this on your leathers.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic?”

“Yes.”

He shot you a dry look but didn’t argue. Instead, he ran his fingers along the woven strands again before tying it around his wrist.

Your breath hitched slightly as you watched him secure it. “You’re wearing it?”

He looked up at you, something softer in his eyes. “You made it,” he said simply.

Something warm curled in your chest. You looked away before he could see the way your face heated. “It’s not that great.”

“It’s perfect.”

You swallowed, focusing on the kittens instead of the way your heart stuttered in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azriel only smirked, leaning back against the chair. “And yet you’re the one making me gifts.”

Azriel let his arm rest on his bent knee, the braid still wrapped snugly around his wrist. His fingers absentmindedly traced over the woven strands, his expression unreadable.

You kept your focus on the kittens, using the excuse of adjusting their blankets to keep from looking at him. The warmth in your chest from seeing him wear your braid still lingered, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with it.

Silence stretched between you for a moment before Azriel finally spoke.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me something before besides your mother giving me clothes.”

Your fingers stilled. Slowly, you turned to him, brows furrowing slightly. “Really?”

He gave a small shrug, looking down at his wrist. “Really.”

You chewed on your lip. It wasn’t like it was something extravagant—it was just a simple braid. But the way he kept touching it, the way his voice was so quiet when he spoke…

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest. “Well,” you said, keeping your voice light, “I guess that just means I get the honor of being the first.”

Azriel’s lips curved slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow around the room. The snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in white.

After a moment, Azriel’s voice cut through the quiet again.

“You should make more.”

You blinked. “More what?”

He gestured vaguely at his wrist. “Braids.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to make you more?”

Azriel shrugged. “Maybe.” His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. “It’s nice.”

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

He just smirked. “And yet you’re still sitting here with me instead of kicking me out.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, you reached over, running a gentle hand over one of the kittens as it purred.

“Maybe I will make more,” you muttered.

Azriel’s smirk softened into something quieter, something you couldn’t quite place. “Good.”

A soft rustling came from the pile of blankets, followed by a tiny, high-pitched mewl. You glanced down just in time to see one of the kittens—Nyra—stretching her tiny paws forward, her mouth opening in a silent yawn. The little black-and-white fluffball wobbled unsteadily as she tried to sit up, blinking groggily.

Sora wasn’t far behind. The little gray kitten, slightly smaller than her sister, let out a chirping noise before nuzzling against Nyra’s side for warmth. But after a few seconds, she, too, pushed herself up onto unsteady paws, her tail twitching as she adjusted to being awake.

Azriel chuckled as he watched them. “Guess they’re finally ready to explore their new home.”

You smiled as Nyra took a brave step forward—only to immediately tumble sideways onto Sora. Sora let out a tiny squeak in protest, batting at her sister with an uncoordinated paw.

“They’re hopeless,” you murmured, reaching out to gently straighten Nyra again. The kitten blinked up at you, her little pink nose twitching.

Azriel smirked. “They’ll fit right in, then.”

You shot him a look, but he only laughed.

Nyra, now more confident on her feet, started sniffing at the folds of the blanket, her ears perked forward with curiosity. Sora, after a moment of watching, mimicked her, the two of them wobbling forward together in tiny, unsteady steps.

You shook your head fondly. “We’re going to have our hands full, aren’t we?”

Azriel hummed in agreement, but his attention was still on the kittens. Something in his gaze was softer than usual, like he was allowing himself to enjoy this moment in a way he rarely did.

You leaned back slightly, watching as Nyra pounced—if you could even call it that—on a loose thread of the blanket. She missed entirely, tumbling into Sora instead. Sora let out a disgruntled chirp, but rather than moving away, she curled up against her sister, blinking sleepily again.

Azriel exhaled a quiet laugh. “Hopeless,” he repeated.

You just smiled.

Nyra and Sora, despite their brief moment of wakefulness, were already curling back up together, little bodies pressed close for warmth. You reached out, gently running a finger over Nyra’s tiny head, feeling the soft fur beneath your touch. She let out a contented little sigh but didn’t stir much beyond that.

Azriel shifted beside you, resting his forearm on his knee as he watched them with a quiet sort of fondness. “They’re going to be spoiled, aren’t they?”

You smirked. “Of course they are.”

His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in them for a moment before he glanced back at the kittens. A comfortable silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustling as one of the kittens adjusted.

Eventually, Azriel leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs in front of him. “You know,” he mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this… maternal.”

You snorted. “I’m not maternal. They’re just tiny and helpless, and I don’t want them to die.”

Azriel chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. That’s all it is.”

You nudged him with your elbow, rolling your eyes. “Don’t start.”

He grinned but didn’t push further. Instead, he let his head rest against the back of the couch, exhaling slowly.

For a moment, you just watched him, noting how much more relaxed he seemed here than he ever did at the camps. Maybe it was the warmth of the fire, the soft sounds of the kittens breathing, or the simple fact that, for once, he wasn’t expected to be training or on edge. Whatever it was, you found yourself wishing he could have more moments like this.

“You should get some rest,” Azriel murmured suddenly, eyes still closed.

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue.

The fire flickered, casting shadows along the walls, and you let yourself relax just a little bit more, listening to the quiet of the cabin.

Without thinking much of it, you shifted slightly and leaned against Azriel’s shoulder. His body tensed for just a moment—barely noticeable—but then he relaxed, adjusting just enough to accommodate your weight.

Neither of you said anything about it.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth of it seeping into your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as comforting as the solid presence of Azriel beside you. He smelled like fresh air and steel, like the crisp chill of the mountains and something else uniquely him.

His shoulder was firm beneath you, the muscles taut from years of training, but he didn’t move away, didn’t tease or make a comment. Instead, he just sat there, breathing steady, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping kittens.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind that settled in deep, wrapping around you like a thick, well-worn blanket.

Eventually, Azriel let out a soft breath. “You’re going to fall asleep like this.”

You hummed, eyes growing heavier by the second. “Maybe.”

He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t push you away. Instead, you felt the slightest shift in his posture, as if he were leaning into you just as much as you were leaning into him.

[worlds-we-write]

Something to Hold Onto II one shot

summary: On a cold night in a secluded cabin, Joel finally shows you just how much he wants you—slow, possessive, and worshiping every inch of you like you were made for him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

warning/tags: jackson era joel, soft dom joel, soft joel, curyv/mid/plus size reader, reader has insecurity, body worship, praise, unprotected piv

The fire crackles in the small cabin, its flickering light casting long shadows over the worn wooden walls. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, a relentless reminder of the world beyond. But here, in the sanctuary of these four walls, it’s just the two of you.

You shift on the makeshift bedroll, the blankets tangled around your legs. You’re warm, but that has less to do with the fire and more to do with Joel Miller’s presence beside you. He’s sitting on an old chair near the fireplace, one boot propped on the edge of the hearth, watching you with those deep, assessing eyes.

“You should be sleepin’,” he murmurs, voice thick like honey, rough like gravel.

You shrug, cheeks warm under his gaze. “You’re not sleeping either.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Somebody’s gotta keep watch.”

You know better that to argue with him, but the way he watches you – it makes you feel something deep in your chest, something vulnerable. Something you’re not used to.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low, expectant.

You hesitate, but only for a second. Joel has a way of making hesitation disappear. You move toward him, and before you can settle, his large hands find your hips, guiding you onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tense, self-conscious, but Joel sighs, like he’s finally at ease. One of his hands slides up your back, the other gripping your thick thigh, his touch firm but gentle. “There we go,” he mutters, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Joel…”

“You’re so damn soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. “Always feel so good in my hands.”

Your breath stutters. You don’t hear words like that often.

He feels it – your hesitation, your doubt – and his grip tightens, grounding. His other hand drifts up your back, fingers trailing along the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it, finding warm skin. “Ain’t got nothin’ to be shy about,” he says voice rough with conviction. “I like you just the way you are. Love the way you feel against me. The way you fit against me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands curling into the fabric of his flannel. “You mean that?”

Joel tilts his head, his lips ghosting along your jaw before he cups your chin, tilting your face so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweetheart.” His thumb brushes against your lower lip. “Now, you gonna let me hold you proper, or you gonna keep frettin’ over nothing?”

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, heavy and warm. You nod, just once, and Joel makes a satisfied sound before wrapping his arms fully around you, pulling you close, his body solid and steady beneath yours.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against your temple. “Knew you’d come around.”

And just like that, the cold world outside fades away.

Joel holds you like he means it. Like you’re something worth protecting, worth keeping close. His hands rest heavy against you – not hesitant, not testing, just there, as if he knows exactly what he wants, and it’s you.

You melt against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, and he hums low in his chest. The sound rumbles through you, grounding, reassuring. His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it again, warm against your skin.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips grazing your hairline. “Knew you just needed to be held for a bit.”

Your breath shudders out of you, the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveling. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this – not out of necessity, not in passing, but with intent.

Joel’s intent is written all over him. It’s in the way he holds you close, the way his fingers trace lazy circles at the base of your spine, the way his other hand stays firm on your thigh, like he’s staking a claim.

“You run yourself ragged,” he mutters after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, almost scolding. “Tryin’ to prove something.”

You tense, but he soothes it away with another slow drag of his fingers along your back.

“I ain’t trying to prove anything,” you say under your breath.

Joel huffs. “That so?”’ His lips press against the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower. “Then why do you get all stiff when I tell you how much I like this?” His hand tightens on your thigh, fingers flexing. “How good you feel against me?”

Heat floods your cheeks, “Joel—”

“Mm.” He noses along your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes – dark, unwavering – hold you still. “You think I don’t see you?” His fingers press into your flesh, a firm, grounding grip. “Think I don’t feel what it does to you when I touch you like this?”

Your breath catches. “I just – I’m not—”

“Shh.” His thumb ghosts over your lower lip, shushing you gently. “Ain’t got nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart.” He cups your face fully now, calloused fingers cradling you like you’re something fragile – though you know Joel Miller doesn’t do fragile. Not unless he cares.

And that thought? It sinks into your chest, heavy and warm.

“You always act so tough,” he murmurs. “Always puttin’ other people first.” His other hand drifts higher, squeezing at your hip. “Maybe it’s time somebody took care of you for once.”

You exhale shakily, something in your defenses crumbling under the weight of his words. “Joel…”

“I got you,” He reassures, his lips brushing yours – not quite a kiss, not yet, just the promise of one. His hands stay where they are, holding you firm, steady, safe. “Just let me have you for a little while. Let me show you.”

And maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the warmth of the fire, maybe it’s just him, but you let go. Let yourself sink into his touch, into his presence, into the quiet promise in his eyes.

Joel hums in approval, his lips finally meet yours, slow and deep, as his arms tighten around you. Holding you like he’s never letting go.

Joel kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like there’s no rush, no threat outside these walls, just the slow, steady way his lips move against yours. His grip on your tightens – not rough, but firm, grounding, possessive in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes you sigh into his mouth. He takes it as permission, his hands roaming, mapping the curves of your body like he’s memorizing you.

“That’s it,” he mutters against your lips, his voice dark and pleased. “Knew you’d let me in if I was patient.”

Your fingers curl into his flannel, holding onto him like he’s the only steady thing in the world. Maybe he is.

“Joel…” you murmur, your breath shaky.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek. His eyes are molten in the firelight, filled with something you’re not sure you deserve but want so badly.

“You’re not used to being taken care of, are you?” he questions.

Your throat tightens. You should look away, but he won’t let you. His fingers tilt your chin just enough to keep you locked in place, waiting for an answer.

“I—” You swallow hard. “Not like this.”

Joel exhales through his nose, like he already knew the answer. His grip tightens – not to restrain, but to reassure.

“Well,” he says, dragging his lips over your jaw, then lower, tracing a path down your neck. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you, huh?”

You shiver as his mouth lingers at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Teach me?” you echo, your voice barley more than a breath.

His teeth scrape just enough to make your breath hitch, then he soothes the spot with his tongue. “Mhm,” he hums. “Gonna teach you how to take what you’re given. How to let yourself be wanted.”

A low, needy sound escapes your throat before you can stop it, and Joel groans in response, his fingers tightening at your waist.

“You like that?” he whispers, dragging his lips back up to your ear. “Like the way I hold you? The way I touch you?”

You nod – small, hesitant.

He makes a pleased sound, then suddenly grips your thigh, squeezing hard enough to make your gasp. “Say it.”

Your stomach flips, heat coiling low at the quiet command in his voice.

“I like it. Like it when you touch me,” you utter.

Joel hums his approval, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good girl.” His hands move again, slow but deliberate, smoothing over the soft flesh of your hips, your waist, “Love every inch of you, y’know that?”

You freeze for a moment – because no, you didn’t know that.

Joel notices immediately. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer that you expect. His fingers flex against your sides, holding you steady.

“You listen to me,” he growls, his voice lower now, rougher. “Ain’t gonna let you talk yourself outta this. Ain’t gonna let you hide from what I see.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “And I see you, sweetheart. Every damn bit of you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you close your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind them. Joel lets you sit in it for a moment before he shifts, rolling his hips just enough to remind you exactly where you’re sitting.

Your breath catches, and he smirks. “You feel that?” His voice is deeper now, thick with want. “That’s for you. Every bit of me, wantin’ every bit of you.”

You whimper, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

Joel chuckles, low and dark, then lifts you effortlessly, shifting you until your back meets the mattress, his broad frame caging you in.

“Now,” he hums, his lips hovering just above yours. “You gonna let me take my time with you? Show you how good you are?”

You nod quickly, breathless, and Joel grins against your lips.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel doesn’t rush.

He takes his time, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. His hands map every inch of you – tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the soft dip of your stomach. Not with hesitation, not with restraint, but with purpose. Like he’s worshipping you.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing lower, his hands gripping your hips as he settles between your legs. “So damn beautiful.”

You let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the weight of his touch, the way he looks at you – like he’s starved, like he needs you.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you whisper, a hint of doubt creeping into your voice.

Joel freezes. His grip on your hips tightens, and when he lifts his head, his expression is serious. “You think I don’t mean it?” His voice low, rough. “Think I’d be here – with you, like this – if I didn’t want you? If it didn’t mean every damn word?”

You swallow hard. He’s watching you so closely, waiting for you to believe him.

“I – I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barley above a whisper.

Joel exhales slowly, his thumb stroking soft circles against your skin. He doesn’t want to argue. Doesn’t try to convince you with words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss just above your heart, then another, lower, lips warm against your skin.

“Then let me show you,” he murmurs.

And he does.

Every touch, every kiss, every slow deliberate movement – Joel worships you, his hands reverent, his mouth hungry. He doesn’t let you shy away, doesn’t let you hide.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Joel groans, his grip tightening.

“God, I love hearing you like that,” he mutters. “ Love feelin’ you like this.” His hands skim your sides, his lips pressing against the swell of your stomach, lingering. “Ain’t a damn thing I don’t love about you, darling.”

Your breath catches. No one’s ever touches you like this, looked at you like this. Like you’re wanted. Joel lifts his head, his eyes dark and serious. “I need you to believe me,” he says quietly. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod slowly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Joel grins, slow and satisfied, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice full of promise. “Now let me take care of you.”

The fire crackles low in the hearth, its glow casting shifting shadows across the cabin walls. The wind outside howls against the wood, but in here, wrapped in Joel’s arms, all you can hear is the sound of his breath—steady, warm, needy.

He has you beneath him now, your back pressing into the worn mattress, the weight of his body heavy in the best way. His hands roam slowly, reverently, as if he’s memorizing you, rough palms smoothing over the dips and swells of your form, squeezing, gripping, claiming.

“Christ,” Joel mutters, voice husky, half-broken as his fingers dig into your soft hips, molding you to him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath coming out in short, heated pants. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your body hums under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, kissing, biting, soothing. He groans when you shiver, when your fingers tangle in his hair and pull, just enough to make his breath hitch.

"That’s it," he rasps, his tongue tracing over your pulse. "Lemme hear you, baby. Lemme feel you." He shifts lower, trailing his mouth over the swell of your chest, his teeth grazing sensitive skin before he sucks a mark there—deep and dark, something undeniable.

"Joel," you whimper, arching into him, the sound of your voice making his grip tighten.

"Yeah, baby?" He lifts his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide with heat. His fingers stroke slow circles over your stomach, teasing lower, ghosting over where you need him. "Tell me what you want. Lemme hear you say it."

Your breath stutters, heat rushing to your cheeks. He’s watching you so closely, waiting. Not teasing—testing.

"I—" You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. "I want you, Joel. Please."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and deep, his hands gripping your thighs as he parts them wider.

His thumb strokes your inner thigh, the pad of his finger pressing just enough to make you shiver. “You with me, sweetheart?” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. When you nod, breath hitching, he rewards you with a slow, satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Now lemme hear how much you want it.”

His touch is everywhere—hot, possessive, devouring. His fingers press into soft flesh, squeezing like he loves the way you feel beneath him. And when he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for, when he fills you, it’s with a deep, guttural groan, his face buried against your neck as he stills, trembling.

"Fuck," he rasps, his breath ragged against your skin. "So tight. So warm. Jesus, sweetheart, you were made for me."

You whimper, fingers digging into his back as he starts to move, slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him, every stroke, every roll of his hips.

Joel presses you deeper into the mattress, the sheer weight of him overwhelming in the best way. His hands frame your face, tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Keep your eyes on me,” he orders, his voice a gravelly whisper, his fingers tracing the curve of your lower lip before he claims your mouth in a searing, breath-stealing kiss.

He keeps his face close, whispering between ragged breaths, telling you how perfect you feel, how beautiful you are like this, like his.

"You feel that?" His voice is thick, desperate. "That’s all for you, darlin’. Every last bit of me—yours."

The world outside fades, lost to the rhythm of your bodies, the heat of his skin, the roughness of his hands. Joel isn’t just taking you—he’s worshiping you, like he’s been starving for this, for you. And when he finally lets go, when you both break, it’s together—his grip tightening, his lips murmuring against your skin, his body wrapped around you like he never wants to let go.

And maybe, just maybe, he never will.

AN: Hey y’all! 💕 This was such a pleasure to write—there’s just something about Joel being all rough, protective, and soft in his own way that makes my heart (and other things 👀) melt. I wanted this to feel intimate, a mix of raw desire and deep care, because let’s be real—Joel would take his time worshiping every inch of you. 😏

Hope you enjoyed this little indulgence! Let me know what you think—I love hearing from you! 💖✨

[xylatox]

The Troubles of Choi Beomgyu | cbg

IM FINALLY READING THIS AHH. After absolutely going through it during The Redemption of Choi Yeonjun (an absolutely amazing read) Serene releases a sequel omg😭 There are no amount of words that can express my excitement to read this piece.

Ever since Yeonjun had gotten together with that stupid nerd he’d changed. Changed for the worse. And it seemed as if Beomgyu was the only one who could see it. — lmfao Gyu😭

I already love reader's ability to speak out against Beomgyu, that's so attractive of her. — And without his friends to protect him, you were finally able to sharpen the knife that had been so diligently resting behind your back for three years. — You had longed for an opportunity to get back at him for all the shit he caused you through freshman and junior year; and finally, the universe presented you with one.  — I love her; also the tension between them is amazing.

Hehe Taehyun appears, I'm so happy (Seeing him here makes me think about CC Taehyun 🚬, sigh I miss him) — Behind you, Taehyun lets out a short huff, his lips pulling into a menacing smirk as he eyes your expression. — “Was this also part of your ‘plan’?” — I love Taehyun he's so annoying (lovingly)

I DIDNT EXPECT TAEHYUN TO BE A VICTIM OF GYU???? SERENE????

Omg I could sob, the fact that Gyu was so sweet before he met Jjun and the fact that him and reader were such cute friends :( no wonder she's so fed up of him,and can talk to him like that

She’d dated one of the Choi’s, until he left her for that shy nerd, served her right. — But even the two of them had already gotten together to get working on their presentation.  — all the references make me giggle

Beomgyu pays them little mind as he rolls his eyes, instead he watches your retreating figure as you push past the crowd in which you had emerged from. A subtle smirk playing on his lips as he mindlessly fiddles with the note in his pocket.  — oh my god, I love this

It felt almost surreal. Two years of being strangers in the halls, two years of constant insults, two years of hatred. Yet here he was, so close to you, just like he had been before everything changed, before he changed.  — I feel so bad that their relationship turned out like this :((

Your eyes widen when he suddenly takes a step forward, reaching for the accessory as he plucks it from your fingers. “So that, in a way, I’ll always be with you”, he says as he wraps the leather around your wrist. — No cuz it was so sweet :((((((( why did Gyu have to change. His response to reader still having the bracelet also hurts too, I'm desperately hoping it's just a front Gyu has up.

“Oh that’s right”, he muses, “You think you’re special because I was nice to you back then, because I took pity on you.” He pushes a strand of dark hair from his face with the help of his pinky, “Bet it was the first time something like that happened.”  — he's so mean no :(((( this hurts

THE KISS???? SCREAMING???? — The silence that follows echoes through your small dorm. And you remain on your bed, motionless, staring ahead as your fingers reach up to touch your lips. — Still burning with the fire he’d igninited. — oh my god.

It makes me so happy Taehyun and Kai are roommates:)) Also that entire conversation they had just makes me feel sad and idk why

Omg, the fight between Jjun and Gyu :(

The next kiss is initiated by you, not him. It’s soft, and it reminds you of the one you’d given him last week. Slow, hesitant, but tender. And Beomgyu’s hands reluctantly drop from your face, gently sliding down your arms and sides before settling on your waist. — You had known for a long time now that you felt empathy for him. That you pitied him. Perhaps it was why you let him use you. — what if I went insane

Beomgyu showed up. He didn’t look you in the eyes when he took his papers from you. He didn’t look at you during the presentation, he kept his gaze ahead, fixated on the rest of your joint classes. He didn’t speak to you before, during, or after it. Not even a simple, ‘well done’ or even a ‘thanks’ when you’d offered to take his papers and throw them away for him. — this hurts.

Despite his past actions, I like that we see Yeonjun being pleasant considering his past behaviour. It also sucks to see his friendship with Gyu fall apart.

Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes widen tenfold when they fall on the familiar piece of leather. It was the same warm brown, and the contrastingly dark navy blue. The bracelet which you had cherished for so long, the one you had clung onto in the hopes that his matching part would still exist somewhere. — im going to sob wtf

ANS THE FACT SHE ALSO GOT A BRACLET FOR HERSELF??? Omg they are so stupid I love them

His breath is warm against your lips as his own hover above them. The tip of his round nose brushes against yours, the small contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. “What I should have done from the start”, he murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. — screaming

I'm gonna cry :(( I absolutely love the end, I was so worried Jjun and Gyu didn't get to fix their friendship but they did :( Serene this was an absolutely lovely read!!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ And you don’t know why you took a step forward, why you let your hands brush against his, why you didn’t stop when you saw the bewilderment on his face. You don’t know why you leaned in closer, when you should be pulling back. — And you don’t know why you couldn’t look away, why you couldn’t tear your gaze from the flames dancing across his eyes. 

You don’t know why you kissed him. ⸝⸝

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 25.5k ་༘࿐

𝓹airing bully!beomgyu x fed-up!reader (f) 𝔀arning friends to enemies to lovers, bullying, implied violence, violence, beomgyu's a dick, reader's also mean at times, college au, kissing, fingering, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex + pullout, angsty confessions, hmm um um what else, I have no clue..

#serene adds ✎... HAPPY BEOMGYU DAY !! (because it's still the 13th here) ⎯ and oh my god have you guys been waiting for this fic... how long has it been, 6/7 months? maybe even more... I have no words. I feel like this fic is a little all over the place, you might notice the inner monologue changing and so on, but that's because I've been writing it over 6 months roughly, my view on the story has changed with each month... I hope it'll still be worth your while >.< happy gyu day, my love <33 - rain says I need to mention her

This story is a sequel to, The Redemption of Choi Yeonjun ⎯ It's advised that you read said fic beforehand !

People change for the stupidest of reasons. At least Beomgyu thinks so. He’s been told that his view of the world is narrow, that change is something good, something that everyone goes through. That change is important. What a load of bullshit. Look what change had done to his best friend. — Ever since Yeonjun had gotten together with that stupid nerd he’d changed. Changed for the worse. And it seemed as if Beomgyu was the only one who could see it. 

He glares at his classmates, but his once sharp gaze seems to have lost its touch. They whisper, talk, murmur, gossip, they speculate about him. Because everyone knew that something had happened between The Choi’s, that something was no longer the same. — But why him? Beomgyu wasn’t the one who’d changed, they changed, not him. Yeonjun was the one who…He was the one who became infatuated with that good for nothing nerd, and Soobin he…he just accepted it? 

Beomgyu almost snorts at the thought. Fine. If they wanted to give everything up just like that, they could, why should he care? But the lingering glances he receives as he pushes through the crowded hallways are near impossible to shake off. So what if he was walking alone? He didn’t need his friends, they weren’t his friends anymore, they were just side pieces in a much bigger pictur– 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going freak!” He seethes as a small boy crashes into his chest, a freshman probably. Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he seizes the kid. The younger male swallows as he scrambles to gather his belongings, clearing his throat awkwardly as he pushes his glasses further up on his nose. — “I-I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going and I..” 

What a pathetic being. Beomgyu grimaces at his petty apology, “stay out of my way next time, alright? You weak piece of–” 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” 

The voice is familiar as it pierces through the crowded hallway and suddenly the previous buzz of students surrounding him diminishes as Beomgyu’s gaze flickers past the small boy in front of him. — You. 

His teeth grind together at the sight of your cocky figure, that smug grin you always wore, as if you were better than everyone else, as if you were better than him. What a joke. Ever since him and his friends broke apart, you seemed to have been actively plotting against him, singling him out now that he was alone. — Beomgyu would die before admitting that your schemes ever proved successful. Because if there was one thing he hated, it was people who meddled in his business. And you seemed to know nothing else. 

The young freshman scurries off before Beomgyu has the chance to grab him and he bites back a frustrated groan. Instead his attention shifts to your approaching frame. With the small squeak of your sneakers against the floor, you stop inches from him, your eyes near level with his. — Blood rushes within his body like never before, anger soaring through him at the mere sight of your pestering face. 

“Pick on someone my own size? And that would be what, you?” He scoffs, eyeing you with disdain. The grin on your lips only widened further and he refused another grimace. Then it clicks, and Beomgyu has to hold himself back as he feels his jaw twitch. — “You.” The acknowledgement is a short huff of air, it hits your face and you squint as your eyes pierces his. “You’re the one who’s been running their mouth about me all week.” 

Suppose you had been mentioning his name a little here and there. A few comments, nothing crazy, nothing that wasn’t true. It wasn’t exactly unwarranted either. Choi Beomgyu was a nuisance. And without his friends to protect him, you were finally able to sharpen the knife that had been so diligently resting behind your back for three years. — You had longed for an opportunity to get back at him for all the shit he caused you through freshman and junior year; and finally, the universe presented you with one. 

You glance over at him, it would merely take a small raise of your heel for your eyes to become leveled perfectly with his. Without that tall friend of his, looming behind his back, or Yeonjun’s authoritative status, Choi Beomgyu was really nothing. — That didn’t change the fact that you absolutely loathed him. And you would be sure to have him know. 

“Why, has something interesting caught your ears?” You drawl, feeling the grin on your lips threatening to bloom into a smirk. Beomgyu’s face morphs into a scowl, undoubtedly familiar with the rumors of him you’d conducted during the past weeks. — “You must think you’re so smart, sitting on your ass all day and spewing nonsense”, he grits as he takes a charging step forward, chest colliding with yours and you almost stumble backward. 

It takes some effort but you manage to remain fairly unfazed as you eye him with indifference. It only serves to make him angrier. Beomgyu was like an open book, a book in which you only had to read the paragraph on the very back to understand exactly how it would end. He was predictable, and without his friends, he was an easy target for someone who’d been studying him for so long. 

“I do”, you chirp, hands clasping behind your back as you sway on the spot. Beomgyu scoffs, giving a small roll of his eyes before his firing gaze centers on you again. “Just stay out of my way.” — His attention drops to the uniform you wore, the one school handed out at the beginning of each year, much different from the designer one he had tailored each semester. It was subtle, but different, and Beomgyu’s grin widened as his eyes raked across your worn out shoes and old bag. “Think you’ve got other things to worry ‘bout.” 

Without another word, he continues down the hallway, though not before giving your shoulder a harsh shove. — Your lip twitches into an uncomfortable grimace and with a small huff you readjust your backpack. Fucking asshole. Your tongue prods against your teeth, tsking slightly as you watch him disappear. 

⸝⸝ 

“Oh come on, do you really think it’s that bad of an idea?” You whine as your cheek rests against your forearm, eyes trained on the words being written out on the paper before you. — “I do”, Taehyun states without lifting his pencil from the sheet, brows slightly furrowed as he focuses on his work. 

With a small huff you peer up at him, the glasses on the bridge of his nose are crooked and you resist the urge to snatch them from his face. “And what does Mr. Class President presume I should do then?” You sarcastically wonder; though the question makes him raise a disbelieving brow as he glances toward you. “I suggest you stay out of trouble.” — Just as you open your mouth in objection, does he cut you off; “and not spread rumors about him.” 

Your expression contorts into one of disagreement but you remain silent. In a way, you suppose you should feel thankful for him. Taehyun was your only friend, if friends were even what one could call you. — The mutual acquaintanceship consisted of you sharing the latest events of your quite dull life, recapping the drama you’d picked up on your way to the school cafeteria, and most importantly; Choi Beomgyu. 

Though he was originally opposed to the friendship, Taehyun had begrudgingly come to accept your persistent presence as you lingered by his desk between classes. And by your senior year, he knew everything that was to know about Beomgyu and why you so loathed him. — “Shouldn’t you let go of him? We’re about to graduate next year”, he states, his voice monotone as always but you could clearly decipher a hint of pleading as he urged for you to stop fawning over the guy. 

“Let go?” You scoff, sitting up a bit straighter as you eye him with a frown, “I do not need to ‘let go’, I need revenge, besides, Christmas break is coming up, I need to act fast.” — Seemingly unimpressed by your enthusiasm, Taehyun merely shakes his head as his focus returns to the piece of paper in front of him, scribbling down a few lines before he sighs; “and how exactly do you plan on doing that?” 

The way your face lit up was unmistakable and you could practically see him regret his words as you shuffled closer. “Well, I happen to have a plan–” But before you can finish, the classroom door swings open and your professor enters. With a small scowl, you lean back in your chair as Taehyun immediately disregards you, turning his full attention to the lecture about to take place. Jeez, what a try-hard.

History was far from your favorite, but the mention of a group project sparked your interest. Your professor was old, a tall and lanky man, and as he announced the presentation you were to hold regarding a historic event, the class groaned. — Immediately turning to Taehyun with hopeful eyes, you’re met with a small glare before he sighs and nods, announcing that the two of you could partner up. With delight you open your mouth to thank him when your history teacher’s raspy voice suddenly interrupts you. 

“Though seeing as your parallel class is taking the very same course, I thought it’d be a good idea to merge the two of you. – It’ll save me some time when grading as well”, he huffs as a small grin tugs at his wrinkled lips. — It doesn’t take long for the room to be drowned in a chaotic murmur. Your brows pull together in a confused frown and you twist in your seat, “what’s that supposed to mean?” — Taehyun merely shrugs as his eyes flicker between you and your professor by the board, and for once he seemed equally lost. 

A quiet cough makes your gaze snap back to your old teacher as he rummages through his bag for a small piece of paper. “Now I know you aren’t too acquainted with the other class, so I’ve taken the liberty of pre-arranging partners for you.” His statement is met with another wave of complaints and displeased groans as students leaned back in their chairs and shook their heads. 

“Wait, does this mean we won’t get to work together?” You wonder to which Taehyun gives a small nod, “most likely.” — You felt your heart drop at least ten floors as you watched your old teacher fasten the small piece of paper to the board. The sound of chairs scraping against the hard floor fills the classroom as everyone scurries toward the front, eager to see who they’d been partnered up with. 

Without thinking you, too, rise from your desk as you pull Taehyun by his arm, yanking him toward the board. It takes a few shoves to get through the crowd that had formed, but soon enough, you’re standing in front of the list. — Your eyes fervently scan the names, going over the rows at least twice before you find yours. It was as if all air had been sucked from your lungs, your throat uncomfortably dry as you eye the jagged scribbles. Next to your own name was ‘Choi Beomgyu’. 

Behind you, Taehyun lets out a short huff, his lips pulling into a menacing smirk as he eyes your expression. — “Was this also part of your ‘plan’?” 

⸝⸝

“I’m doomed!” You exclaim, hands feverishly tugging at your hair as you cling onto Taehyun’s shoulder. Met with a shrug from your friend who trudges forward, you pout, jutting your chin out as you whine in his ear. “What do I do?” — Taehyun sighs, pushing his glasses further up on his nose as his eyes scan the nearly empty hallway. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t have gotten on his bad side”, he scolds and you huff. 

“Come on now”, you mutter as you release your grip on him, “a rumor here and there has never hurt anyone.” — “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be taking my side?” You finish with a small frown, the crease on your forehead only deepening when he doesn’t say anything. “You told everyone that he threw up in one of the school bathrooms”, he then states and you snort, a small grin seeping onto your face. “So? He might’ve.” 

Taehyun shakes his head, “my point is, you’re already off to a bad start.” — His statement makes you slow down, the shift in your pace causing him to nearly stop as Taehyun turns to you with a confused look. “You’re talking as if I’m the one who should watch myself. – Tae, he’s an asshole, if anything, he should feel ashamed.” 

Your friend bites his lip as his gaze flits between the floor to the books in his hands, and you wondered if you had said something wrong. Choi Beomgyu had earned himself quite the infamous reputation at your college along with the other Choi’s, everyone knew that they were bad news, so why did no one speak against it? — Why did Taehyun cower at the name? 

You couldn’t possibly understand their unreasonable fear. 

But you don’t have to ponder for long, because mere moments later, an all too familiar voice calls out. — “Hey, class president!” Beomgyu’s nasty drawl echoes off the desolate walls as he nears you. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his expensive uniform, and he walks with an allude of confidence. 

Upon hearing his name called, Taehyun freezes beside you as he hesitantly turns to face the source of the voice. Stopping mere inches from your friend, Beomgyu leans forward with a smug smirk and Taehyun hastily blinks under his glasses. You watch their small exchange with a puzzled expression. — “You got my essay?” Beomgyu asks as he quirks a brow in the shorter male's direction. His essay? 

Taehyun nods as he reaches for the bag swung over his shoulder, undoing the zipper as he rummages through its contents. Beomgyu watches him with a look of nonchalance, seemingly unaware of your presence as he focuses on your friend before him. — “Here”, Taehyun murmurs as he hands him at least four pages worth of paper, neatly stapled together. 

Beomgyu scans through it leisurely before giving Taehyun’s shoulder a harsh pat, making the shorter wince. “What’s the meaning of this?” You spit, unable to help yourself as you witnessed the person you so loathed go after your only friend like that. Finally, he seems to acknowledge you as Beomgyu’s eyes snap in your direction, his hand falling from Taehyun’s shoulder as his face contorts into a small scowl. 

Despite the lack of his friends, he still made do with the reputation he had left. Your rumors seemed to have made an insignificant dent in the power he held. But…Taehyun? Of all people, he wouldn’t possibly… Your gaze flits down to the essay in Beomgyu’s hand and over to your friend who avoided your gaze as he urged for you to come with him without causing a bigger scene. 

“Why don’t you stay out of my business.” Beomgyu sneers as he eyes you with distaste. “Business? You call this business?” You frown as you shrug Taehyun’s hands from your arm, stepping between your friend and the menace before him. — Your nose could practically graze his as you let out a short breath of air, meeting his furious gaze with one of your own. 

“Bullying people into doing your work? How do you expect to make it outside of college?” The comment makes his already angered expression flare up and you catch his hands curling into fists by his sides. — “Worry ‘bout yourself won’t you?” he scoffs, ready to push past you.. until your next words catch him off guard. 

“Well that’s going to be difficult, seeing as we’re partners now.” 

He stops, dark eyes snapping back to yours within milliseconds and you feel Taehyun’s hand urgently tug at your arm as he silently pleads for you to back down. — “What?” The word comes out as a mere hiss and you can’t help but feel a triumphant grin pull at the corner of your lips. Ah, so he didn’t know yet. 

“Haven’t you heard?” — You let your head fall to the side, an amused expression flashing across your features as you take in his puzzled and angered state, so predictable. “Mr. Brown’s class, the history project, we’re partners, you and me.” The dread that had previously consumed you seemed minimal when you with satisfaction watched Beomgyu’s face practically explode in a multitude of enraged questions; none of which you were planning on answering. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He spits, a look of disbelief presenting itself across his otherwise arrogant face. You shrug, letting Taehyun pull you back as you send him a small wave, “that we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other I suppose.” — Before you can get another word out, your friend has pulled you down the hall in a most hurried manner; scurrying to get away from Beomgyu's piercing gaze as he leans against the wall with a small huff, eyeing you with a mixture of fury and intrigue. 

“What the hell was that?” Taehyun grumbles as he drags you along, walking with determined strides. You merely roll your eyes as you let yourself be swayed down the long corridors. — “I should be asking you that”, you counter, still not over the fact that he had written an entire essay for the scumbag. 

Not late to catch on, Taehyun bites the inside of his cheek as he fiddles with the glasses on his nose. “Nothing you should worry about”, he mutters, intent on disregarding any further questions. “Nothing I should worry about? What are you, his slave?” — “Don’t say it like that”, he groans and you frown, stopping completely as you break yourself free from his grasp. 

With an exasperated sigh, Taehyun turns to you as he runs a hand through his short hair. “Listen, it was a one time thing and..” — “That’s how it always starts”, you huff, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “Soon he’ll be asking you to write his exams for him as well”, you exclaim, throwing an accusing finger down the hall. 

But Taehyun only shakes his head as he waves his hands in front of him in denial. “I’m just helping him out..!” — Your gaze narrows down on your friend, helping him out? Sure Taehyun was many things, friendly? – was not one of them. And to think that he was willingly helping one of the Choi’s with something so trivial… 

“Does he have something on you?” You ask, watching as Taehyun’s eyes widened, “is that why you’re slaving away like this?” — “No I..” He begins but quickly seals his lips in a tight grimace, “you don’t understand.” Like hell you didn’t. Why on earth would anyone stoop to such a level. For over two years you had watched as the Choi’s ruled your school, and to say that you were sick of it would be an understatement. 

Perhaps your hatred for the small trio was rooted deeper than your peers. Especially your hatred for Choi Beomgyu. — Because you hadn’t always hated him, in fact, at one point, you think you might’ve even liked him. 

⸝⸝ 

“Hey, is this seat taken?” 

The voice is warm, kind and friendly. It makes you blink as you tear your gaze from the small pile of nail polish that had accumulated on your desk, your nervous habit of picking at the paint evident. — First day of freshman year, first day of college, that had been the day. 

With a small nod, you motion toward the chair next to your own. He takes the seat, grinning from ear to ear as he studies you with curiosity. “Nervous?” He wonders as he tilts his head to the side. “Yeah..” Your quiet whisper is near inaudible but he still seems to pick up on it as his lips stretch further. “Me too”, he says and you can’t help but frown, he didn’t look nervous in the slightest as he comfortably leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the collar of his shirt leisurely. 

He was way out of your league. — Yet he reaches a hand out, eyes darting from yours and down to your own intertwined fingers. His palm is soft and warm against yours, his grip unwavering as he shakes your hand. “I’m Beomgyu, Choi Beomgyu”, he smiles, it’s a kind smile, and your heart flutters at the sight. 

Choi Beomgyu. What a pretty name. 

You spend your first week with him, it was nice to have someone you could call a friend. Someone who made you feel less alone, and Beomgyu did, the two of you were friends, you think. 

You ate lunch together… 

“Tofu’s the best when grilled”, Beomgyu hums as he shoves a forkful in his mouth, barely swallowing as he loads yet another one. You giggled as your gaze returned to your own plate, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. The cafeteria was both crowded and loud, you had dreaded the days you would spend alone in here. 

But as Beomgyu found a nice and secluded table for the two of you, even pulling your chair out with an over exaggerated bow to which you rolled your eyes, you felt hopeful. — Perhaps college wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

And you studied after school…

“If 9 is the value of ‘x’ then all we have to do is replace the variables with such”, you say as you scribble across his notebook. Beomgyu’s frown was nearly dented into his forehead, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration. “But how does nine become ‘x’? Isn’t nine a number and ‘x’ a letter?”He wonders to which you shake your head. 

“Not in this case”, you state before drawing a small ‘x = 9’. Scratching the back of his neck dumbfoundedly, Beomgyu gives a deflated sigh as he slumps against his chair. — “I’m never graduating.” 

You even saw one another outside of school…though only once.. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here..” You quietly mumble, eyes flitting across the expensive looking furniture. The restaurant was small but reeked of wealth, the meals here were surely out of your budget but Beomgyu had insisted on you joining him one friday evening. — “What?” He exclaims in bewilderment, “Are you kidding? This is the best place in town!” 

True to his word, he paid for your meal, not hearing you out on trying to pay him back in the near future. — “Spending time with you is more than enough”, he says as a matter-of-factly, arm wrapping around your shoulders as you walk down the empty streets. 

Not to forget that one time he’d asked for your number… 

“I mean it’s just… I think you’re cool and..” He clears his throat, sending you a sheepish smile before continuing. “Just y’know, for staying in touch and things..” — The timidness of his request made your heart flutter as a grin spread across your lips. 

“Of course I’ll give you my number, silly!” 

The relief immediately flooding his face was palpable as he sighs, eagerly fishing his phone up for you to put the digits in. He made sure to add a pink heart next to your name, promising to be at your every beck and call should you ever need him. 

It was friendship, right? 

Doing stuff together, noticing things about each other, like the cute little mole on his left cheek, accentuating his already endearing grin. Or his habit of pushing his hair from his face with the help of his pinky, carefully touching up the dark strands, almost absentmindedly. 

You wondered if Beomgyu noticed things about you too. Did he see things you didn’t, and did he like them? Did he like you? Perhaps you would’ve gotten answers to all of those questions, had things turned out differently. 

It was inevitable, of course, you were all enrolled in the same class after all, they were bound to bump into one another soon enough. But things changed when Beomgyu met Choi Yeonjun, changed for the worse. And it didn’t take long for him to become someone completely different, someone unrecognizable. 

Slowly he stopped showing up to your study sessions. More often he’d make excuses to not walk you to class. You began eating lunch alone, and before you knew it, Beomgyu was no longer part of your life. — Except he was, just as someone else. Someone cruel, someone who didn't care about what others felt, someone who only lived to make others suffer. 

His new friends were no different, and together they earned themselves an infamous reputation as the school’s bullies. It hurt. Seeing them act so nonchalantly when toying with others, with people who’d done nothing to upset them. — And as you catch him in the hallway one day, a much smaller student hoisted up by the collar of his shirt, Beomgyu’s grip unwavering as he spits insults in the younger’s face. 

It was then you grew to loathe Choi Beomgyu. 

⸝⸝ 

Your finger hovers over the block button as you lay in bed that night. Back then, just as you applied to switch classes, as you tried to get as far away from him as possible, you had rid yourself of his number too. Part of you thinks you should’ve deleted the old chats along with blocking him, but something held you back. It felt…oddly comforting, re-reading the old messages between the two of you, a glimmer of what you’d once had, of what he’d once been. How pathetic. 

With a small groan you let your phone fall down onto the mattress next to you, shifting to lay on your side as you prepare to let sleep overtake you. He would have to bring it up, because there was no way in hell that you were unblocking and texting first. — “Fucking piece of shit”, you tiredly murmur, letting yourself fall into a very uncomfortable slumber, plagued by the thoughts of your upcoming weeks. 

Beomgyu did not text you first. In fact he didn’t text you at all. The whole weekend goes by, and not a single word. Taehyun on the other hand, had been paired up with some stuck up bitch, he’d told you her name, something on M…M, M, M… Ah yes, Mimi. She’d dated one of the Choi’s, until he left her for that shy nerd, served her right. — But even the two of them had already gotten together to get working on their presentation. 

You had until Christmas break, but that was a mere three weeks away, and at this rate, you’d be lucky to get done by graduation. — Finally, your gloomy reality sets in, and you heave a loud sigh as you drag yourself down the hallway. History classes had become optional, and without your partner, there was little to be done. You spend the hour roaming the third and second floor, sneakers squeaking against the uneven tiles. 

Upon passing that one peculiar little red door, your ears are met with the muffled sounds of what could only be someone getting their guts absolutely plowed. Your nose wrinkles in disgust, ‘room 291’, you could only imagine how many girls had lost their virginity in there. — Shaking your head, your gaze returns forward, but instead of continuing your eternal journey down the long corridors, you freeze. 

The object of your affection was standing right there. You thought he’d skipped. Anything to avoid the project at hand you’d supposed. But Beomgyu’s eyes meet yours, and though he’s all the way down the hall, you still catch the disgust lingering in them. His lip twitches, jaw clenching for a split second, and then he’s turned on his heel, marching down the hallway faster than you could blink. 

You scramble to catch up, upping your pace to a light jog as you call for him. “Hey asshole!” But he isn’t listening, nor is he stopping. In fact…Was he walking even faster? What a dick. “Hey wait up!” Fuck, was he really going to make you chase after him? How immature. — Thankfully having made the girl’s football team in seventh grade seemed to have paid off, and you managed to reach him soon enough. 

Fingers clasping around his forearm, you yank him backward, making him spin around on the spot as he collides with you. The crash makes you wince and you retreat, blinking to regain focus before turning your attention to him. Beomgyu was already watching you, his lips curled into a nasty scowl as his brows furrowed. “What?” He spits, his voice barely above a hiss.

Suddenly, you realize just how close the two of you were standing, chests nearly grazing one another, and the scent of his cologne invades your senses; it was the same one he’d worn for all of college, at least that hadn’t changed. — You clear your throat, quickly scanning the empty hallway before you turn to him, plastering on the sternest of expression you could muster. “The project”, you say, subtly straightening your back. Beomgyu raises a questioning brow as his hands dig into the pockets of his uniform.

You frown, and only when you add the word “history” does he seem to catch on. “Oh yeah, that one”, his features relax, lips pulling into a small grin, “how’s it coming along?” Your mouth opens and closes again. “Excuse me?” You huff, the anger in your words palpable. Still running with his act of obliviousness, Beomgyu shrugs, it was clear that he enjoyed the easy rise he was getting out of you. How you would practically explode over his mere existence. You think he liked making you like that, perhaps it made him feel in control. 

Well he wasn’t. Not anymore. 

“It’s a group project”, you state, folding your arms across your chest, “there’s no way I’m doing this alone.” — Beomgyu looks almost as if he's considering your words, his lips pursed and head tilted to the side. “So ask your little friend to tag along, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to”, he jeers, flashing you a nasty smirk. Was he talking about Taehyun? Your Taehyun. The same Taehyun that he’d made write his essay. 

Your feet move on their own as you take a quick step forward, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest and Beomgyu’s face contorts into a small scowl at the action. “You’re hilarious if you honestly think I’d let you off the hook this easy, that I’d just let you sit back and take credit for my hard work.” You move to shove him backward but his hand is already clasped around your wrist, restraining any movement. 

“Get your fucking hands off of me”, he spits, yanking you from his chest with a force that was near bruising. — “Why? Scared that I’ll dirty your expensive attire with my grimy hands?” You retort as you gesture toward his clothes. Beomgyu sneers as he shakes his head, his long hair falling in front of his face before he pushes it back again. “You’ve already tarnished my reputation with that dirty mouth of yours”, he barks, eyes flickering with malice, “got nothin’ better to do than spreading shit about me, do you?” 

He shifts on the spot, his gaze wandering down the hall briefly, as if checking for witnesses before his attention returns to you. “I’m not stupid, I know it’s you, and I know you’re behind this whole group project too.” — Woah there, way to get ahead of himself. You scoff, arms falling to your sides as you regard him with disbelief. “You think I set this up on purpose? As if I’d want to be anywhere near you-”

 “Well you sure act like it”, he cuts you off, gesturing toward the two of you and the empty hallway you were currently occupying. “Chasing after me like this, trying to get me alone, and the rumors”, his face flashes with something akin to contempt, a spark of his usually crude and mean demeanor simmering through his facade of hate. “I mean come on, it’s obvious.” 

Your jaw could practically sweep the floor at this rate and you almost wanted to laugh at the near comical situation. “Whatever it is you’re implying, I can assure you, you’re way off”, you huff, quick to defend yourself. His fingers are still locked around your wrist, an almost tingling sensation spreading through your arm. Upon trying to tug yourself free from his grasp, Beomgyu’s hand only tightens around yours, dark eyes boring into your own as he scoffs: “Cut the crap. You’ve been chasing after me for years.” 

The blunt accusation makes you pause, and for a moment every single comprehensive thought completely evaporates from your head. Chasing after him? No. You’d been trying to make his life a living hell, so what if that included knowing his entire schedule and who he hung out with? It was all part of a much bigger picture, a picture his tiny brain failed to comprehend. — But then again, Beomgyu had always had an ego made out of steel. It wouldn’t be the first time he would twist and turn a situation entirely in his favor. 

“What’s it that loser friend of yours said? To let me go?” He chuckles, warm breath hitting your already flaring face. How did he know about that? Just how much had Taehyun told him when doing his essay? — Your usually sharp mind can’t seem to conjure a single witty remark, and you’re left biting the inside of your cheek as you send him a bitter glare. 

His hand lets go of your wrist, and Beomgyu takes a step back. “Perhaps you should listen to Mr. Class Pres, it might do you good.” With a final cruel smirk, he shoves past you, shoulder slamming against yours as he ventures down the hallway with his hands leisurely stuffed into his pockets. 

You want to scream, throw something at him, possibly advocate for murder, but you do nothing, nothing but watch his retreating figure as he disappears down the corridor. Fucking asshole. 

⸝⸝

That night left you in a flammable state. Anger gnawed at your very being as you paced the small space of your dormitory. Who was he to speak to you like that? And how would you ever make this project work? Talking to him was useless, a complete and utter waste of time. — Then it hits you. Like a small lightbulb being turned on over your head. Talking to him was pointless, you knew that. But what if you just didn’t speak? 

The cafeteria is as packed as it could get that following Tuesday, and you have to paddle through the large ocean of students, all eager to find an empty seat. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less for today’s plain lunch menu, and instead of searching a clear table, your eyes scan for the most crowded one. 

It doesn’t take long for you to spot him. Surrounded by a heap of what you could only assume to be acquaintances, Beomgyu sits perched on a table in the center of the room. Conversation flows around him but his gaze is glued to his phone in his hand, mindlessly swiping across the screen in a bored manner. You wondered if he even knew the names of those surrounding him. You guessed not. Beomgyu had a.. unique way of making friends, if friends were even what they were. They looked more like tokens, perhaps he used them to appear less alone. 

His attention suddenly shifts from the device in his hands and you follow its direction, eventually landing on a table not far from his. — Occupied sparsely by a mere three students, three students whom you easily recognized. Choi Yeonjun leans forward, his arm wrapped around a girl you recognized as his girlfriend. He looks to be in deep conversation with the third of their small party, Choi Soobin. 

They used to be friends, Beomgyu and them. You remember it clearly. The harsh words, the glares, the distaste on their faces whenever they passed you by in the hallway. But something had obviously happened, a small rift in an otherwise unbreakable circle. And you’re not late to pick up on the way Beomgyu continues to glance their way, even when surrounded by at least a dozen others. You recognize the look in his eyes, the longing. It was the same way you’d been looking at him for the past two years. 

Perhaps he had a weakness after all. 

Your fist slams against the firm surface of his table, making everyone around you snap their heads in your direction. Their eyes boring into you suddenly made you waver, but you shake it off, turning your attention to your target, now only inches from yourself. — Beomgyu glances up from his phone, brows immediately furrowing as his lips part. Surely he had an insult waiting on his tongue, but you cut to the chase by shoving a small piece of paper in his free hand. 

His confused gaze flickers down to the note as he begins unwrapping it, only to be stopped by your hand on his as you shake your head. You mouth the words “not here”, and he scoffs, though shoving the paper in his pocket. — His token friends all burst out into “oooo”s as they wiggle their eyebrows suggestively. 

Beomgyu pays them little mind as he rolls his eyes, instead he watches your retreating figure as you push past the crowd in which you had emerged from. A subtle smirk playing on his lips as he mindlessly fiddles with the note in his pocket. 

⸝⸝

You had no idea if your plan was even going to work. Would he show up? Or had he thrown the paper in the trash at the first opportunity he got? — Running a frustrated hand through your hair, you sigh, casting a quick glance at the time on your phone, 5:27 pm. He still had three minutes. 

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you start to reconsider the choice of bringing him to your dorm room, was it really such a good idea? Though it was hardly like he’d show up anywhere in public with you. This was your best bet, you think.. 

The minutes tick by and your anxiety levels only rise, heart hammering in your chest as you pace the small space of your dormitory. By 5:47 you realized that he was a no-show. A weird mixture of disappointed relief floods you, it’s strange, you had expected the disappointment but why did you feel relieved? Did the idea of spending time alone with him scare you? No. That was impossible. 

Flopping down onto your bed, you emit a small sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as you replay today’s scenario in your head. Scared? What a joke, Beomgyu didn’t scare you, he was nothing but an immature, selfish, rude piece of–

Knock knock. 

Your body jolts forward, flying off the bed like a deer in headlight as your head snaps in the direction of your door. He came? He actually came. You didn’t know whether to cry or laugh as you gingerly got up. — As you head for the door, you stop by the small mirror by your clothes drawer to check your reflection. Quickly running a hand through your hair, your eyes scan for a lip balm. You catch yourself mid-act, almost cringing at the way you tried to appear presentable. What the fuck were you doing?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you twist the handle as the door glides open, revealing no other than Choi Beomgyu on the other side. He’s still wearing his school uniform, and his gaze quickly lands on the loose t-shirt and plain sweatpants you’re dressed in, a glimmer of distaste overshadowing his otherwise expressionless face. You ignore the silent insult as you clear your throat, “You’re late.” 

Beomgyu scoffs, his eyes darting down the hall either side of him before pushing past you as he steps inside. “You’re gonna nag me about that too?” He drawls, hands digging into his pockets as he saunters about, taking in the small space you resided in. You notice that he hasn’t brought along any study materials, and you internally groan. “Yes, I am. If this is going to work out then we’re going to have to work together”, you state, folding your arms across your chest as if to prove your point. 

Your partner merely hums as he fiddles with the papers scattered across your desk. “Cute room you’ve got”, he comments as he points to the entirety of your dorm. Your jaw slacks as you blink dumbfoundedly. Did he just give you a compliment? No, you catch the smugness in his voice, and the small glimpse of a smirk as he turns back to your desk. Asshole. 

“I’m serious”, you huff, “this project is important to me, we need to do well on it.” One thing you couldn’t afford to screw up were your grades. Not that they were anything spectacular of the sort, in fact you were flunking French. But as long as you did well in a few of your best subjects… History being one of them. 

Shoving the pen he was previously twirling between his fingers back into its container, Beomgyu turns to you with a sneer. “If it’s so important then I reckon you’d do better by yourself, I might just slow you down.” He regards you with an apathetic expression, almost as if he was waiting for you to snap, to lash out on him and to yell. You suppose it must surprise him when you instead only shake your head, dragging yourself over to your bed as you flop down with a heavy thud. 

“Let’s just get started”, you mutter, pulling your computer out as you power it on. Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow in your direction but doesn’t say anything as he leans onto your desk, hands returning to their default position in his pockets. — “How about one of us gathers information and the other one writes it down onto a powerpoint?” you suggest. He looks to be considering your words as he scratches his chin thoughtfully. 

“Fairs.” He shrugs as he pushes himself off the table and before you know it, the mattress dips next to you as he sits down. Your whole body tenses up, your eyes remaining glued to the computer screen in front of you as you avoid as much as peeking his way. You weren’t scared of him. But a part of you felt so oddly on-edge whenever he was around, you couldn’t quite place the feeling. 

His body radiates warmth, a warmth that spreads over to your own, a bead of sweat accumulating on your forehead as you swallow. You weren’t scared of him so why did your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest? — The smell of his expensive cologne, usually sickly strong as it tickles your nose, now only feels nostalgic as you breathe in. He’s so close that your hands are on the verge of touching, his pinky inches from yours. 

Beomgyu on the other hand seems unfazed as he peers over at your screen. “I’ll do the research part”, he states as he leans back against the headboard, “sounds less demanding.” You silently exhale in relief as he creates a safe radius of distance between the two of you, nodding as you hum in response. 

The two of you work like that, side by side in silence for a good while. At first you’re so engrossed in your work, doing anything to distract yourself from the fact that Beomgyu was quite literally less than three inches away, on your bed, in your dorm. But as time goes by, you finally dare to tear your gaze from the screen in front of you, and sneak a small peek at him. 

It felt almost surreal. Two years of being strangers in the halls, two years of constant insults, two years of hatred. Yet here he was, so close to you, just like he had been before everything changed, before he changed. 

But now, the two of you were doing something so mundane together. 

Your gaze lingers on him, even though it probably shouldn’t. But you can’t help the way your eyes trail across his seemingly relaxed expression. From the small, almost unnoticeable, furrow of his brows, the subtle pout of his bottom lip and the natural flush of his cheeks. Your attention strays by his dark eyes as they move along the words on his screen when reads. If you tried really hard, you might’ve been able to forget about everything that had happened, if only for a few minutes. 

Maybe. Just maybe. 

Suddenly, you want to reach out and touch him. To run your fingers through his long and unkempt hair, feel the skin of his hand in yours. And you almost do. Until you remember. — Things weren’t like that anymore, they hadn’t been for over two years. You almost recoil at the slip of your thoughts; for having allowed yourself to fantasize like that when reality was far from it. The Beomgyu before you wasn’t the Beomgyu you knew back then. No. You didn’t know this Beomgyu, and it’s with a bittersweet taste in your mouth that you accept said fact. 

You think half an hour might’ve passed when you notice that something’s off. Thirty minutes of radio silence from his otherwise enthusiastic mouth. And as you peer over your shoulder, you find him leisurely swiping across his screen, eyes glued to something that looked far from the information he was supposed to gather. — “What’re you doing?” The question slips from your lips without you actually thinking it through. Beomgyu’s head turns in your direction and he watches you with an expression that said, ‘what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?’

“I thought we agreed on working on the project”, you say as you point a finger toward your open laptop. Beomgyu merely shrugs, his eyes flitting back to the phone in his hand. “I’ve done my part”, he sighs and your brows knit together in confusion. A small tap of your finger leads you to the first slide of your powerpoint, in which he’d copied and pasted in what could only be pages worth of information. 

Seemingly noting your flabbergast expression, Beomgyu huffs, “Why, you can’t expect me to seriously read all of that?” — “So you’re saying we should just cheat our way through it?” The disbelief in your voice is palpable but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it as he gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “It’s not cheating. The information is out there to be used, doesn’t say how to use it”, he states. You have to bite your tongue in order to not let your words slip as you stare back at the computer screen with a puzzled face. 

He did have somewhat of a point. But you’d rather die than admit that. Besides, his ways would surely land you a ‘barely passed’ at most. And you wouldn’t have that. — Grumbling out a quiet, “whatever”, you turn back to the powerpoint as you begin sorting through the paragraphs pasted in there. You quickly become immersed in your work, and fail to notice how Beomgyu discards his phone on the bed as he glances around your room with curious eyes. 

You swallow a groan as you re-read the same paragraph for a third time, seemingly unable to focus with him around. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you should’ve just bit into the lemon and done this project on your own. — “Fuck, you kept this?” Beomgyu’s almost taunting voice snaps you from the text you were so close to giving up on, and you turn to him with a confused frown. 

Though your eyes quickly widened as they landed on the bracelet Beomgyu was holding between two fingers. Suddenly your heart is racing and your breaths are coming in short. The already thick air feels even heavier and you emit a shaky exhale. The brown leather, interlaced with streaks of blue, immediately sends your mind to places you hadn’t allowed it to wander for nearly two years..

⸝⸝

“A friendship bracelet?” you question as you eye the small piece Beomgyu had just handed you. The fine leather felt expensive and you wondered just how much he’d spent on this. It was braided together with a thinner blue thread, the cold shade a stark contrast to the warm brown leather, and your thumb slowly traces its outline as you bring it to your face. 

Beomgyu coughs into his hand, shaking his head as he rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. “When you put it like that it sounds childish”, he mutters, the tip of his ears radiating a warm pink and you feel your lips tug into a grin at the sight. — “It’s more like..” He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze strays by the bracelet in your hands: 

“Like a piece of me.” 

Your eyes widen when he suddenly takes a step forward, reaching for the accessory as he plucks it from your fingers. “So that, in a way, I’ll always be with you”, he says as he wraps the leather around your wrist. — It’s impossible to refrain from smiling and your cheeks heat up as he carefully fastens the bracelet around your arm. — Then your curious eyes suddenly fall on the leather around his own wrist, a darker and cooler brown intertwined with a warm red. 

A weird and tingly sensation spreads throughout your stomach as you swallow. And before Beomgyu can withdraw his hand again, do you stop him, fingers clasping around his wrists as you bring them together. — The blues and the reds, they remind you of the friendship necklaces you wore back in elementary school. Two halves of a heart, a childish but sweet promise to be what makes the other one whole. 

Was it childish? Probably. But it was Beomgyu, and you found that you did not care for such matters when he was around. In fact, you think you might even like it. — No, you did like it. You liked everything Beomgyu did, you liked everything about him. And though you were too shy to even admit it to yourself, you probably liked him too. 

“It’s okay right?” 

His sudden question snaps you from your train of thought and you blink as your gaze returns to his warm eyes. He looks…nervous? You’d never seen him like that. Beomgyu was always so adamantly prideful, and you don’t think you’d ever seen him waver. But you decide that you like this side of him too, the bashful and almost cute one. 

“I love it.” And you do, you really do. You love it so much that you keep it even when he stops wearing his. Even when he no longer represented your other half. You keep it for two years, tucked inside the top drawer of your bedside table where it resides, waiting for the day where you might finally be able to look at it without bursting into tears. 

⸝⸝

“Where did you get that?” Your tone is harsh and snappy but it barely makes him flinch as Beomgyu leisurely twirls the bracelet between two fingers. — You reach for it, but you’re too slow, and can only helplessly watch as his whole fist envelops the leather. “I expected a lot from you, granted that you’re still running your mouth about me and all”, Beomgyu drawls as he leans back against the pillows. “But you even kept this piece of shit?” — “I mean come on, it’s pathetic.” 

His words stung. Pathetic? Did he really think of your time together as that? Did he think of you as that? Of course he did, you idiot, get that through your thick skull. You hate Beomgyu. One half-successful study session in the privacy of your dorm didn’t change that and it never would. 

He probably threw his out, it would make the most sense if he did. Perhaps you should’ve too. You switched classes, blocked his number, and avoided him as best as you could in the halls. So why had you kept that? Why did you cling to something so insignificant? Why did it bring you comfort to feel the cool leather against your palm? 

“Just give it back”, you groan as you meekly try and pry his closed fist open. Beomgyu looks as if he’s going to put up a fight, say something nasty back, but he doesn’t. Instead he lets you untangle the bracelet from his fingers, watching as you snatch it back before throwing it on your bedside table once more.  — An uncomfortable silence falls over the two of you, weighing down like dark clouds on a previously sunny day. You wait for him to say something, but he never does. He only watches you with that nearly permanent half-smirk of his, brows tugged slightly upward as his eyes flicker across your flustered frame. 

“I think we’ve done enough for today.” The statement sounds monotone and gray as it falls from your lips. And even now, you expect a reply. Foolishly so, for Beomgyu merely shrugs, swinging his legs over the mattress as he gets up from your bed. — You don’t dare look up as he rounds your bed, your gaze stays by your discarded laptop. The sounds of his footsteps suddenly vanish and you carefully crank your head in the direction of your door. 

With one hand on the handle, Beomgyu looks back at you, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t quite decipher. His lips twitch into a full smirk, and for a moment, you think he might spit another insult on you. He doesn’t. — “See you in class, yeah?” Is all he says before twisting the doorknob and vanishing down the hall. 

And as the door slams shut behind him, you’re left in an unbearable silence. Carefully you reach for the bracelet, only to find it torn in half.  

⸝⸝

Beomgyu shows up to class after that. It takes you by surprise, and apparently everyone else too as heads turn in his direction when he pulls out the chair next to you. And though his work effort is minimal, he’s still there. You hate the satisfied feeling that blooms in your chest at the accomplishment. And you hate the fact that a small part of you has started looking forward to history class. But you would never tell him that, you would never tell anyone that, not even Taehyun… 

“Come on, it’s just one tiny little essay!” You complain in a distraught tone, dramatically kicking at a few stones on the road in front of you. The small rocks clash together as they roll down the gravel pathway that takes you around campus. — Taehyun squints against the bright sun that shone despite the cold December air. He shakes his head, exhaling a small cloud of condensation.  

“It’s less than fourteen days until Christmas break”, he argues as he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of the large coat he wore. “Well that’s exactly why I need your help!” You whine, throwing your frozen hands in the air. — “With everything going on, you know the history project and all, I’m going to seriously flunk French at this point Tae..” You sigh, turning to him with the biggest eyes you could muster as you stick your bottom lip out into a pathetic pout. 

“Please Tae, isn’t that what friends do?” 

Taehyun merely spares you a quick side glance before his focus returns ahead. “You can’t pull the ‘friend card’ whenever you’re falling behind”, he huffs. Biting the inside of your cheek, you think of another way to persuade him. “But if we study together? Then I’m bound to learn!” You suddenly exclaim, causing Taehyun to flinch due to your unanticipated outburst. 

“Fine..” He begrudgingly agrees, though quickly groaning as you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. “I knew I could count on you!” You cheer before carefully letting him go again. — It’s when you pull back that you notice the figure by the benches a few paces away. You frown, gaze narrowing down on its hunched posture. It was odd for any student to be outside between classes during the cold and harsh winter months, let alone sit perched on one of the usual summer hangout spots. 

“Who’s that?” You question, your footsteps coming to an abrupt halt on the rough gravel. Taehyun groans as he turns to see where you might be looking, a small noise of disapproval passing his lips. “No one important, let’s go back inside”, he says as he pulls you along once more. — But in the bright light of the early afternoon-sun, the black hair atop the lonesome shadow’s head seemed awfully familiar. 

“Is that…Beomgyu?” Your inquiry is met by yet another groan from your friend. Taehyun tsk’s as he shoots a sneer in the direction of the lonely figure. “Wouldn’t that be even more reason to go back inside?” — Despite his greatest efforts, you ignore him as you venture off the small path and over the grass. Taehyun calls out for you, conflicted as his gaze flits between you and the entrance not far away. 

With a small roll of your eyes, you stop to wave him over. But Taehyun promptly shakes his head. “Fine, then go on inside, I’ll be right with you”, you say as you readjust the bag on your shoulder. He looks puzzled for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line as he regards you with a concerned frown. “What are you going to do?” He asks, albeit somewhat hesitant. You merely smile, and though it didn’t quite reach your eyes, Taehyun chooses not to pry further when you say: “I’m just going to ask about the project.” — He gives a curt nod before disappearing down the graveled path, hands still stuffed deep in his pockets.

Your footsteps crunch against the frosty grass and they fill the crisp winter air. The closer you get the more certain you become. It was Beomgyu. Sitting on the wooden table, his feet rest on the accompanied bench. He’s not wearing a jacket, only the blazer he had gotten personally tailored. If he was freezing, he didn’t let on to it as he remained still, his eyes focused on the ground below him. 

The real question was, why was he out here alone? Surely he should be spending the lunch break in the cafeteria with his friends, and not on a cold bench outside in the middle of the winter. — You stop in front of him, so close that your worn out shoes break the circuit of his limited vision. He knows that you’re there, you can tell by the subtle twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers curl against one another as his hands mold together. 

“Hey.” 

You greet him. It’s polite, and when you think about it, you can’t recall ever uttering the word ‘hello’ to him, not for the past two years at least. It takes him a moment to finally look up, and when he does you immediately notice how sunken his eyes are, the almost grayish color of his cheeks and the pink tint to his nose. — He looked like shit. 

Part of you wants to say something about it, to finally jab back at him for all the crude comments he’d made about you. But you can’t. And suddenly, you don’t know what to say at all. Why had you even approached him in the first place? The two of you hadn’t spoken in private since… Well since the bracelet incident. Thankfully he had yet to bring it up again, but you didn’t know if you could trust him not to. It was already awkward between the two of you. 

Had you just made things worse? 

Beomgyu looks too tired to bite back himself as he lets his gaze leisurely drift across your frame. “What are you doing out here?” — Fuck, that wasn’t the question you were supposed to ask. Fucking idiot. But you couldn’t deny the curiosity that lingered around you. What was he doing out here? 

“That’s none of your business.” He spits, lips curling into a small scowl, but you can tell that it’s taking him a great deal of effort. And for some reason, you care. You hate that you do. Because you should feel anything but concern. You should be celebrating his downfall. This was what you had been waiting for. So why did it feel so bittersweet? 

You think it must have something to do with the afternoon spent on your bed. Almost an hour of complete silence, no bickering, no insults thrown. You blame yourself for getting too caught up in the moment. For letting yourself view him in a different light. — You hate Choi Beomgyu. And he hates you. That’s how it was supposed to be. 

When you don’t reply, he lifts his head once more. His eyes are dark, lifeless. He frowns, and for a second he looks almost irritated. “Why do you even care?” He grunts, a flicker of disgust tracing his features, as if the mere thought of sympathy from you was enough to have him gagging. It was nice. It felt familiar. It felt like the Beomgyu you knew. 

“I don’t.” You simply shrug, letting your bag fall from your shoulder as you heave yourself onto the bench next to him. He doesn’t move, but you can feel his gaze on you as he studies you intently. — You don’t dare look at him, instead you keep your eyes set forward. Despite the cold and chilly temperatures, snow had yet to fall. And the naked trees now only looked dystopian as you glance around the campus grounds. 

“Where are your friends?” You suddenly ask, the question coming out light, just like any other. You don’t expect an answer, not from him. In fact you’d prepared yourself for him to get up and leave. But he doesn’t. — Beomgyu is silent for a second, you hear him draw in a slow breath, holding it for a moment before letting go. “What friends?” He then says, and this time he actually sounds tired. 

Your stomach twists in an uncomfortable way, a way that was nowhere near satisfying. “What about the ones from the cafeteri..” — “Don’t be daft”, he cuts you off, his voice gaining a sudden sting. “You’re not stupid. Don’t pretend that you are. It’s unattractive.” He jeers, fingers twisting against one another, as if he was trying to crawl out of his own skin. 

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” He huffs, shuffling to the side as he creates a cold metaphorical wall of distance between the two of you. “To poke fun at me? To shove it in my face?” He sounds almost distressed, and before you can reply, he turns to you. “You think it hasn’t been already?” — For the first time since you approached, he’s looking entirely at you. And when you return his wide gaze, it feels like you’re looking at a shell of who he used to be. 

You tell yourself that it’s the cold air. That it’s the already depressing surroundings of the dying nature around you. But Beomgyu looks just as malnourished as the trees, as pale as the sky and as beat as the frozen grass you walk on. It was easy to take pity on him like that. It was almost like he was begging for it. Begging for someone to sympathize with him. You can’t imagine that anyone ever did. 

“That’s not why I’m here”, and your statement is true. You don’t know why you’d come here, but you knew that it wasn’t out of malice. Because even if you did hate Choi Beomgyu, you don’t think you could ever say it to his face. — He didn’t know that of course. Part of you wished he did. Beomgyu scoffs, his gaze returning to the frosty ground as he bites the inside of his cheek.

You’re scared that you might pity him forever. That things might never change. That the two of you might just be stuck in an eternal loop of hatred and unspoken feelings. — You don’t know what you want, but you know that it is not that. Perhaps this history project was the start you had been looking for. Maybe… 

“Are you free friday?” 

⸝⸝

Your study sessions became regular after that. Beomgyu appeared to have nothing better to do with his time, and to be frank, neither did you. And though you were far from friendly with one another, none of the insults lingered. You studied in silence, him by your desk and you on your bed, as far away from each other as you could get. It was quiet, so quiet that you sometimes forgot that he was even there, save for the occasional sigh or click of his tongue. 

At first, he would bring his phone, checking it every other second, like he hoped for something, for someone, to be there. But after four days, he stopped. And your curiosity only grew. 

Now a mere week remained until christmas break. You and Beomgyu had been studying together for the past six days, without fail. Your presentation was nearly completed, and part of you thinks this might be amongst your last sessions together, if not your very last. — It felt strange, almost melancholic. Would you miss him? Or would you miss the company? Taehyun was your friend, sure, at least that's what you called him. But as soon as the bell rang, as soon as class ended, it was only you again. 

So was it really so wrong to look forward to a bit of company after school? Even if said company was a grumpy and quiet Beomgyu who did his best in ignoring you whilst he was there. Maybe. — Maybe it was the slight urgency of losing the temporary comfort these quiet hours had provided you that led to the act of stupidity you were about to perform next. 

The sun had set hours ago, casting your room in a dim glow provided by the small lamps on your bedside table and desk. You and Beomgyu had been working quietly for the past while. Now that the information was gathered and all that remained was for you to edit the last paragraphs, he used his time to decorate the powerpoint, adding relevant pictures and messing with the fonts. It wasn’t hard work, but the fact that he did something, made your stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way. 

“Are you busy next week?” You wanted to ask him if he would like to practice the presentation together. But Beomgyu kills your last glimmer of hope with a small huff, “Yeah.” He doesn’t turn to look at you, his eyes steadily fixed on the computer screen in front of him despite the fact that he was now only aimlessly flipping through the slides. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refrain from asking if he was busy all week. You would most likely only receive a half-hearted ‘yes’ anyway. Instead your gaze flickers down to your keyboard, your nails quietly tapping against the keys as you think of something to say. Every second spent in his presence only seemed to pull even more questions from your already curious mind. There was so much you wanted to ask him about, even though you knew it wasn’t your place. 

Just let him go. 

You can hear Taehyun’s voice in the back of your head, pleading for you to not pry, to keep your eyes down and mind your business. It wasn’t that easy. He didn’t understand. He didn't know. He didn’t know Beomgyu like you did, like you thought you did. 

“Are you sure you don’t have time to come by and practice?” You can’t stop yourself, the question slips out anyway, and you watch as Beomgyu’s shoulders tense before relaxing again. “I told you I’m busy”, he repeats in the same monotone and tired voice he’d been using for the past week. — “Right…” You hold your tongue, fingers brushing over the keys on your keyboard, hovering above the space button. Your lips part, then they close, and then they part again. 

“Are you meeting Yeonjun?” 

You shouldn’t have asked that, you know it. Yet you did. Perhaps you wanted a reaction from him, perhaps you wanted to hear him raise his voice for the first time in over a week, perhaps you wanted him to get angry, to insult you, because it was the Beomgyu you knew. 

His shoulders go rigid this time, and though you can’t see his expression, you can still catch the twitch of his jaw. He’s stopped swiping through the presentation slides, now stuck on the first one as he gazes ahead. For a minute, everything’s quiet, you think he might not say anything at all. But when he speaks up, he doesn’t raise his voice, instead he lowers it, until it’s nothing but a low drawl of his tongue. 

“You think this is funny?” The cold words send a shiver down your spine, and even though he isn’t looking at you, you felt as if you were being judged under a microscope. “I… I’m sorry..?” You squeak, your voice nearly inaudible but Beomgyu catches it. — He chuckles, pushing his chair back as he turns to you. 

The fiery brown in his eyes is long gone, replaced with an ashy looking color, like he was drained of all life. His lips, usually pulled into either a scowl or a menacing smirk, remain just as unreadable as the rest of his face. — “Do you enjoy this?” He asks, but it hardly sounds like a question. 

You gulp, fingers pressing so hard against the keyboard that you have managed to insert a whole paragraph of nonsense onto the powerpoint. Quietly shaking your head, you think of a way to salvage the toes you’d accidentally stepped on. “No I, I’m sorry…” You swallow once more, “I just…I don’t know what happened between you…I..” 

Beomgyu’s loud scoff cuts you off, and you watch as he gets up from the chair, kicking it back against the desk. With two long strides he reaches you by the edge of the bed. Though he was barely an inch or two taller than yourself, he somehow managed to appear menacing as he loomed over you. “Has it ever crossed your mind that it might not be any of your fucking business?” He says, his tone remaining indifferent as he glares down at you with those empty and dying eyes. 

You bite your tongue, refraining from intervening and saying that practically everyone at school knew it. Though you were sure he already knew that too. — Beomgyu huffs out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “Every single fucking day”, he mutters, his eyes narrowing as they linger by your slightly sheepish expression. “Every day, people like you, stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

The way he spoke, grouping you together with the other students, it shouldn’t have made your chest churn the way it did. “People like me?” You repeat the words, tasting them on your tongue, and finding that you don’t like them. Beomgyu, on the other hand, merely sends you a small look of distaste, the only emotion that had managed to pass his features in a whole week. 

“What? You think you’re something else?” He jeers, frowning when you get up from the bed, straightening your back as you come face to face with him. — “I know I am”, you say, forcing your voice to remain steady. You knew that you weren’t the only one who’s thoughts lingered in the past. You knew that he must still think of the two of you from time to time, even if only for a brief moment. 

Beomgyu finally seems to catch on, his brows rising on his forehead when he does. He looks like he’s about to burst into laughter, you think that he might. “Oh that’s right”, he muses, “You think you’re special because I was nice to you back then, because I took pity on you.” He pushes a strand of dark hair from his face with the help of his pinky, “Bet it was the first time something like that happened.” 

You didn’t want to admit that he was right, that it had been the first time someone had ever gone out of their way for you. That it had been the first time someone had ever gifted you something, apart from your own family, that it was the first time someone willingly sat with you during lunch. But your mind gets caught on that one word he’d used. Pity. 

Was that all it was to him? A game of play-pretend, a chance for him to play hero? You shake your head, it couldn’t be, it wasn’t. — For two years, you had blamed Choi Yeonjun. You had blamed him for taking Beomgyu away from you, for turning him into someone you couldn’t recognize, for ruining your only chance at an actual friendship, perhaps even something else. 

It was easy to blame Yeonjun, you didn't like him, you never had. But you could never bring yourself to actually blame Beomgyu himself, because that would mean he was a bad person, and you didn’t want him to be. You wanted him to remain the perfect version you had created in your head, the version you thought you liked. It became clear now, that he wasn’t. 

“You’re a liar.” 

You state, fingers twitching by your sides as you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. Beomgyu’s expression morphs into one of confusion, then he scoffs. “A liar?” He asks, his voice hollow: “Do you hear yourself talk? You sound fucking crazy.” — “If you think for a second that what we have is different from any other piece of shit person in this school, you’re wrong.” He spits, eyes flaring up for the first time in so long, a small fire igniting within them. 

He continues to list reasons, reasons to hate you, reasons to hate him, reasons to hate everything. You weren't listening. All you see is his eyes, burning with rage, with life. 

It’s unexplainable, the feeling that surged in your chest, that pounds against your ribcage and pulls on your lungs as it sucks the air from them. And you don’t know why you took a step forward, why you let your hands brush against his, why you didn’t stop when you saw the bewilderment on his face. You don’t know why you leaned in closer, when you should be pulling back. — And you don’t know why you couldn’t look away, why you couldn’t tear your gaze from the flames dancing across his eyes. 

You don’t know why you kissed him. 

But you did. 

And now it was too late to ever go back. — Though you're not sure you want to. 

His lips feel soft against yours, not that you had ever stopped to think about how it would ever feel. Yet this somehow seemed right. You don’t open your eyes to look at him, you don’t think you could bear that. Still, you’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately jerk backward, when he doesn’t push you away. — Beomgyu hesitates. You think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him do.  

The moment lasts forever, and somehow it seems to have vanished within the blink of an eye. The bed squeaks when you crash against the mattress, you can still feel the flat of his palms on your shoulders as the force he’d used to shove you away from him lingered. 

When you peer up at him, you find him already watching you. The flames in his eyes seemed to burn even brighter now. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists by his sides as he struggles to keep his composure. — Your lips part, but no words come out. What was there to say? Sorry? But you weren’t. I hate you? But you didn’t. 

Beomgyu speaks before you get the chance to, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. “You’re fucking insane.” It’s all he says, not waiting for a response as he turns back to your desk. He shoves his laptop in his bag with such force that you thought its seams might break.

Then he heads for the door, reaching it in four long strides. He doesn’t turn to look at you, not like he had that day. He rips it open, ignoring the squeaking sound it made when he slammed it shut behind him. 

The silence that follows echoes through your small dorm. And you remain on your bed, motionless, staring ahead as your fingers reach up to touch your lips. — Still burning with the fire he’d igninited. 

⸝⸝

That night was a quiet one, your dorm room basked in the eerie glow of the moon. Nothing but the soft sounds of your hushed sobs filling the confined space. Your pillow is wet, stained with your tears as you cry into the cotton. It was pathetic, really. In fact, you didn’t even know why you were crying. — But as soon as the door had slammed shut, and you had been left alone with nothing but your lingering thoughts, everything had become too much to bear. 

The events of the past few weeks finally catching up to you, breaking the dam of pent of tears you’d been so carefully keeping at bay. It felt as if it would never stop. You didn’t know whether you felt humiliated, rejected or just straight up insulted. Part of you just felt stupid. What the fuck were you even thinking? Kissing him like that. The image itself makes you grimace, and with a heavy sigh you pull yourself into a sitting position. 

After fumbling in the dark for a few moments, your fingers manage to grasp your phone. The bright light of its screen blinds you, and you squint as you scroll through your ridiculously short contact list. — The line rings for almost a whole minute, all the while you anxiously bite on your short nails, chopping the last bits of green polish from your nail beds. And when he finally picks up, it’s silent, save for the deep breaths he emits as he waits for you to speak.

“Taehyun?” 

Your voice comes out a lot more hoarse and strained than you had anticipated, causing you to immediately clear your throat. Taehyun groans, and you hear him shift slightly as he mutters something incoherent. “Do you know what time it is?” He finally asks in a groggy, sleep-laced tone. A spark of guilt blooms in your chest, and you throw a quick glance toward the time on your phone, showing that it was well past midnight. 

“I’m sorry…I just”, you bite your lip, hesitating for a moment. It wasn’t like you didn’t trust Taehyun, it was just different. You and Taehyun were different. Part of you thinks he won’t understand, that he might judge you, no you know he will. Still, he was the only one you could turn to. — “Taehyun, I think I messed up.” 

He doesn’t answer right away, but you know he’s still there. You sit in silence for a while, just listening to his breaths, and for a moment you wonder if he’s fallen back asleep. But then he speaks, this time he sounds more awake. — “How bad?” He asks, and somewhere in the background, you think you can make out a light being flicked on. 

“Really bad..” 

⸝⸝

You had never been to Taehyun’s house before. Two years of so called friendship and you would think that you’d progressed further. But as you heave the last step leading up from the subway, you stop in order to relocate yourself. The neighbourhood looked average, yet inviting. Its quaint little houses, lined up along the dimly lit street, all reflected one another. 

Number 14, that was the one you were looking for. Your worn out sneakers hit the asphalt with heavy thuds, and a small cloud forms when you exhale out into the cold December air. With your fingers stuffed deep in the pockets of your duvet jacket, you make a slight turn, coming face to face with house number 14. 

It looked just like the rest, a small mailbox by the fence gate, its white paint chipped in places. You push it open, stepping up the small graveled path taking you to the doorsteps. Taehyun told you not to ring the bell, but to quietly knock. He didn’t live alone, you knew that much. — He shared the small flat with one of the juniors, you think his name might be Kai. 

You knock once, proceeding to wrap your arms around yourself as you wait anxiously for him to open. It takes him a mere thirty seconds, and when the door swings aside, you're met with the still sleep-laced figure of Kang Taehyun. — He’s dressed in nothing but a pair of checkered sweatpants and a black t-shirt, the glasses he always wore nowhere to be seen. He looked far different like this, it takes you a moment to even recognize him. 

Your silence must’ve been unusual, because he soon cocks an eyebrow, stepping aside as he motions for you to get in.  

Taehyun’s place looks nothing like you’d imagined it. It was far messier. With clothes hanging off the kitchen chairs, lecture material spread over the round table and piles of books crowding the already small countertop. Still, he doesn't seem to mind the slight chaos as he reaches up to fetch two glasses from the cabinet, not saying anything as he fills them both with water from the tap. 

This eternal silence covers you both like a thick blanket, enveloping you in a false sense of ignorance, like the fact that you were currently in his kitchen, at 3am no less, was completely normal. — Taehyun remains quiet as he walks past you and into the joint living room, you trail behind him, eyes lingering on the discarded guitar that rested against the wall. 

The large green sofa takes up a good third of the room, and Taehyun sets your glasses down on the wooden coffee table in front of it as you take a seat. — “Do you play?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, not a ‘Hello, sorry for bothering you so late at night and barging into your home.” But you can’t help yourself, somewhere in the back of your mind, you hear Beomgyu, clearly remembering the day he’d told you about his love for music, no less the guitar. 

But Taehyun merely shrugs, and when he speaks, his voice is groggy. “Kai does.” The statement doesn’t leave room for further questions, and you thought it was probably wise to not bother him with more small talk. 

Reaching for the glass, your fingers wrap around its cold surface as you bring it to your lips. You sip slowly, prolonging the inevitable confession you were to make. And as the refreshing water slides down your incredibly dry throat, you sneak a glance in his direction. It felt odd, seeing Taehyun outside of school like this. 

Your gaze lingers on his bare arms, something his uniform never allowed even as much as a glimpse of. He leans against the soft cushion of the couch, mindlessly fiddling with a small string which you had no idea where he’d gotten it from. — It might’ve been the late hour, or the change of scenery, hell it might’ve even been the fact that you’d probably made the biggest mistake of your life not even eight hours ago. But had Taehyun always looked this… Good wasn’t the right word… At least you didn’t think it was. 

You suppose he looked… Ordinary. He looked far more relaxed than he ever did at campus, in class or in the cafeteria. This Taehyun resembles little of your class president, right now he just looks like, well him. 

“Why are you here?” His sudden question snaps you from your trance and your eyes immediately snap toward the water in your glass, the clear liquid swirling around slowly. Why were you here? Because you were alone, because you were scared, because you didn’t have anyone else to turn to. — “I… I messed up”, your deflated sigh rings out in the living room. 

Taehyun continues to fiddle with the small string, twisting it around his thumb. “The presentation?” He asks, but you can tell that was not what he’d actually meant. Still, you nod. “Well that one too, that’s for sure..” You didn’t even want to think about having to face him next Tuesday, much less going through with that presentation together, in front of everyone. 

“It’s about him, isn’t it?” 

The question was hardly needed, and you mumble out a quiet ‘yes’ as you set your glass down. Taehyun hums, his eyes trained to his hand. You wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Biting the inside of your cheek, you inhaled slowly. It was better to get it out right away, wasn’t it? Besides, there was no way you could sugarcoat it, no way for you to lie yourself out of this. You wanted to be honest with Taehyun, because it was easier to be honest with him than with yourself. 

“I kissed him.” 

There. You said it. So why didn’t the lump in your throat ease? Why did your chest still feel tight and your palms sweaty? Why couldn’t it all just go away, you did what you were supposed to, you confessed. Was that not enough? — Taehyun doesn’t look surprised. In fact he looks almost amused. As if he was betting with himself, ultimately ending up winning as you said what he’d already expected you to. 

“I think he hates me even more now. No - I know he does.” You can’t stop the words from flowing, all your pent up emotions rolling off your tongue in one swift motion. “I don’t think he’s ever going to talk to me again. And I’ll probably have to do the presentation alone. But I don’t reckon he’ll tell anybody, I’m sure he’s embarrassed about being associated with me. Fucking entitled asshole.” The last part comes out with slight distaste. 

“Don’t you agree?” You turn to Taehyun who’s been listening quietly. Finally, he glances up from the string he’s fiddling with. He sighs, “I think you should’ve stayed away from him just like I told you to.” — His words made your chest tighten even further, but they were not surprising. You knew what his response would be, you had known before you even picked up the phone to call him. Still, you did it. Because even if he told you what you’d already heard so many times before, it was something, and something was better than nothing. 

“Why did you do it?” You quietly ask him, your question coming out nearly inaudible. “Hm?” His dark eyes, the ones you used to watch behind the thick lens of his glasses, shift over to you. — “Why did you write his essay?” Your sudden change makes him pause, his fingers stilling around the thin thread he’d been twirling for the past minutes. Taehyun looks at you, but you can tell he’s not actually looking at you. 

“What do you mean?” It takes him almost a whole minute to reply. That had never happened before. Holding your tongue, you consider your next words carefully. You’d been wanting to ask him about that day in the hallway for so long now, it had been pestering you for weeks, like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. Because if it was one thing you couldn’t understand, it was why someone like Taehyun, would do something like that, for someone like Beomgyu. 

“Does he have something on you? Is he bullying you?” 

Taehyun shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he discards the thread between his fingers. “No”, he finally states, his voice firm. He was lying. He had to be, right? — “Then why?” You knew you were pushing far, too far, but you wanted, no, needed answers. But he only averts his gaze, his attention fixed on something far ahead. You try to follow his line of sight, your own eyes landing on the crowded bookshelves. 

Books. Your lip twitches at the sight of pages worth of study material. But as you survey the shelves closely, you find that they’re neatly organised, unlike the chaos that spread through the rest of the house. From different subjects, all neatly categorized, yet one book remained alone, separated from the rest. You didn’t recognize its cover. 

“Latin.” 

Taehyun’s thoughts seem to align perfectly with yours as he, too, eyes the lonesome book. “I didn’t know you took latin..” You murmur, still not tearing your gaze from the shelf. Beside you, Taehyun hums before going silent once more. That silence lingers for another thick and heavy minute. The darkness of his living room closing in on you, the sounds of your quiet breaths remaining the only signs of life. 

“Hardly anyone picks latin”, he then adds, nodding toward the book on the very edge of the shelf. You nod, even though you don’t exactly understand where he’s going with this. Taehyun sighs, and he sounds tired, “Picked it ‘cause I felt bad.” — “The professor would hardly have a class to teach this semester if it wasn’t for me.” 

You frown, shifting back to him as your lips part in an unspoken question. But Taehyun doesn’t need to look at you to know what goes on inside your head. — He shrugs, “You asked me why.” 

The silence that follows his last words did not feel as heavy as the others. It merely felt…confusing. Your gaze drops to your hands, placed neatly on your lap. Exhaling through your nose, you begin picking away at your already chipped nail polish, watching as the red flakes fell to your knees. Latin… He picked it out of pity? Not because he enjoyed it but because he felt bad? 

But what did Latin have to do with… 

“Did you want to do it?” Taehyun suddenly asks, and it felt weird, because he hardly asked questions about you, and especially not about Beomgyu. — The lump in your throat bounces back twice as big this time, and your fingers still. “Yes.” If there was one thing you were sure of, it was that. You wanted to kiss Choi Beomgyu, and you had.

“I don’t…” You begin but quickly trail off. Taehyun is patient. He waits for you to continue, he waits for two whole minutes, until finally, you say: “I don’t regret it.” — “And I wish I could tell him that.” 

Taehyun shifts on the green cushion, turning so that he’s now facing you. His gaze isn’t the narrowed and sharp one you’d grown so accustomed to. This one’s gentle, almost soft. — “So why haven’t you?” 

⸝⸝

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

The voice is sharp, and you think you might recognize it. It makes you halt, stopping just as you were about to round the corner taking you to the dormitories. With your back now pressed against the cool wall, you freeze, listening to the conversation taking place. You had mindlessly been returning to the place you called home after a long day of classes, when suddenly two arguing voices caught your attention. 

“My problem?”, Beomgyu spits, his tone harsh and defensive, “Fucking hell man, have you even seen yourself lately?” 

The other voice, which you now recognize as Yeonjun's, cuts back with an equal bite. “Oh come on, just admit that you have something against her. – It’s not like you’ve ever tried to hide it.”

Beomgyu remains quiet, the air feeling dense and heavy with unspoken feelings. “I don’t have anything against her.” He pauses and you wonder what his face might look like right now, furious, deflated? He exhales, “It’s you, okay? You’re the issue here.” 

You could almost hear the surprise as it radiated off of Yeonjun, and you manage to get a glimpse of one of his arms as he shifts on the spot. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He sounds confused, agitated almost. 

“It means..” Beomgyu begins, though quickly cutting himself short as he inhales. “It means you’ve changed, alright. — And I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you but you..” He trails off, the frustration at not being able to say what he wants, what he feels, is palpable and you shift uncomfortably against the wall as you hold your breath. 

Yeonjun scoffs, it sounds almost like laughter. “Oh, so I get a girlfriend and suddenly can’t hang anymore?” — “Yes.” Beomgyu immediately responds. “You and that fucking good for nothing ner-” 

Thud. 

It sounds almost as if one of them had shoved the other against the wall and your eyes widened as you resist the urge to take just a single step forward, to round the corner and see for yourself. — Yeonjun is the first to speak. “You fucking watch your mouth!” He snarls and you can make out Beomgyu’s low groan as he splutters against what you presumed to be Yeonjun’s chokehold on him.

“Or what?” He counters in a strained voice, the teasing edge evident, the one he used to mask how hurt he was.

The sound of Yeonjun’s fist connecting with what could only be Beomgyu’s face echoes through the otherwise empty hallway and your heart drops to your stomach. But Beomgyu merely chuckles. “She ruined everything”, he grumbles, merely adding fuel to the fire. 

“Shut your mouth.” 

Beomgyu snickers, and Yeonjun’s frustration bounces off the walls. You’d heard enough, and you certainly weren’t going to risk staying and ending up in the middle of it. So you turn around, and just as quickly as you had come, you retreat again. 

⸝⸝ 

You nervously pace your room, mumbling the words to yourself over and over, trying your hardest to memorize them. It had dawned on you that you would be doing this alone, and now what remained was to learn everything. But no matter how many times you circled your bed, you always found yourself off track, needing to double check your laptop over and over. 

You were slowly becoming desperate. Nothing seemed to work in your favor. — You curse yourself for letting your feelings get the better of you. For being naive, for thinking that he actually felt something, anything for you. Had you just restrained yourself, had you just held back… You wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Anxiously gnawing on your nails, your teeth scrape their beds as you re-read the paragraphs written on the powerpoint for the fifthteenth time. The sentences had started to blur, the words merging with one another slowly. — You shake your head, willing yourself to stay focused, to not let your emotions get the better of you, again. 

But then there it is. A loud, almost frantic, knock at your door. — Knock! Knock! 

Your head jerks in its direction, the presentation long forgotten about as your eyes narrow on the dark oak. You throw a glance at the time, 8:29 pm, what could anyone possibly want you at this hour? — But the knocking persists. 

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

It’s loud, flaring like thunder through your dormitory and it makes you jump. Naturally, you do the only thing that comes to mind; you approach, with both curious and wary steps. Your hesitant hand reaches for the handle, the other one twisting the lock as you pull the door open. — The sight that greets you on the other side is nothing you could’ve ever imagined. 

Beomgyu looks even worse than he had a week ago. The bags under his eyes were a permanent look now, dark and sunken in. His long hair falls in uneven sections down the sides of his face, a few strands sticking to his forehead, covered in a sheen layer of sweat. Even his expensive uniform was messed up, tie hanging loosely around his neck and his white shirt torn by the seams. 

You can only make out half his face, the rest shielded by his unkempt and dark hair. But what stood out was the large and angry bruise covering his cheek. Its blue and purple hues were a stark contrast to his honey-like skin. You knew where he’d gotten that. His breaths come out ragged, shallow, like he’d ran here. Perhaps he had. Your lips part, but before you can get the question out, he’s barging inside, slamming the door shut behind him. — “Beomgyu what..” Your words fall short as he pushes his hair from his face, revealing his dark eyes to you. 

They were burning with the same fire they had been that night, the night you kissed him. The flames dance across his bottomless irises. You think that if you got too close, you’d end up burning yourself. Another part of you thinks it’s too late to take cover. That you had already walked inside and sealed the door shut behind you, and now you would burn with him. 

He takes a step forward, the fire drawing in closer and you squint against its flames. His chest heaves, it clouds your narrowed vision as he backs you up against the nearest wall. Something had happened, something had made him like this, because this was not the Beomgyu you knew. The Beomgyu you knew would be repulsed to even as much as near you, to even breathe the same circuit of air as you. 

He is not the Beomgyu you know. Because the Beomgyu you know would never kiss you. 

But this one does, and it’s without hesitating that his hands reach for your face, cupping both cheeks in his blazing hot palms as he brings your face to his. — Your eyes widen, alarm bells going off in your mind, screaming for you to push him back, to demand answers from him. So why don’t you? Why do you let him kiss you, why do you let him toy with you like this? 

Beomgyu did not like you. He hated you. That was a fact. Not because he’d said so himself, or because he treated you like he did. But because it was the reality you had been feeding yourself for so long. It put you at ease, knowing that he hated you, because if he did, then he at least felt something for you. You weren’t just another face in the halls, your time together wasn’t just a figment of his or your imagination, it had been real. The two of you were real, and the resentment and hate was a confirmation of just that. 

So when his lips press against yours, warm and wet, his tongue slips inside your mouth without waiting to hear your startled yelp.. The reality you had built for yourself suddenly starts to crumble. Everything was wrong, this was not how it was supposed to be. — You had allowed yourself a slip up last week, a moment of weakness. You had kissed him. For a brief, short and awfully painful moment you had let your own desires consume you. And you had paid the price. 

This time Beomgyu was acting on his desires, not yours. And that scared you. 

His chest is flush against yours, his grip on your face unwavering as he forces your lips to meet in a searing kiss. You don’t understand. You thought you had him all figured out, this wasn’t supposed to happen, why is he… — “Beomgyu, stop!” Your nails dig into his shoulders, tearing him off of you with all your might. He separates from you, if only an inch, the kiss coming to an abrupt stop as you’re left panting. 

His lips are coated in saliva, a small string connecting the two of you before it breaks just a second later. You barely recognize him. “What’s going on?” The question is accusing, your voice laced with confusion and anger. 

Beomgyu remains silent, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he exhales a final heavy breath. His jaw clenches when he swallows, and his dark eyes flicker down to your lips once more. — “Shut up.” It’s all he says, but there’s no malice in the way he does. It sounds almost like a plea. And the fire within his eyes seems to burn even brighter as his gaze meets yours. “Please just shut up.” 

You did not want to shut up. You wanted to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. You wanted to show him just how it felt when he rejected you just days prior. You wanted to tell him that he was ‘fucking insane’ and slam the door shut in his own face. — You did none of that. 

The next kiss is initiated by you, not him. It’s soft, and it reminds you of the one you’d given him last week. Slow, hesitant, but tender. And Beomgyu’s hands reluctantly drop from your face, gently sliding down your arms and sides before settling on your waist. — You had known for a long time now that you felt empathy for him. That you pitied him. Perhaps it was why you let him use you. 

Tomorrow he would not speak of this. He would act as if it never happened, he would bury it as deep as he could. He might think that this is his only solution today, that this will be his solace for whatever might’ve set him off. But it isn’t, and when this night morphs into dawn, he will realize that. — You don’t want him to. 

You should tell him to stop right now. He’ll only end up hurting you, not that he cares, he never had. But you, you should care. So why don’t you? 

Your fingers tug his already loose tie off, letting it slip from his neck before you work on his shirt, hastily unbuttoning it. Beomgyu follows in your tracks, letting you shrug the torn garment from his shoulders before he reaches for the pajama pants you wore. — You stop him, your hand on his wrist. “On the bed, please”, you whisper against his lips. 

His nod is barely noticeable before he hoists you into his arms. The sudden action startles you and you cling to him in shock as he gently places you down onto the mattress. He just about bothers to shove your laptop to the floor, muttering something incoherent about being able to get you a new one if it broke. You can’t find it in you to care, not when he climbs on top of you, the bed squeaking beneath his weight as he does. 

You feel warm, fuzzy, intoxicated even. Bleary eyes finding his as he hurriedly presses his lips against yours again. It was almost as if he was trying to drown out whatever thoughts plagued his mind as his hands grabbed at whatever part of you he could access. — His fingers hook around the waistline of your pajama pants, attempting to tug them off once more, and this time he succeeds. 

The air of your dormitory is cool against your naked skin, causing goosebumps to flare across it as Beomgyu slides your clothes down your body. He was moving fast, almost too fast. For some reason you let him, even though you know you probably shouldn’t. He was being selfish right now, wasn’t he? Using you like this, only to quiet his own worries, to soothe his own pain. He didn’t care for your feelings and he never would, not even now as his hands hover above your panties, fingers tracing their lining with eagerness. 

Or perhaps you were the selfish one? He clearly wasn’t thinking straight. The Beomgyu you knew would never stoop to this level, he would never go for someone like you, and you would never allow it.. Right? — Were you selfish for using him in this state, for egging him on even when you knew that the two of you were to regret this in the morning? 

Maybe. 

You don’t care. 

His fingers slide beneath the fabric of your pantines, running between your folds, circling your clit once as he pulls a shaky gasp from you. Your hands are still gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the skin there, leaving crescent like shapes in their wake. — He doesn’t wait, doesn’t drag the process out. You can tell that his mind is set on one thing. That’s okay, so were yours. Right? 

You cry out when he pushes two fingers inside of your aching cunt, curling them meticulously as his lips trail down your jaw. Your hips arch off the bed, meeting his movements as you wordlessly beg for more. — “Beomgyu, we… we should..” You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, the feelings swirling within your chest were difficult to convey. 

But he won’t have a word of it. “Shut up”, he grunts, the palm of his free hand pressing against your pelvis as he shoves you back against the mattress. He’s rough, surprisingly so. You’d always taken him for a little bitch. But his strength startles you, as well as sending a shot of heat through your stomach, making you clench around his fingers. 

If he notices it, he doesn’t bother to comment, which is unusual for him. Something bad must’ve happened, that’s all you can think. Something so bad had happened that his only resolve was you. The thought of him using you to get over whatever had hurt, it should upset you. It should make you feel small and insignificant, but it never did. 

Beomgyu tugs your panties down, throwing them over his shoulder as he parts your already spread legs. — Your hands glide over the apex of his shoulders, and you blink up at him expectantly. He doesn’t return your gaze. That hurt. 

Instead he focuses on the zipper of his uniform pants, undoing it with a harsh tug before slipping hand down his pants. His low groan pierces the thick and hot air, the sound is one so sinful, one you could have never imagined coming from his lips. — Your eyes dart down to his cock when he pulls it free, tongue subconsciously darting out to wet your lips as you regard the way he languidly strokes himself.

“Touch yourself”, he says, his voice low and gruff as he eyes your dripping cunt. — Surprised, you hesitantly comply as you reach a hand down between your thighs, fingers experimentally dragging across your core. The small moan that slips off your tongue makes your face heat up as you avoid his gaze. 

You push two fingers inside of your pleading cunt, not even bothering to put on a show for him as you let yourself become immersed in how it feels, how good it feels. In fact everything felt good, a little too good, when you know it shouldn’t. — You watch him through the corner of your eye, catching the bead of precum that slid down his veiny shaft. And your stomach flutters uncontrollably when he squeezes around himself, letting his head tip back with a strained moan.

When he’s evidently had enough, he pushes your hand away, ignoring your cries as you lose any semblance of pleasure. Though your loss is soon replaced by the head of his cock as he slides it between your folds. It bumps against your clit, making you shudder as your fingers twist in the bed sheets. — Your lips part, but Beomgyu’s hand covers them again. 

“Don’t.” He grunts, his attention focused on the way his thick cock gently eases itself inside your warm cunt. Your eyes widen, a small and muffled noise of pleasure leaving you as you squirm beneath him. — “Don’t say anything”, he nearly pleads, his dark and burning gaze flickering to your face for a brief moment. 

Your chest contracts, you didn’t understand.. Yet you complied, sealing your lips off to anything that wasn’t a cry or a moan. — Beomgyu’s pace is rough, leaving no room for you to argue as he snaps his hips against yours. The bed frame rattles against your wall, and you briefly worried that the sound would carry into the next room. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to care. 

His hand slides off of your lips, resting on the mattress just inches from your face as he hovers above you. — Stifling a small whimper, you reach up to touch him, any part of him that you could. This was your chance, no? 

You can feel every twitch of muscle as you drag your fingertips along his arms, letting your hands glide across his tense shoulders. Beomgyu shudders when you reach the nape of his neck. — He complies when you pull him down for another kiss. This one starts out slower, but quickly morphs into something that could easily match the pace he was keeping. His teeth pull your bottom lip into his mouth, biting down with a force that startles you, a surprised moan ripping from your throat. 

He made you feel nearly delirious, like you didn’t exist, nothing felt real. But at the same time, you could feel everything at once. He was so close, closer than he'd ever been to you. Not even back then, back when you considered him your friend. Not even then did it feel like this.. Raw, scorching hot, burning and most importantly, alive. 

Your chest is already hurting, already mourning the loss of him that was to come. Why couldn’t you just allow yourself to live in the moment, to give in to your desires completely, even if they were beyond what you knew to be possible. This was real, he was here, with you. For now, for tonight, everything was different, and you should let it be just that. 

“I love you.” 

The confession slips past your lips. It carries out into the dim room, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears and pounding against your ribcage. Beomgyu stills inside of you, his dark eyes immediately landing on yours as they narrow. — Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that. Did you even mean it? Or had you let your flimsy emotions get the better of you once again. 

But this wasn’t just a small peck on the lips. Something you could pull back from, something you could wipe off your mouth and forget about. This was you baring your heart to him. This was you showing your most vulnerable self. — This was you being selfish. 

Beomgyu’s face twists into a scowl, the way it did whenever he tried to mask how hurt he was. Because that’s what he was tonight. Hurt. It’s why he’d come here. To use you. To let himself forget. He’d begged you to be quiet. — And you had done the exact opposite. 

“You don’t.” His statement is cold, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “You don’t know what you’re saying”, he grunts. And his expression hardens when you insistently shake your head. 

“I do”, your lips press into a thin line, determination flickering across your features. That was a lie. You did not know if you loved him. But you knew that you pitied him, that your heart ached for him. It was like every punch to his gut went straight to your heart. — Perhaps the hurt was so strong that you had confused it with love. Maybe your empathy for him got mistaken for real feelings in your mind.  

How should you know? It wasn’t like you’d ever felt it before. 

And he hadn’t either. You were sure of it. 

“I know what I’m..” — “I said you don’t know anything!” Beomgyu’s voice cuts you off, it sounds like a scream. Ear-piercing and deafening. Beomgyu was yelling at you. And it scared you. 

He shifts above you, elbows digging into the mattress and you suddenly remember that his throbbing cock is nestled within your cunt. You think he might pull back, that he will get up and leave. That’s what he should do. But he doesn’t. — Instead he jolts back into action, snapping his hips against yours with newfound force, his jaw clenching as his dark eyes bore into you. 

“You’re confused”, he jeers, and you choke back a wanton moan when his thumb circles your clit. “Lot of girls get confused when they’re stuffed with cock”, he scoffs, “And you’re no different.” — Beomgyu was back to his old self, the cruel and menacing one. The Beomgyu that fronted whenever he tried to hide his true feelings, when the real him was feeling weak. You should’ve seen it coming, really. But his words still hurt, they always did. 

He rams himself into you, making your thighs quiver as they meekly wrap around his chest, drawing him even closer. You screw your eyes shut, not wanting to see him for as much as another second. He doesn’t seem to care, in fact he hardly seems to care about anything at the very moment. 

His fingers are harsh against your clit as he drinks in every moan you emit. And when you finally finish around his cock, your cunt fluttering around him, he doesn’t say anything. You pant, still refusing to look at him as you catch your breath. His thick cock makes you wince as it continues to push into you with demand. 

Beomgyu pulls out wordlessly. Hissing out into the quiet air as he cums all over your spread thighs, his sharp intake of air pounding in your ears. His release is warm, a sickening contrast to the cold sweats that had broken out on your body. It nearly makes you shiver. 

A new kind of silence follows after that. One full of knowing. Because you both knew that what had transpired tonight, was not something you would ever talk about again. The unanswered questions would never be brought to discussion. And you were supposed to be okay with that. You were supposed to be okay with this. 

You don’t know if you ever will be. 

⸝⸝ 

The bed was empty that following morning. The only trace of Beomgyu were the rustled sheets where he’d slept. And you spent nearly an hour tracing their patterns with the tips of your fingers, following every crease of duvet carefully as you memorized the shape of him. 

You knew that this was how it was going to end, as nothing more but yet another mistake. Another reason for him to hate you, and you him. Which is why you shouldn’t feel this melancholic. He sure as hell wasn’t. So why should you suffer? Yet it takes everything in you to drag yourself out of bed that day. 

The water is scorching hot against your skin, and you lean against the cool tiles as you close your eyes. But no matter how hard you scrubbed, how many layers of soap you covered yourself beneath. The feeling of his hands never went away. You almost thought you could see them, the faint outlines of his hands, all over your body. And as soon as you let your mind wander, even for just a second, you could feel him on you again. 

With a shudder you shake your head, promptly turning the water from flaming hot to an icy cold. The warmth reminded you of him, of the fire in his eyes and the burn of his touch. Cold water did not remind you of anything, that was better. 

Part of you had thought, almost hoped, that he would come to you, that he would beg of you to keep quiet, to not utter a single word about the night that had been. But he never did. Presentation day comes, and it passes again. It wasn’t very dramatic, in fact, it was like nothing had changed at all. 

Beomgyu showed up. He didn’t look you in the eyes when he took his papers from you. He didn’t look at you during the presentation, he kept his gaze ahead, fixated on the rest of your joint classes. He didn’t speak to you before, during, or after it. Not even a simple, ‘well done’ or even a ‘thanks’ when you’d offered to take his papers and throw them away for him. 

His indifference hurt the most. Perhaps the night had meant nothing to him. It had been just as you suspected, a way for him to forget. Forget whatever it was that had happened with Yeonjun that afternoon. — It had worked. Beomgyu seemed to have forgotten, but you remembered, you remembered far too much. 

Winter break began a mere three days later. 

A different kind of excitement lingered in the air. No matter how old you got, the joy of Christmas never seemed to dull people’s spirits. Almost three weeks to spend with family and friends, three weeks away from the tortuous hell that was college. Except you would stay right where you were. 

This would be the third Christmas you spent on campus. And while the school offered the remaining students to gather in the cafeteria for present unwrapping and long movie marathons, it was never the same as the warm embrace of home. — But home has long since lost its meaning to you. And Christmas no longer felt like a holiday. 

Taehyun had left as well, leaving you with nothing but your own thoughts to reconcile with. Suppose it was during the holidays you realized just how lonely you were. That hurt, of course. — You would spend your days doing mundane things, like reading, writing, drawing… Anything to get your mind off of the almost depressing reality you faced. It usually only worked for an hour or so. It was like a constant loop of distraction, one where you chased the comfort that slowly slipped from your fingers. 

But you were tired of chasing. 

⸝⸝

Your worn out sneakers make an awful squeaking noise against the polished floors and the sound rings in your ears. It’s all you can hear, which serves to quiet your thoughts for a moment, proving to be quite the distraction. 

The long hallways are eerily empty and quiet, it gives them an almost uncanny feeling. Campus no longer felt like campus, more like a shell of its former self. You knew that it would change as soon as break was over of course, but for now you were forced to make your way down the vacant halls all alone in order to get to the cafeteria and have dinner. 

It was for these exact reasons that the sudden tap to your shoulder made your heart drop. 

With a quick spin of your heel, you come face to face with the person you’d least expected to see. — His dark hair is nicely done, and his eyes glimmer with a kindness that two months ago would have had you doing a double take. Snow had melted on the shoulders of his jacket, and the tip of his nose was a bright red. An almost gentle smile is splayed across his rosy lips, and he gives a nervous chuckle. You almost didn’t recognize Choi Yeonjun. 

“Hey uh..” He scratches the back of his neck rather awkwardly, his eyes darting around the empty hallway. “You don’t happen to know if there’s someone with keys to classroom 017? - My girl forgot one of her books in there before the break you see..”  — You remain silent. You don’t think you’d ever had a decent conversation with Yeonjun, ever. It had all been mean and crude comments, nasty smirks and awfully childish pranks where you became a laughing stock. 

So to say that it felt a little weird to be approached by him like this, well that would certainly classify as an understatement. Your first instinct was to walk away, to leave him hanging like he deserved or perhaps you should belittle him on his obliviousness, did he not know all keys were held in the lobby? You refused an eye roll. — For the first time since your night with Beomgyu, a different kind of emotion blossoms within your chest. 

Anger. 

Your mind easily recognizes Yeonjun as the one who’d taken Beomgyu from you two years ago. It was him who you’d blamed for the way Beomgyu turned out, it was him who was at fault. It was him… He… 

You swallow, giving him a small nod, “Think there should be someone up by the lobby.” The polite words sting on your tongue, your fingers itching as they clenched and unclened. Yeonjun on the other hand, smiles, his grin stretching wide as he thanks you. What had changed? 

“I best head there then.” With his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans, he turns and begins his journey down the lifeless corridor. You watch him, eyes trailing over his figure for a moment before you call out. — “Hey, wait!” 

He pauses, turning back to you with raised brows. You march forward without giving yourself the chance to think it over once more. The sounds of you sneakers squeaking against the floors becomes almost deafening but you disregard it as you come to a halt before him. Straightening yourself up, you hold his confused but intrigued gaze. 

“You were friends with Beomgyu, right?” It wasn’t a question, but you phrased it like one anyway. The smile immediately falls from his face upon hearing your words, and for a split second, the old Yeonjun, the face you recognized in the halls fronted. His lips twist into a small scowl and his dark brows furrow. “What’s it to you?” His voice had grown sharp, almost snappy, perhaps you’d hit a sore spot. 

Something had happened. 

Yeonjun studies you for a moment longer, his brown eyes drinking in your frame. His tongue prods against the inside of his cheek, and he looks almost thoughtful. Then he huffs a short breath, it sounded almost like a laugh. — “Oh, yeah that’s right. I know who you are.” He stated it like it was an insult, like your name weighed heavy, and for all the wrong reasons. 

You can feel the confusion evolve on your face, he can too. “Why, I bet he’s told you everything. Bet he came running to you like a bitch.” Yeonjun’s menacing sneer is far from unfamiliar and your chest twists at his words. What was that supposed to mean? — “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was true. You had no idea what had happened between the two of them. 

It’s silent for a moment, and Yeonjun studies you closely, as if searching for lies. When he finds none his shoulders visibly relax. He lets out a short breath, averting his gaze, as if the confrontation of the subject made him uncomfortable. — “He’s an immature bitch, what do you want me to say?” He doesn’t hesitate as his eyes snap back to you, this time with something akin to fury. 

“Couldn’t accept my girl so why should I accept him. – But come on now, he’s told you that already.” 

You don’t answer. Your fingers nervously fiddles with one another as your hands rest by your sides. What was he talking about? What was there for you to know. — Your silence seems to make the pieces fall together in his mind, finally assembling a large puzzle and Yeonjun’s face lights up. “Oh shit”, he huffs, “He hasn’t told you anything at all.” It’s a statement, one that makes your heart drop. 

He runs a hand through his dark hair, a near sinister grin playing on his lips. “Fucking hell.” — He glances down the hall, which was ironic considering how blatantly vacant it was, then he turns back to you. “I thought– I mean I”, interrupting himself only to clear his throat, Yeonjun looks to be fighting back yet another laugh. “I mean I thought you guys were…” 

Shaking his head, he drags the flat of his palm across half his face. “Fuck, I guess not. That’s sad. Really.” — You want to object, tell him that whatever assumption he was currently making was wrong. You wanted to tell him that you and Beomgyu were exactly that. But that would be a lie. And you’d had enough of those. 

“Do you not miss him?” 

The question takes him by surprise, and Yeonjun pauses as he glances back at you. For a moment he looks offended, taken aback by your bluntness. His lips curl into a small scowl, the one he used to wear in the halls, not anymore though, now it was reserved for only one person, Beomgyu. — “Don’t think that’s any of your business, no? – I mean you guys aren’t even..” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a disappointing manner. 

“Just stay in your own lane”, he then adds, giving you a quick one over. “You’re better off without him anyway. – He’ll only bring you down with him.” 

Without another word, Yeonjun walks away. And you don’t stop him. For some reason, his words hurt. They were never directly targeted your way, so why did it hurt to hear him talk bad about Beomgyu? — Why did you feel the need to take on his pain as well, why did you feel the need to carry a burden that was never yours. 

The walk to the cafeteria feels even heavier than usual, and you barely get any food down that evening. 

⸝⸝

The days sort of blend together when you have nothing to do. They’re rolling on a loop, one after the other, and each one would follow the same mundane pattern. With only a day to spare before Christmas, you finally drag yourself off campus grounds, determined to at least make an attempt at lifting your spirits. 

Stores are beyond crowded, and you get shoved left and right as you swim your way through the large masses. God, had none of these people done their Christmas shopping with at least a little margin? — Supposedly not. 

You didn’t know what you wanted, hardly anything seemed to catch your eye. Still, you scour the near empty racks, even when nothing appeals. A small cry to your right diverts your attention in said direction where a young girl clings to her mom. — “I want this one!” She whines, her tiny feet stomping against the hard ground. Her mom sighs but eventually complies, shoving yet another toy in their already full cart. She looked exhausted.   

Your gaze lingers on the tired moms who rushed about with bags stuffed full, on the dads who checked off lists, on the workers who wiped sweat from their forehead as they tried to get through the long line of customers waiting to pay. 

All this commotion for a single day of the year. As much as the thought itself made you want to snort, there was also an undeniable sense of longing that filled your chest. You, too, wanted to rush about, you wanted to have to worry about what to get people for Christmas. You wanted to stay up late and wrap presents, you wanted to see the joy on their faces, hear their laughs. 

You didn't want to be alone. 

Walking was nice. But it becomes tiresome after a while. With your coat wrapped snugly around your body, you stroll the campus grounds absentmindedly. The cold air made your nose freeze and your cheeks sting, but you refused to return to your dorm just yet. There was something so comforting about being swallowed by the shivers running down your spine, or perhaps it was just numbing, like medicine, only it would never cure you. 

The frosty grass crunches beneath the sole of your shoes, and you trudge forward with heavy steps. There was but a thin and crisp layer of snow, one that could be erased with the swipe of your foot. So much for a white Christmas, you thought with a bitter scoff. — Your fingers are on the verge of falling off, but you clutch the small bag in your hand anyway, swinging it back and forth in tune with your casual strides. 

You pass a most familiar bench, now coated in a thin blanket of white but undoubtedly the same. Without thinking twice you come to a halt, feet melting into the ground as they force you in place. Furrowed brows press against your narrowed eyes as you peer over at the very same spot where you had seen Beomgyu sitting not long ago, all by himself. 

Everything seemed to remind you of him, even when all you wanted was to forget his mere existence. You look away, blinking the hurt from your eyes as you glance toward the entrance leading back inside, leading to warmth and to safety. You should go, you should go there now. But it’s impossible to get yourself to move forward, your legs refuse to carry you and you feel your knees buckle. 

With one harsh shake of your head you pull yourself from the small trance. And finally you move, but it is not the entrance you approach. — The old bench squeaks under your weight, and with the help of a gloved hand you dust the worst snow off. 

Sigh. Everything looked different now, yet it was as though nothing had changed. You close your eyes, and for a second you could almost imagine him as he sat beside you, sharing a laugh and perhaps even melting the cold away with your hand in his. The image pains you just as much as it warms you. 

Had it not been for the cold, the moment out on the bench might have even been tranquil. But the harsh winds soared through your body, chilling you to your core as it forced you to huddle in on yourself. You suck in a sharp breath, the cold air slicing down your throat as you force your almost numb lips together. 

Arms wrapped around yourself and fingers digging into your forearms, you’re so busy keeping the cold out that it takes you almost a whole minute to recognize the soft patter of frozen grass crunching beneath feet. But when the sound does reach your ears, your head jerks in its direction. 

There, on the other side of the once grassy field, without as much as a uniform or school bag in sight, is Beomgyu. You’re taken aback by his casual appearance, much so that you almost completely disregard his even more unusual visit. But only almost. — What was he doing here? He had a lot of people to spend Christmas with, no? What business did he have on campus? 

You shift on the old bench, the squeaking noise of the wood however, catches his attention. You swallow when his dark eyes find yours, even from across the field. For a split second you think that he might just keep on walking, to continue his act of nonchalance, as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you, and that you were crazy for even suggesting such a thing. 

But Beomgyu’s gaze doesn’t harden, nor does it lessen. In fact his expression remains completely impassive, though his actions speak for him. He puts one foot before the other, and it’s not until he’s gotten about halfway across the field that you realize where he’s headed. Your stomach drops as you watch him push his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders slumped as he approaches. Your gaze flickers to the bag in your hands, swallowing nervously as you tune in to the sound of his footsteps nearing. 

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything when he sits down beside you, and you listen to the squeaking noise the bench makes in protest to yet another element of weight. You peer at him through the corner of your eye. His hair was shorter, the dark strands no longer reached the nape of his neck but stopped just below his ear. Even the bruise on his face had begun to fade, now it was a mere light purple, with splotches of red coating its edges. Lastly, the tip of his nose, which was an uncharacteristic shade of pink, one you found to be almost endearing. 

Your attention travels to the clothes he wore, the jacket looked expensive, undoubtedly more than you could afford even if you saved all your money’s worth. Funnily enough, he doesn’t seem to care for it as his fingers lazily pick at its seams. Beomgyu took a lot of things for granted, you could tell. — Things you could only dream about. 

The silence surrounding you is thick, hugging you tight and keeping you from moving. Your lips part as you attempt to break said silence, despite how dry your throat feels. Beomgyu however, is quicker than you as he heaves a sigh. 

“Why are you out here?” He asks, his gaze still fixed far ahead as his fingers give his jacket a small break. You had expected a ‘hello’ perhaps even a ‘how are you?’, maybe you would even have been content with a sharp glare or a ‘fuck off’. But Beomgyu leads the conversation in a completely different direction. 

When your silence becomes deafening he turns to you. His eyes are filled with something you can’t quite place, something unlike his usual self. He searches your face, as though looking for clues with the help of a magnifying glass. “It’s cold”, he then adds, as if the obvious could not have been made any clearer. 

You scoff, shaking your head as you fiddle with the bag in your hands. “I’m dressed for it”, you mutter without looking at him. Beomgyu hums, and for a second it sounds as though he’s about to say something else, only to stop himself. — The thick silence returns, this time it feels almost claustrophobic. You wanted to ask him about that night, you wanted to ask him about Yeonjun, you wanted to ask him about the two of you, you wanted to ask him…

“Why are you out here?” Your quiet whisper is nearly swallowed by the whirling wind but Beomgyu manages to catch it as his attention jumps from the naked trees and back to you. There were a thousand thoughts swimming within his eyes, things that were just waiting to be said. So why didn’t he? 

“It’s Christmas”, you add, watching as his lip twitches in amusement. — You could not remember the last time you’d made Beomgyu laugh. He shakes his head, tongue prodding against his cheek. “It is”, he nods in agreement, his gaze dropping to the bag clutched in your hands. “Present?” He asks to which you slowly nod. 

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you exhale a deflated sigh, “A stupid one.” You didn’t want to admit that you had bought it for yourself, considering the fact that it would be the only gift you were to receive this year, again. It’s quiet after that and you desperately hoped he would drop the subject again. 

Beomgyu shrugs, “Isn’t that the whole point of Christmas?” When you only frown, he continues, “I mean, wrapping things up and giving them away.” He scoffs as he runs a hand through his dark hair, “Using gifts as condolences, it’s quite materialistic don’t you think?” 

You wanted to argue that it was not, but as your gaze flickers over the expensive clothes he wore, you realized that he didn't seem even a tad grateful for them. Perhaps they had been just that, condolences. — Your thoughts are interrupted by Beomgyu as he shifts on the bench and his hand reaches into the pocket of his coat. 

“I’m not much better”, he murmurs when pulling out a small box. It fit perfectly in his palm, enveloped in silver wrapping with a tiny bow on top. You eye the tiny present with intrigue, your stomach flipping at the sight. — He inhales sharply as he twists the box between his fingers. “Reflecting, repenting all that bullshit..” He mumbles as his brown eyes meet yours, “Suppose that’s what I’m trying to do here.”

Confused, you open your mouth to speak but before you can get as much as a word out, he hands you the gift. His eyes look near pleading as he silently begs for you to accept it, as if it would mean you accepted his apology. Perhaps it would take the guilt off his shoulders if you did. — The frown on your face only grows, but you set your own bag down before reaching a hesitant hand out to grasp the present. 

It feels light in your palm, almost weightless. “Open it”, Beomgyu encourages beside you, his warm breath ghosts across your cheek and you hadn’t even realized just how close he was. — Shrugging your mitten off, your free hand carefully plucks the lid from its container. You can feel his gaze on you, watching intently as you gently tug the rustling paper aside. 

Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes widen tenfold when they fall on the familiar piece of leather. It was the same warm brown, and the contrastingly dark navy blue. The bracelet which you had cherished for so long, the one you had clung onto in the hopes that his matching part would still exist somewhere. 

“I…” You breathlessly begin but Beomgyu quickly cuts you off. “I.. I’m sorry, yeah, that’s what I was…”, he trails off, shrugging as he averts his gaze sheepishly. It’s weird to see him like that, it reminds you of a time long ago, a time before everything. 

The reality of his words slowly sank in, Beomgyu was apologizing. 

You had spent countless sleepless nights, tossing and turning in bed as you prayed and hoped for a time like this. Was it selfish for you to wish for things to be the way they had been? You wanted to bring back someone who no longer existed, a version of him that was but a mere memory, remembered and kept alive only by you. 

Yet here he is, doing just as you had hoped, and for so long. But you hate Choi Beomgyu now. That was a fact. And he hated you too. So this didn’t make sense, no, it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be apologizing. He should have brushed it off, acted as if nothing had ever happened and given you a shoulder cold enough to bring back the ice age. 

“This is wrong.. — I mean, you can’t just-” Biting back a frustrated groan, you twist uncomfortably in your seat as you avoid his reluctant gaze. You can sense his confusion, and it only fuels your frustration. Did he not understand that he couldn’t just undo everything with a simple ‘sorry’ and a gift. 

Beomgyu swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing against his throat. “What?” He asks, his gaze dropping to the untouched gift still in your hands, “Do you not like it? — I can get you something else.” 

You shake your head, “It’s not about the gift, Beomgyu.” — He frowns, “Then what is it?” 

“Everything.” 

You’re looking at him now, your heart hammering in your chest as you fight your nerves. “It’s everything, okay? You, me–” You motion between the two of you, “Yeonjun, the presentation, us.” It wasn’t just something you drew a line over, something you blurred and pushed back in the depths of your mind as you tried to forget it. 

“But, why does any of that matter?” He wonders with a confused frown, his bottom lip slightly jutted out as he regards you with caution. You have to hold back a scoff, your fingers curl around the small box, knuckles turning white as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Because it does! You might not get that, but it hurt me.” 

Beomgyu groans as he runs a hand through his short hair. “Fuck, I already apologized what more do you want from me?” His anger matches yours in a way that instantly reminds you of just how bad you could be together, of how deeply he made you feel. — “What difference does it make?” You snap, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. 

“Everything.” 

“It changes everything, alright?” His chest heaves when he exhales, his eyes flaring with the same fire they had that night, the night when he wasn’t thinking straight. He probably wasn’t right now either. — “Because”, he swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he regains his composure. “Because I don’t know how else to change things.” 

He drags a hand across his face, like he didn’t know what else to do with himself. “You act like I’m the biggest asshole to walk this earth and next thing I know you’re kissing me. It confuses me and it angers me. But even when you’re mean you’re nice, and I hate how it makes me feel. — I hate that it’s you I want to go to when shit goes wrong, and I hate that I did. I hate how you let me use you that night.” 

He’s barely taking breaks to breathe in between sentences, and you catch the subtle flush to his cheeks as he speaks. “I fucking hate the fact that you’re always on my mind, much more do I hate that I never even try to will those thoughts away.” Beomgyu bites his bottom lip, chewing on it for a good five seconds before letting it go as he sneaks a glance your way. “But I…” He sighs as he finally comes to a conclusion after his long battle with himself. — “I don’t hate you. I want to, but I can’t” 

You swallow, your hand still hugged by the mitten feels clammy and sweaty. Your heart races and your mind jumps between his jumbled words with little coherence. You don’t think you’d ever heard him say so many things at once, and certainly not like that. His usual mean and crude self had completely drained from his system and left was a shell of the Beomgyu you thought you knew. 

It was then, you think, that you realized Choi Beomgyu wasn’t so different from you after all. Your gaze drops to the small gift still in your hands. What had once weighed so little now felt heavy in your grasp, like you were holding all of him, all at once. The bracelet fills you with hope, something you’d long since given up on entirely. 

You glance toward him. His jaw is clenched tightly as his narrowed eyes peer ahead, intent on avoiding you it seemed. His apology was complete and total shit, his reasoning even worse. But Beomgyu was quite shit at most things. So were you. — Your gaze lingers on his pink nose, bitten by the cold. Your own nose stings too, for the both of you had been out here far too long. 

In the pale winter air it became clear. Beomgyu was lonely, just as lonely as you. The slump of his shoulders and the defeated look on his face surely matched your own. You imagine how the two of you must look from afar. It would have to be quite a pitiful sight. How could one be lonely in the presence of someone else? Only two jackasses must manage something like that. 

But you didn’t want to be a jackass anymore, and neither did he. — So you shift on the bench, ignoring the squeaking noise it makes as you turn to Beomgyu. “Do you want to watch a movie?” 

⸝⸝

It’s awkward at first. 

The soft rustle of bed sheets, the untouched bowl of popcorn between you, the flimmer coming from the Tv screen as a cheesy romcom movie plays. Beomgyu, who was usually more than at home in your dorm, was now stiffly sitting on his side of the bed, his back straight as he pressed against the headboard. He appeared almost nervous. 

You weren’t faring much better, in fact your hands were dripping sweat as they remained tightly clasped together. Neither of you had touched the large bowl of popcorn, and they had long since gone cold. — Despite the freezing temperatures outside, your small dormitory seemed to be burning up. 

None of you had said a word since the movie began playing, and before that you had been communicating with fast and hushed murmurs as you avoided each other’s gaze. — Never had you imagined that you would be spending Christmas with Beomgyu, much less on the small and squeaking bed in your dorm. 

Did this mean that things were starting to look up between the two of you? 

Your heart practically leaps to your throat when you feel him shift on the mattress. Everytime he moved, even if it was just a mere centimeter, you tensed up. But the dramatic beating of your fluttering heart was only increased when he suddenly appeared even closer to you. His body feels warm, scorching hot inside the already airless room. 

He doesn’t say anything, and when you steal a glance his way, you find him watching the Tv. His expression would be relaxed if it weren't for the subtle twitch of his jaw when he felt your eyes on him. — Your attention drops to his hands, they were placed on the bed either side of him, his fingers moving absentmindedly against the sheets as he fiddled with them. 

Your lips pulled into a small smile, and oh how you had missed smiling. 

Beomgyu frowns when you suddenly climb off the bed, leaving behind an empty spot that radiates your sweet scent. He looked as though he was about to say something, one of his hands reaching out before stopping himself again. — He watches as you reach for the same bag you’d been clutching so tightly out on the bench, the one that had been completely disregarded in the end. 

You clear your throat, standing awkwardly by the edge of the bed as you hold it in two hands. “I…” Your throat feels parched and your lips dry as your tongue wets them, “I want you to have this.” You reach the bag out toward him and Beomgyu's frown only deepens. — “But it’s yours..” He murmurs as his eyes flit between you and the bag in your hands. 

“I want you to have it. — Besides”, you shrug, “You’re not the only one who’s been an idiot here.” 

His brow raises at your words, a small grin tugging at his lips as he gratefully accepts the token of an apology from you. You take the moment of him peering inside the bag to retake your position next to him on the mattress. Eagerly you watch as his frown deepens, only for it to ease up as he realizes what he was looking at. 

“This is..” He begins, one of his hands reaching into the bag as he pulls out the small bracelet. Beomgyu’s jaw slacks as he turns the cool and brown leather in his fingers, thumb caressing the warm and red embroidery. “You…” He cuts himself off, whether that was because he did not know what to say next or did not dare to. 

Your gaze flickers to the small box placed on your bedside table, perhaps you weren’t complete jackasses after all. 

“Why did you…” He swallows, and though he never finished his sentence, the question swirling within his eyes was obvious. — You shrug, nibbling on your bottom lip as you regard the bracelet in his hand. “It just… felt right.” 

There was no other way to explain it. For as you had trudged forward on tired feet, with heavy and droopy eyes, you had stumbled upon the very thing that had haunted you for so long. 

It has been a small stand, hardly making itself known amongst its competitors. The handmade jewelry however, immediately caught your eye. You recognized the leather, eyes widening even further as they caught glimpse of the warm red braided into it. 

Your stomach had dropped, just the way it would on a rollercoaster before its drop. That was undoubtedly the very same bracelet he’d worn, the one that had wrapped around his wrist so delicately, a constant reminder of what you had once lost. 

“That one,” You had said as you pointed to the accessory. Why? Because it felt right. Words would never even come close to describing the pull you felt, the immense need to have it. — But now, as you watch it lay in Beomgyu’s open palm, his lips parted as he regards the very bracelet, you understand perfectly. 

Things were exactly how they were supposed to be. 

Beomgyu’s hand suddenly drops, and he twists in his seat as he turns to you. The touch of his fingers against your cheek makes your eyes widen, the subtle reaction not passing him by unnoticed as a sly grin pulls across his lips. “What are you doing?” Your brows knit together, the soft confusion on your face only amusing him further. 

His breath is warm against your lips as his own hover above them. The tip of his round nose brushes against yours, the small contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. “What I should have done from the start”, he murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. 

⸝⸝

The agonizing noise of violent video games fill the open spaced living room. Continuous shots are fired, easily drowning out the sound of the doorbell. Completely immersed in his game, Yeonjun doesn’t look up until he feels the cushion beneath him shift as somebody takes the seat next to him. He doesn’t turn his head and look, he already knows who it is. 

“How did you get in?” He asks in a somewhat monotone voice, his eyes still glued to the Tv screen in front of him as he taps the controller in his hands. Beomgyu, who occupies the other half of the cough, shrugs as he spreads himself out on the soft furniture, just like he had so many times before. — As though nothing had changed. 

“Your girlfriend let me in”, he simply states as he, too, tunes in on the violent game. Yeonjun on the other hand frowns, his face morphing into confusion as his thumbs slow down on the buttons. At last, the game comes to an end and he tears the headset from his ears. — “Oh, so you talk to her now?” He retorts, his tone snappy and sharp as he tosses the control onto the coffee table. 

Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek, his gaze still fixed to the ‘New Game’ flashing on the screen. “I do”, he hums, fingers absentmindedly toying with one another. Yeonjun scoffs as he throws a glance in the direction of his supposed friend. — “Any particular reason?” He queries to which Beomgyu swallows. 

There’s a momenteral silence following his question as the two of them remain quietly seated on the couch. Neither of them move, the air feeling heavy yet filled with a sense of anticipation. Finally, he clears his throat as his anxious fingers come to a halt. “I’ve been acting like an asshole..” Beomgyu murmurs as he pushes a hand through his now short hair. 

Yeonjun looked as though he was biting back a snarky remark, his gaze flickering between the other and his own hands. “No shit”, he mumbles under his breath, unable to hold the comment back as he sucked in a sharp breath. His gaze jumps from his hands and over to Beomgyu’s as he nervously fiddles with the seams of his jeans. He can’t help but notice the oddly familiar bracelet around his wrist. 

It takes him a good minute, but soon the pieces fall into place. His lip twitches as his eyes stray by the bracelet. — “I’m sorry”, Beomgyu quietly adds. It seems apologies were becoming a new habit of his. It took Yeonjun by surprise, making his eyebrows rise on his forehead, all the while Beomgyu avoided his gaze. 

“I haven’t been too good either, I suppose.” Yeonjun reluctantly admits as he gives a small shrug. Beomgyu doesn’t reply but still nods as he purses his lips. Another thick silence follows, it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not one either of them want to linger in. Yeonjun is the first to break it when he clears his throat. 

“I missed you man”, he says, his words light and filled with sincerity. 

Beomgyu finally finds himself looking at his friend, his eyes widening just a fraction. “Yeah?” He asks, the ghost of a grin playing across his lips. Yeonjun scoffs as he leans further into the couch, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” But it’s already too late, for Beomgyu was smirking as he leaned over to grab the discarded controller. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it”, he drawls as he presses ‘New Game’. 

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[galesbabygirl]

crave

☾ spencer reid & reader ☽

⟡ 1000 words

you're new to the ʙᴀᴜ and spencer reid sees evidence of your recent self-harm.

⟡ tags: spencer reid's past, implied/referenced self-harm, drug addiction, hurt/comfort, angst, criminal minds season 4, panic attacks

⟡ read on ao3 ⟡

⟡ gifs by @reidgif ⟡

You slam the door shut behind you in a panic. Your breathing is heavy, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You were so careless. You can’t believe it. Spencer saw.

You sink down against the wall, crumbling to the floor where you sit with your knees buried up close to your chest. Pull it together. You’re at work. You’ve only been here long enough to play a couple of games of chess with Spencer over tea (you always lose, but you don’t mind); you certainly haven’t had the chance to get to know each other on any meaningful level. You can’t believe you let it slip. You’re a grown woman, for god’s sake. Shouldn’t you have figured out a better coping mechanism by now? Now you’re going to be the one getting profiled. Maybe, though, you deserve it – to be called out for the mess that you are and fired from your job in the BAU. You’re still in your probationary period. They can fire you for any reason. Surely he’ll tell the unit chief. Hotch is no-nonsense. You’re out.

You try to steady your breathing, but you can’t – it comes out shaky, rapid, uneven. You’re hyperventilating.

You hear the knob turn, the door crack open, footsteps walking gently as the door shuts behind them. You don’t dare look up. Not that it would make much of a difference – you didn’t turn on the lights when you entered.

“You’re having a panic attack.” Spencer’s voice rings clear above the sound of your shaky breaths. He says it not in his usual matter-of-fact tone, but with concern. You hear him step in front of you, where he crouches down with one knee on the floor. He takes your trembling hands in his. “Look at me.”

You can’t decide if his direction will help or make things worse, but you obey nonetheless, your eyes opening up to meet his. “I – can’t breathe,” you choke out.

“Yes you can. Breathe with me. Like this.” He inhales deeply, his shoulders rising exaggeratedly as his lungs fill with air. You do as he does, breathing in through your nostrils as deeply as you can. He exhales slowly, pushing the air out through pursed lips. You follow. He doesn’t seem bothered by how clammy your hands must feel in his. You and Spencer stay there as you relearn how to breathe. In a few minutes you feel okay again. Okay enough, at least, given the circumstances.

“It’s my fault,” he says as he lets go of your hands, adjusting to sit cross-legged in front of you.

“What?” How could it be his fault? You were stupid. He just happened to be the one who saw what you failed to conceal.

“I shouldn’t have… You thought you were alone, I-”

“We’re at work, Reid,” you say. “You’re supposed to be here. You’re supposed to communicate with the rest of us.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I get them too,” he says after a short pause. “Sometimes.”

“Oh.” Hm.

“We’re not actually sure why they happen. Some studies suggest that dysfunction in the amygdala is what causes the sudden rush of epinephrine – adrenaline – to send us into a state of fight or flight despite being safe. Other studies show evidence that they’re caused by neurotransmitters malfunctioning in the central nervous system. They usually first occur during puberty or early adulthood. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“That was very informative, actually.”

Spencer chuckles softly in that way he always does when he’s being told he’s smart in an otherwise uncomfortable situation. An oddly common occurrence, but that’s the type of conversation you witness when you have a genius do the talking at crime scenes. He quirks his lips to the side, glancing down to where your sleeves cover your arms. “Sorry.” There he goes, apologizing again.

You nibble at the skin around your fingers, a nervous habit that Spencer has clearly picked up on.

“Animals in captivity have been known to engage in self-injurious behaviour.” So he’s ripping off the bandage. “It’s believed that, when not subjected to the stressors of life in the wild, they maladapt in this way as a self-soothing mechanism. In humans it’s most common in those with mental health conditions such as depression or obsessive-compulsive disorder. It’s also common as a result of complex trauma, especially during the pubescent neurodevelopmental stage.”

“Reid…”

“Self harm behaviours can actually become addictive, due to their short-term benefits; beta endorphins are released into the brain, similar to the use of,” he clears his throat, “opioids.”

“Really?” Opioids? Is that why, for all this time, even when it lies dormant for years, that urge always makes its way to the surface? It’s like a drug?

Spencer clears his throat for a second time. “Yep. Mmhm.” His voice cracks slightly. “What I’m saying, I guess, is… I get it.”

“What do you mean?” Of course he gets it, intellectually. He could understand anything if you wrote it down and let him commit it to memory. You’ve seen his eidetic memory put to use. But there’s something about his inflection. He gets it.

“Reid, do you–”

“A couple years ago… Before we met, there was this unsub. He… Well, he drugged me.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story.” It must be. “I was given Dilaudid. Against my will, but by the time I got out I… I needed it.”

“Reid…”

“It was really bad there for a while. Really bad. But I got clean.”

“That must have been hard.”

He bites his lip. “It was.”

You soak in his confession for a moment, sitting in silence together on the floor. If someone like Spencer Reid, the genius himself, can be a victim to such a thing… Maybe you’re not such a mess after all.

“I stopped,” you say. “For years. I think being here, the cases, it might be bringing me back somewhere I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Will you talk to me next time? Instead?”

“I will if you will.”

“Deal.”

[enchantresss97]

New Look +18

Characters: Bill Skarsgård x reader

Description: After a month apart, Bill invited you at his new movie premiere in New York, but he looks—different. The transformation leaves you breathless, igniting a fire between you both.

Warning: mature theme, SMUT, language, sex, fingering.

Word count: 3060

A/N: So, after yesterday's premiere and Bill's new look, this is a must. As I said before, I think this look of his is my favorite of all. He looks so damn good, so fucking handsome… So, fresh out of the oven, I present to you todays story. I simply couldn't resist. Hope you'll enjoy it.

New Look

It’s been a month since you last saw him. Since you last touched him. You’d FaceTimed, texted, called late into the night, but nothing compared to having him here, right in front of you.

New York is alive tonight. Flashing lights, clicking cameras, the murmur of fans crowding behind barriers. All of it blurs together as you step onto the red carpet, heels clicking against the pavement.

Bill stands a few feet away, caught in the storm of photographers and interviewers, his posture effortless yet commanding. But it’s not just the usual premiere chaos that has your breath catching.

It’s him.

Your breath catches. He looks… different. His thick, beautiful hair is gone, the hair you used to tug on when you kissed him, the thick strands he always ran his fingers through. Gone. The buzz cut sharpens every angle of his face, the brutal structure of his jaw, his cheekbones, his big green eyes. And his body…

Your fingers twitch at your sides. The lean frame you were used to has changed. His suit fits him like a damn glove, hugging his shoulders and chest in ways that make your stomach tighten. He’s filled out, broader, heavier in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

He hasn’t seen you yet, too busy charming the cameras, flashing that easy grin that makes the whole world swoon. But when he finally does catch your gaze over the chaos, his smirk deepens just slightly. The flicker of amusement. If recognition, sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely get a word in. A brush of fingers as he walks past. A murmured, “Hey, baby.” Then he’s gone again, swallowed up by flashing cameras and eager reporters.

It’s not until the after-party that you finally get him to yourself.

The venue is dimly lit, buzzing with music and laughter. Champagne flows freely, and conversations blur into a hazy hum. But all of that fades the moment you feel his presence behind you.

“I was looking for you” He said with his lips dip close to your ear.

You swallow, still speechless about his new look.

“You’re different,” you murmur, voice lower than intended.

He hums, crowding you subtly against the bar. “Good different?”

You wet your lips, still trying to process it, but your body already knows the answer. You feel warm, hot, even. A different kind of heat from the one in your cheeks.

His eyes drop to your mouth as he invades your space, close enough that the scent of him, clean, warm, unmistakably Bill floods your senses. “Cat got your tongue, baby?” His voice is thick with amusement.

You turn slightly, meeting his gaze, heartbeat thrumming. “Maybe I was just admiring the view.”

His lips quirk. He leans in just a fraction more, enough that his mouth nearly brushes your skin when he speaks. “That so?”

Your pulse jumps. You should play it coy, tease him like you always do but instead, you tilt your chin up, fingers grazing the lapel of his jacket. “You look…” Your voice drops, just for him. “So fucking good.”

His breath hitches. His eyes darken.

And then, before you can push him further, he straightens, stepping back just enough for others to hear when he says, “Can you come with me for a second? I want to show you something.”

You excuse yourself from your friends saying you’re coming back soon. Smiling and letting him take your hand, and he leads you away from the noise, down a quiet hallway.

Your heart hammers as he nudges open a door, pulling you into the dimly lit room. A private lounge, empty and waiting. The moment the door clicks shut, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes against yours, raw and hungry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You gasp into him, fingers threading into the remnants of his hair,feeling a strange sensation now, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. He groans, deep and low, pressing you against the nearest wall.

When you finally break apart, your breath is ragged. “So,” you murmur, eyes locked on his, “what did you want to show me?”

His lips brush over your jaw, trailing lower, voice thick with heat when he finally answers.

“How much I’ve fucking missed you.”

Your stomach clenches. Heat floods through you, pooling deep.

His hands tighten on your hips, his mouth ghosting over yours again, teasing. “Needed to get you out of there,” he murmurs, “because I need to feel you.”

You barely manage a breath before his lips claim yours again. Deep, slow, and devastating.

The second his body presses into yours, a shudder runs through you. It’s not just the heat, not just the weight of him. It’s everything.

The absence. The waiting. The quiet ache of missing him in the dead of night, of longing for the warmth of his skin, the feel of his mouth moving against yours.

Bill exhales sharply, his breath warm as his lips trail along your jaw. “A month,” he murmurs, voice rough. “A fucking month.”

His fingers dig into your waist, like he still can’t believe you’re here, beneath him, solid and real. You tilt your head back, exposing your throat, and his lips latch onto the skin there, desperate, needy.

“I thought about this every night,” you admit, voice thick, barely more than a breath. “About you. About your hands on me.”

A quiet groan rumbles through him, his nose brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “You have no idea,” he murmurs. “How much I needed this. How much I needed you.”

Your hands explore him, tracing over muscle, over the solid weight of him, over his arms, broader than before. He feels different. Stronger, heavier but still so familiar. You arch beneath him, pressing yourself closer, needing more.

Bill’s lips hover just above yours, his big green eyes dark, hazy with heat. His breath comes hard, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he takes you in. Like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

And his lips. God, those full lips. You’ve spent a month missing them, dreaming about them, and now they’re so close, so warm, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing the way only he can.

“Touch me,” you whisper. “I need to feel you.”

His fingers slide down, tracing the bare skin of your thigh, pushing higher, pushing your dress up, his breath growing heavier. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

His fingers glide over your thigh, slow and deliberate, tracing delicate patterns along your skin. The warmth of his touch sends shivers up your spine, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

Then Bill’s fingers linger at the edge of your panties, teasing, torturing, his touch light enough to leave you desperate. You try to move against him, but he stops you, holding you in place with a gentle, commanding pressure.

His lips trail along your jaw, his breath warm and heavy against your skin. “I can feel how wet you are for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick, like he’s savoring the way your body responds to him.

You swallow hard, unable to hold back the soft whimper that slips from your lips. “Baby, please.” you breathe.

He groans softly at your words, his thumb brushing the wetness through the lace, sending a wave of electricity coursing through you. “Yeah, baby? You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you” His fingers press harder, his grip tightening on your pussy. “Waiting for me to touch you like this again.”

You nod, panting now, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

Bill’s lips brush against yours, soft, barely there. Just a tease. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispers, his fingers sliding down to finally slip beneath the fabric, inserting one finger inside you, his touch warm, rough. “I was thinking so much about how fucking perfect you feel around me” he said introducing another digit.

You gasp as his fingers press deeper, his touch slow and deliberate, exploring, pushing you further into the rush of sensation. You’ve never needed him more than you do now, and he knows it. He knows exactly how to make you feel every inch of him.

His thumb circles your clit, slow, purposeful, his other hand gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip away. But there’s no chance of that. You’re completely at his mercy.

“Bill…” you gasp, your hands gripping at his shoulders, your nails biting into his skin.

“I know how much you’ve been craving this. How much you’ve missed me.” He murmurs, his fingers move faster now, his thumb pressing with just the right amount of pressure.

Every stroke, every movement has you gasping for air, your body tightening with need.

“You feel so good, you don’t know how fucking long I’ve been wanting this,” he growls, his green eyes dark with lust, his breath a rasp against your lips. “I’ve thought about this so many times, baby... Been so fucking long since the last time I felt your tight pussy dripping on my fingers”

His lips crash into yours, your body flooding with warmth as his fingers continue to drive you crazy.

There’s nothing but him, nothing but the way he makes you feel. Touched, wanted, like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment.

It’s like everything inside of you snaps at once, your body tensing as an intense wave of pleasure crashes over you. A deep, trembling release takes over, and you gasp, your hands clutching at him, your nails digging into his skin as you ride out the pleasure.

Bill’s thumb doesn’t stop, pushing you through the waves, guiding you to the peak, keeping you there, making sure you feel every moment. You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky bursts, but you don’t want it to stop.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his fingers moving in time with your body, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you. “Come for me. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

When the last tremor fades, you collapse against him, completely spent, your body trembling in his arms. The world feels hazy, but Bill’s presence keeps you anchored. He holds you, his hand caressing your back, making sure you’re safe, still with him.

Bill pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. With a firm, possessive grip, he spins you around, positioning you so your hands brace against the cold wall in front of you. You’re bent over slightly, facing the wall, your chest heaving as your pulse races to catch up.

You feel exposed. Vulnerable. But you also feel the tension between your legs building again. Bill’s gaze lingers on you, taking in every inch of your body, before he moves closer, his body pressing into yours from behind. You can feel the heat of him, the hardness of his cock against you as his hands slide over your hips, pulling you closer to him.

His breath is warm against the back of your neck, his lips trailing gently along your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “I need to be inside you baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough, just a whisper in your ear that sends a wave of heat to your core.

His fingers slide between your thighs, gently parting them as he takes his time, making you ache all over again. His touch is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring each moment, each inch of your body. You feel yourself getting wetter, your body betraying you as it begs for him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, urging you to push back against him. “Missed this. Missed you.” and with one slow, deliberate motion, he enters you from behind. The feeling of him filling you completely, slowly. Is enough to make you gasp, your body still trembling from the previous release, but your hips pushing back toward him as if you need him to claim you once more.

His hands grip your hips, holding you still as he thrusts into you slowly, teasingly, making you feel every inch of his cock. The sensation is almost too much, the raw connection between you both almost unbearable.

“God, you feel so fucking incredible,” Bill mutters, his voice low and guttural. He pulls back, only to slam into you harder, his hands steady on your hips as he moves with a rhythm that makes you lose yourself completely.

His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he slams into you harder, faster. The sound of his body slapping against yours fills the air, raw and desperate. You can’t stop yourself from pushing back against him, meeting every thrust with equal hunger. Every movement is a reminder of how much you’ve missed him. How much you’ve missed this.

“I can’t get enough of you, baby.” he groans, his voice thick with lust.

You let out a breathless moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Bill… I…fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” you whimper, the words coming out in a rush as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making your body shake with need.

Bill’s hands move up your body, grabbing your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck. You feel his lips trail down the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin as his body pounds into you from behind, relentless. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, and your knees tremble, struggling to keep you upright.

“Your pussy feels so good,” he growls, his voice low and commanding, as if he’s trying to claim you in every way possible. “I need to feel you so fucking much.” His hands grip you even tighter, and he thrusts harder, deeper, pushing you further into the wall. The sound of his words, the heat in his voice, sends a wave of excitement through you, and you can feel yourself on the edge again.

“Bill, please… I need you to…” you cut yourself off with a sharp moan as he changes his angle, hitting a spot that makes your whole body tremble.

“You need me, huh?” he mutters in your ear, his breath hot and urgent against your skin. “You want me to fuck you hard until you can’t walk tomorrow?”

Your body trembles at his words, the filthy promise making you ache even more. “Yes,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself from giving in to him completely. “Yes, baby. I need it. I want you. Holy fuck!”

Bill pulls your hips back harder, forcing you to take every inch of him as he slams into you with no mercy. You’re lost in him, your mind spinning with lust, your body taken over by the raw intensity of his touch. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back, and his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, biting down sharply as he keeps fucking you hard.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls, his voice rough, low, full of heat.

You moan loudly, your words a breathless confession. “I want you so fucking bad, baby… Make me come again…”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a deep, savage thrust, he drives you into the wall, hitting the spot that makes you scream out in pleasure. Your fingers claw at the wall for support as your body jerks with the force of your orgasm. The pleasure crashes through you, raw and untamed, making your legs go weak as you shudder against him.

But Bill doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His hands grip your waist even harder, lifting you slightly to give him better leverage, making you to stay on your toes, and then he’s fucking you harder than ever. You’re almost numb with pleasure, your body writhing under him as his rough thrusts push you closer to another climax.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re gonna make me come so much. I need to feel you fucking squeeze my cock.” His words are filthy, possessive, and it only makes you want him more. You cry out, your body shuddering against the wall as he drives you into oblivion.

“Bill,” you gasp, breathless. “Please baby.” You moan loudly.

He groans deeply, his hands pulling you back, forcing you to take him deeper, harder. The pressure builds again, your body already sensitive from the last orgasm, but your body is begging for more. You feel him, deep inside you, his cock moving with a frantic need, and you feel the tension in your stomach coil tighter.

With a final, powerful thrust, you explode again, your body shaking with release, your nails digging into the wall as your orgasm crashes over you. Bill groans your name, his hips stuttering as he finally comes with you, his fingers gripping your hips desperately as he fills you, each spasm of his body sending waves of pleasure through yours.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you breathless, spent, and tangled in each other’s arms. Bill’s hands gently move up your back, holding you against him, still deep inside you as you both catch your breath. He places soft kisses along your neck, his lips still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment.

You let out a slow, raspy laugh, your body still trembling, feeling lightheaded from everything that just happened. The sound is soft at first, but it slowly grows into something more, a soft, breathless giggle escaping your lips. You don’t know if it’s from the overwhelming pleasure or just the sheer release of tension, but you can’t help yourself.

Bill’s lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he brushes your hair away from your neck, his breath still ragged. “If I’d known cutting my hair would lead to this,” he murmurs, his voice still heavy with lust, “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

You laugh again, the sound husky, more from desire than anything else. “You look even better now,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “I think I like you more this way.”

Bill chuckles, the sound deep and low. His fingers gently caress your back, as if he can’t get enough of touching you. “Good,” he says softly, his voice still thick with the weight of the moment. “Because it stays.”

[anistarrose]

Really Small Problems starts with King's bread puns, so obviously, it's already crucial to the emotional arc of the finale. But knowing that the Titan was watching that day, do you know what else the Titan must have noticed, and how that makes the finale so much more impactful?

[ID from alt: King talking to a disguised Tibbles, then Luz kissing King on the forehead after they reconcile. End ID.]

In the episode, King gets used as a pawn by Tibbles — who preys off of King's desire to spend time playing with Luz — and as a result, King puts Luz and her friends in a lot of danger. But Luz, while initially angry, realizes that King was being manipulated, not malicious — and at his absolute worst, just an irresponsible kid who really wanted to spend time with his friend — and she reconciles with him, leading to their bond becoming stronger than ever before.

But hey, for no particular reason, remember what the Titan's greatest regret was, again?

[ID from alt: a projection by the Collector, of the Archivists reaching out to the Collector, then a projection of the Titan glaring menacingly. End ID.]

When the Collector was being used as a pawn by the Archivists, who were the ones who really killed all the Titans, King's dad didn't realize the truth until far too late. Rather than talk to the Collector and try to understand, let alone reconcile, Papa Titan lashed out at the Collector for their perceived betrayal — imprisoning the Collector, thereby plunging him into traumatizing isolation, for millions and millions of years. It's the Titan's worst mistake. The Collector didn't deserve anything like that — the Collector was just a misguided little kid. But the Titan had let his rage consume him. And now, slain by the Archivists, the Titan can no longer undo her mistake.

So... fast forward to when the Titan's own kid has finally hatched, and started to grow up. The Titan sees his kid make a friend in Luz, whom the Titan already likes, because she was kind to King and respectful to the Isles. But then — the Titan sees her own kid do something misguided. The Titan sees his own kid put his friends in danger. Only... instead of fallout from Luz's feelings of betrayal, the Titan sees Luz actually reconcile with King. The Titan sees Luz recognize that King didn't want to hurt anyone. In other words, the Titan sees Luz avoid repeating the Titan's mistake.

Of course, dealing with Tibbles is far, far lower-stakes than dealing with genocidal Archivists. But what the Titan sees is Luz proving that she can be levelheaded, and forgiving, and most of all, trustworthy with the challenging decisions that the Titan himself has messed up before. Luz finds her last two glyphs rapid-fire after this episode, after the first two were comparatively slow-going. She still has to work for them, by being attentive to nature and to magic, but that change in pacing isn't a coincidence. The Titan is selective about who can be trusted with glyphs — but Luz earns that trust. By being kind to King, first and foremost — but even more specifically, by extending understanding and forgiveness, instead of blame, to a child who had just wanted to play.

And that all culminates in why the Titan trusts Luz to wield the full power of the Boiling Isles in the finale. It's why the Titan believes Luz is a genuine and kind person, who can defeat Belos by force without ever being or becoming as bad as he is — because Luz does give people second chances, and resolve things non-violently, when people aren't as malicious or set in their ways as Belos is. Because Luz gave a second chance to King, and even gave a second chance to the Collector — thus, doing what the Titan couldn't. The Titan trusts Luz not to give into destructive, punitive options — neither killing, nor imprisonment — unless there is truly no other option, in which case killing Belos isn't punitive or retributive in ideology; it's just self-defense.

So, when the Titan makes some of her final words a bread pun, it tells King and Luz and the viewer so much. That the Titan was watching the whole time — but that the Titan was watching Really Small Problems, specifically. That the Titan watched King mature, and the Titan watched Luz forgive him. The Titan watched and made reference to a story about second chances and reconciliation working — because they do work, most of the time, and the fact that Belos is the rare exception is crucial to the message of the finale.

And in a more meta, ironic way — yet one that I'm sure the writers were aware of — the Titan was even watching what some fans called a "filler" episode. But Titan cared so much about Luz and King's development within. And what a brilliant way to tie the whole show together! What a good tribute to the value of gradual character development! And to rewatching a show with fresh eyes, now metaphorically from the Titan's perspective!

It changes everything. It makes you appreciate Luz and King so, so much. It's such a subtle, beautiful writing choice. And the Titan is such a beautiful character. Really Small Problems is not a skippable episode. It always had good character development, but the way it's utilized and recontextualized by the rest of the narrative is nothing short of brilliant.

[seitmai]

Oh so many thoughts

Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.

Oh I'm sure he did 🤭

Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change.

It's the small things 👀

Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours. Words were your weakness.

Facts lol

You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing.  But Bucky never cared about lines.

Oh I'm sure he doesn't 🫣

“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady. "Of what?" "Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.” You should have been. But you weren’t. The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.

🥰🥰🥰

Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence. But love like that didn’t come without consequences. 

Oh 🫣👀

What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care. You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.

He fell in love head over heels and certainly not planned

No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air. And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts. But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze. And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain. This time, he wasn’t letting you run.

He is determined that he made that mistake once and will never make it again

Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.

And he can't wait 🤭

And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched. Because you both knew. Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.

😍😍😍

“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.” Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued. “Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”

His audacity to call her Trouble lol

“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface.  “She used to belong to me.” The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity.  “Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.” Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.

👀👀👀

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show.  “Damn. She’s quick.” Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.

They both love the show 🤭

“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous. You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to. “And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.” “I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.” You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.

He so deserved that 👏🏻

You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest. “But tell me this. Was it worth it?” The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed. Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke. “Absolutely.”

🥺🥺🥺

Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it. “I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.” You meant it. Every word. But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.

Oh is he only knew 👀🥹

“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing. Steve shrugged. “Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…” “We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.

Of course they know a place or two 😅

Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.

They are pretty likable 🤷🏻‍♀️

Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured. You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat? And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew? 

Oh this is interesting 👀

“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life. Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes. “I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.” “And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.” The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew. Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”

🥹🥹🥹

His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

He is taking in every single second

Then his hands were on you. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.

It's been a long time coming...

He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time. Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.

Valid reaction 🤭

“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you. Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel. “Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.

Oh I'm sure he will keep his word

"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed." You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke. "Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."

Oh he is in love and ready to worship

"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—" He stopped. Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly. "Oh, shit." His tone was different now, understanding. "It’s okay, Baby. I got you."

I am obsessed with his instant switch! It shows that beneath his hard shell, he is still just head over heels for her 😍

Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth. Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly. Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.

What a great way to get into action after six years 🤭🥵

And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours. And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew. You were his again.

Like it's signed with a seal

His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.

I love those little details!!

"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up." Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little. Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them. So he let you go. But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.

He wants to ask about everything so bad, he is really holding back not to lose her again 🥺

You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open. Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms. You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear. Like you’d done it a thousand times before. Because you had.

🥹🥰🥹🥰

"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily. You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms. "Yeah? What do I smell like?" Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake. "Like trouble," he sighed.

This one seems to have more in common with his dad other than looks 👀

James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you. For both of you.

A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street. Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.

In Bucky's case that doesn't mean a thing..

I sure hope he does! He has 6 years to make up for lol

Jokes aside, I love this already and I'm so invested! I would love to read more of those two/three if you feel up for it 🤗

Trouble in Mind

Summary: Las Vegas, 1952. James Buchanan Barnes is the newest, and youngest, Capo in town. But amid the glitz and shadows of the Strip, he never expects to find you, the beautiful singer who vanished from his life six years ago without a trace. Bucky wants you back. And he wants answers. But you're only willing to give him one of those things.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Lounge Singer!Reader

A/N: This is an absolute fever dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Mafia Bucky.

I went back to 50's Vegas because I need another world to get lost in. This is a little longer because this world is so fetch. I can't quite decide if he is going to be dark!Mafia! Bucky after this. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Angst. Lots of cigarette smoking, longing, forbidden romance, Steve and Sam (they are warnings!), Bucky is an ass, cocky Bucky, smooth talker Bucky, young love, heart break, a slap (which he deserves), rough sex, wall sex, 50's foundation garments, long time no sex, oral (f receiving) squirting praise kink, raw p in v, lies, deceit, and crime, along with 1950's race relations and allusions to Jim Crow. Whew.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Las Vegas, 1952

Vegas glittered at night.

Neon lights buzzed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and money. And tonight, a set of eyes was watching you that you thought you’d left far behind. 

You felt his gaze before you even saw him. It burned into you from the darkest corner of the club. The kind of stare that made your skin prickle, which was both a warning and a temptation.

Bucky.

You’d heard a new Capo was coming to take over the casino, an up and comer from the East Coast, one of the youngest Bosses ever. 

You never imagined it would be Bucky Barnes.

------ 

Brooklyn, 1946

Bucky saw you before you ever looked his way.

James Buchanan Barnes was fresh out of the war and already sinking into the life waiting for him back home.

The one his mother prayed he’d stay away from. 

The one he walked into anyway.

The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery down the block as Bucky leaned outside the corner store, trading laughs with his boys, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching the world pass him by.

Then you walked past, on the way to your vocal lessons.

Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.

He knew your type, a daddy’s girl, from a family with expectations. A good girl from Bed-Stuy, the kind who kept her nose clean and didn’t look twice at trouble.

Trouble, like him.

Down on the corner, they could hear your voice carry over the city noise, rising like a bird above the clatter of the el train.

Lark. That’s what they called you when you weren’t listening. Never to your face.

They knew better than to get too close, and Bucky knew better than to look too long.

But he looked anyway.

And when you finally met his eyes, something in you flickered.

Your father had warned you about guys like Bucky Barnes. 

‘Young punks’, he called them, hanging outside that shop owned by the local boss. Nothing but dead ends and broken hearts. He told you to keep your head high and your eyes forward, and to remember who you were. 

And if that warning wasn’t clear enough, there was another, unspoken one layered beneath it: Girls like you don’t mix with boys like him. Not in this world.

But when Bucky looked at you with those blue eyes, you knew you were already ruined. 

He found ways to get close. 

Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change. Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours. 

Words were your weakness.

"You gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me, Doll?" he asked one evening, stepping into your path as you left the bakery. 

You could smell his cologne and feel his heat and why were you thinking that his lips were nice? What was the tingle in your lower back that you just knew would go away if he touched you there?

You shook your head, remembering you couldn’t entertain this.

"You gonna keep acting like it don’t matter?" you shot back, heart pounding. 

You continued on your way but that night you couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him. 

One day, he whistled as you walked by. And that day, you stopped.

"You want a problem, Barnes?"

He smirked, looking you over blatantly and licking his lips.

"A problem’s not what I want, Doll. Just enjoyin’ the view."

That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve listened to your father. But you didn’t.

Because Bucky Barnes had a way of making himself impossible to ignore.

It was stolen glances at first, then hushed conversations on the stoop when the sun was setting. His voice curled around your name, making it sound like something precious. It was the thrill of his hand ghosting over yours, his fingers rough but careful, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

Except you never did.

You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing. 

But Bucky never cared about lines.

He didn't care when people whispered, when your father tightened the reins, when your friends warned you that even if he wasn’t afraid, the world wouldn’t be kind.

“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady.

"Of what?"

"Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.”

You should have been. But you weren’t.

At first, you told yourself it was just curiosity, just a bit of rebellion before you settled down and did what was expected of you. But curiosity turned into something more, something dangerous. 

Something like love.

Because when he kissed you for the first time, heat pressing against heat in the shadow of an alleyway, you didn’t care about the rules. Bucky tasted like smoke and sin and the promise of something reckless. And suddenly, all the warnings in the world didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that Brooklyn had unspoken rules. Because Bucky knew what he wanted. And he knew you wanted him back. 

He savored those stolen nights in dark alleys, the way you melted under his touch, the way you let yourself need him, even if only when no one else could see.

And you knew that it wasn’t just about the thrill of sneaking around, or the way he could make your breath hitch with a single look. It was about him, the way he softened when it was just the two of you. The way his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, memorizing you like you were something sacred.

The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.

Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence. 

But love like that didn’t come without consequences. 

What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care.

You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.

The one thing that made the rest of the world fade away.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t see it coming.

One day you were there, warm and real beneath his hands. And the next, you were gone.

No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air.

And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts.

But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain.

This time, he wasn’t letting you run.

—-

Vegas, 1952

The man that you had to leave in the middle of the night was sitting in the lounge that you sang in. The man that you dreamed about at night as you sang love songs was right here in the room with you.

And you didn’t know how to act.

You should have run. But you didn’t.

He was seated in the VIP section, flanked by two other men in sharp suits, but he was the only one that mattered. The way he lounged, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he never relinquished his ownership of you, made your head spin.

—--

Bucky leaned back in his seat, cigarette burning low between his fingers, letting the familiar hum of the casino settle into his bones: the money, the women, the men who thought they were untouchable.

Las Vegas glowed like sin, neon and greed dripping down its streets. It wasn’t Brooklyn, but it had its own kind of pull, its own kind of power. And now, it belonged to him.

It all revolved around him.

But none of it held his attention. Not like you did.

He saw you before you saw him, and for a moment, the world tilted as the air sucked straight out of the room.

Then you stepped onto that stage, looking like something spun from a dream, and for the first time in years, Bucky almost believed in fate.

He’d spent too long clawing his way up in this world to let anyone, or anything, decide his future for him. But seeing you again? It felt like something supernatural.

Because here you were.

In his city.

Singing like you owned the damn room.

You had changed. Not just older, not just more poised. It was in the way you carried yourself, the way you commanded the stage with a presence that made every other woman in the world fade to nothing.

And your body. It was a marvel, showcased in shimmering fabric that clung to curves he remembered all too well.

Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.

You weren’t that wide-eyed girl from Brooklyn anymore. And yet, you were still his Lark.

He saw the exact moment you felt his gaze, the subtle tension in your spine, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around the mic. Even after all these years, you could still feel him.

Then your eyes found him in the dim glow of the club, and Bucky saw it, the sharp inhale, the slight part of your lips, as if you were about to say his name.

It was enough to make his chest ache.

—--

You should’ve kept walking.

You should’ve ignored the butterflies in your belly and that tingle in your back that only Bucky Barnes had been able to inspire.

But you didn’t.

Instead, after your set, you let your feet carry you straight to his table.

Bucky smirked, his fingers tapping lazily against the glass in front of him. 

Like he knew you would come to him.

Six years gone, and yet the moment your eyes locked with his, it was like no time had passed at all. But you weren’t that girl anymore. And Bucky wasn’t that boy.

He was something else now. Something more defined. The suit fit too well, the watch on his wrist cost too much, and the men flanking him sat too still, waiting for his command.

Still, when he looked at you, it wasn’t the infamous new Capo of Las Vegas James Buchanan Barnes staring back.

It was him. Your Bucky.

The boy who once kissed you breathless in the back of a borrowed car.

The boy who called you ‘Baby’ like the word belonged to him.

The boy you left behind in the dead of night, never looking back.

Until now.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

His smile was the same one that decimated you back in the day.

“Funny,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. 

Bucky had always been too good at reading you. Way too good. And then he did something dangerous. He nodded to the empty seat beside him.

“Sit with me, Doll.”

The way he said it, low and easy, like it was a foregone conclusion made your body obey like you had long ago. Your fingers twitched at your side. But instead of walking away, you lowered yourself into the seat beside him, your skin prickling with goosebumps under his gaze.

And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched.

Because you both knew.

Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.

—--

The moment you sat down, you knew you’d already lost something. Maybe the upper hand, maybe your damn mind, but something shifted the second you met his eyes and made the choice to stay.

Bucky took another slow drag from his cigarette, like he was savoring this moment. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, peering at you through it with those blue eyes, then finally turned to the two men sitting beside him, as if he’d just remembered they were there.

“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.”

Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued.

“Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”

Steve, the blonde with the sharp blue eyes, nodded at you, his expression unreadable. He was the kind of man who didn’t say much but noticed everything.

Sam, on the other hand, smiled a beautiful gap-toothed grin. 

“Trouble, huh?” 

He extended a hand, and you hesitated before taking it, but his grip was warm and firm.

“I gotta say, any woman that can put that look on Barnes’ face is someone I gotta know.”

You arched a brow, tilting your head. 

“And what look is that?”

Sam’s grin widened. 

“Like he just won the jackpot.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your face neutral. Instead, you turned back to Bucky, leveling him with a look. 

“Trouble?”

Bucky’s lips curled, and something wicked danced in his eyes. 

“You always were.”

You didn’t blink. 

“And you always loved it.”

There was a silence thick with sex between you, and again the other men were forgotten.

Then, Steve cleared his throat. 

“How do you two know each other?”

Bucky chuckled darkly, and leaned back in his seat.

“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface.  “She used to belong to me.”

The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity. 

Your fingers curled into a fist in your lap, but you kept your expression steady. 

You weren’t the girl anymore who let Bucky Barnes own her with a smile and a whispered promise in the dark.

So you tilted your head, letting your lips curve.

“Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.”

Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. 

“Damn. She’s quick.”

Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.

You leaned in slightly, just enough to make Bucky’s eyes flicker to your mouth and down to your cleavage before he dragged them back up. 

“If I remember right, I was the one who left.”

Bucky exhaled a slow breath through his nose, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray again, his voice a shade lower now. 

“That’s what you think?”

You raised a brow. 

“That’s what I know.”

He made a sound low in his throat before taking another sip of his drink. He gazed at you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you now that you were sitting right in front of him again.

Then his eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“So tell me, Trouble. If you walked away so easy, why are you sitting here now?”

That’s the question, you thought.

So instead of answering, you reached for his glass, plucked it from his fingers, and took a slow sip before setting it back down.

Then you met his eyes and smiled.

“Maybe I just wanted to remind you,” you said softly. “That you don’t own me anymore.”

Bucky stared at you, unreadable. That muscle in his jaw twitched again.

Then, slowly, that wicked smirk crept back onto his face and he tilted his head at you, those blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll see about that, Lark.”

—----

Bucky watched as you set his glass back down, the ghost of your lipstick staining the rim, taunting him. Six years apart, and you still knew how to get under his skin with a single look, a single move. 

A single sentence.

Maybe I just wanted to remind you… that you don’t own me anymore.

You challenged him in ways no one else dared to. And Bucky fucking loved it.

Steve and Sam were watching, though they had the good sense to stay quiet. Sam was chuckling, and Steve’s face held a small crooked smile, one that appeared after Bucky said Lark.

Bucky didn’t give a damn about either of them right now.

His eyes stayed on you. You were trying to be tough, but you had to be feeling the same pull that he was. Bucky leaned forward, closing the space just enough to catch your scent and see your pupils blow wider. 

Gotcha.

“Never needed to own you, Doll.” 

His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. 

“That was never the game.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you caught yourself, chucking your chin up instead. 

“Then what was your game, James?”

He smiled again. He wasn’t about to hand you that answer.

Yet.

Instead, he sat back, dragging his gaze over you slowly, and licking his lips. 

You were still the most beautiful thing in the damn room, and you had to know it. That dress, those eyes; every man in this club was probably watching you, and wanting you.

But only one of them had ever had you.

And only one of them was going to again.

He tapped his fingers once against the table before rising smoothly to his feet. 

“C’mon.”

You blinked, “What?”

He nodded toward the back of the club, where the private booths were. Where you two could talk without an audience.

“Walk with me.”

A challenge. A test. A door you could still choose not to open.

Bucky saw you hesitate, for just a moment, but then you stood, smoothing out your dress and holding your head high like you hadn’t just made a decision that would change everything.

Bucky’s smirk widened.

That’s my girl.

—-

Bucky’s smirk deepened when you stood, like he’d known you would. That alone made something tighten in your chest, but you swallowed it down, lifting your chin as you followed him through the club.

The noise of the club, the conversations, the clinking of glasses, the jazz band, it all blurred as he led you toward the back, past the heavy velvet curtain that separated the VIP section from the private rooms. It infuriated you how easy it was to fall into step with him, how your body remembered before your mind could protest.

The moment you were away from prying eyes, he turned.

“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous.

You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to.

“And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.”

His smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. He pulled out a cigarette, tapping it against his lighter before the soft flicker of flame cast his face in gold. He inhaled slow, exhaled even slower.

“I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.”

You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.

Bucky only grinned.

“You must wanna see if it’s true,” he murmured, stepping closer, “because you know that turns me on.”

Your breath hitched, anger curling hot in your gut, and you turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm.

“Sorry, Doll.”

You knew he was anything but.

Although he let you go the moment you glared at his hand, the heat of his touch lingered.

“Stay,” he said, quieter this time. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

You lifted a brow. “About?”

He studied you like he was searching for the right words.

“You left Brooklyn.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a wound, still fresh after six years.

You met his stare, steady. 

“I did.”

“Didn’t say a damn thing to me.”

You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest.

“Would it have mattered?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“That’s cute, Doll.”

His voice was rough.

“You really think I would’ve let you go?”

Your stomach clenched, but you didn’t flinch. 

“That might be why I didn’t tell you.”

His jaw ticked, frustration creeping into the lines of his face. He leaned in, forearms bracing against the table, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You ran. Fine.” 

His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t name. 

“But tell me this. Was it worth it?”

The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed.

Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke.

“Absolutely.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “You were mine.”

You exhaled slowly. 

“I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You meant it. Every word.

But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.

—---

Bucky’s eyes flashed, then he sat back in his seat, appraising you yet again. 

“It’s okay, Doll. I turned out okay. And here we are, together again.”

“We’re not together, Bucky.”

He took another drag of his smoke.

“Only a matter of time, Baby.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself, lifting your chin. 

“I have another set.”

Bucky smiled at you.

“I know.”

Of course, he knew. He ran this town and he always paid attention, always saw more than you wanted him to.

You stood, ready to walk away, to put some space between the past and the present before you lost yourself in it again. But before you could take a step, something small and cool slid against your palm.

You looked down.

A key.

Bucky’s fingers lingered over yours just long enough to make your pulse jump. He looked into your eyes and leaned down and it was like your lips were connected by magnets. 

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and regrets as his tongue slid into your mouth, establishing ownership yet again. 

He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

“Royal Sierra Hotel. Top floor,” he gruffed.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You should have dropped the key right back into his palm. Should have told him no, should have walked away, should have done a thousand things. 

But you did none of them. You just curled your fingers around the key, just for a second, then slipped it into your dress pocket like it meant nothing. 

Bucky didn’t call you on it. Didn’t press. He just smiled, slow and knowing, then stepped back.

“See you soon, Doll.”

Then he was gone, and you were left standing there, with a key in your pocket and a storm in your chest, knowing damn well you were about to make a mistake.

——

Your second set of the night flew by in a blur. Your voice soared through the rafters, full of emotion, carrying the weight of things you couldn’t say out loud. The memories all spilled into the songs, wrapped in melodies that weren’t yours but might as well have been. 

You poured your soul into every note, and the crowd felt it. They responded with enthusiastic applause and with generosity for the waitresses and bartenders. At the end of the night, the club manager pressed extra bills into your hand, murmuring something about record-breaking tips.

You barely heard him. 

Your mind was already made up.

You stepped out into the cool night air, exhaling as you raised your hand to hail a cab, but before you could, a smooth voice cut through the darkness.

“Need a ride?”

You turned, heels clicking against the pavement as you took in the sight before you.

Steve Rogers, all broad shoulders and quiet authority, leaned against a gleaming black Continental, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. 

Your brows lifted. 

“Didn’t peg you for a chauffeur.”

Steve chuckled.

“Just trying to be nice.” 

He nodded toward the passenger seat. 

“We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Your gaze shifted past him to Sam, watching you from inside the car, his smile just visible through the window.

“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing.

Steve shrugged. 

“Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…”

“We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.

Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.

“I’ll take you up on that,” you said, sighing as you stepped forward. 

“Standing on a stage in heels all night isn’t exactly easy on the legs.”

Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip.

“Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured.

You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat?

And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew? 

You didn’t have time to wonder. Steve was already holding the door open, waiting. You slid inside, sinking into the plush leather seats, and shot him a tired, knowing smile as he shut the door behind you.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror, his eyes catching yours in the reflection. 

“Which way, Miss Y/L/N?”

You hesitated.

Bucky was making this hard.

You closed your eyes, reaching back, searching for the girl you were six years ago. The girl who ran. The girl who had every reason to. But she was gone, her memories worn thin, fragile as cigarette paper.

You could stand to make some new ones.

And they would have to last. Because this would only be one night.

“The Royal Sierra,” you said softly.

Steve’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life.

Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes.

“I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.”

You let out a soft laugh.

“It’s nighttime, Sam.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. 

“He’s never introduced me to a dame before. Plenty have tried to get to him through us, but he doesn’t let ‘em. He just shoos ‘em off like stray dogs.” 

Sam’s smirk deepened. 

“But you? You’re different.”

Something in your chest tightened. You turned toward the back of Steve’s head. 

“What about you, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve cleared his throat, his hands flexing on the wheel.

“I’ve known Buck since we were kids in Brooklyn,” he said after a pause.

“And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.”

The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew.

Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”

Your heart clenched.

You didn’t ask any more questions after that. You just let the city lights blur past the window, let the neon colors bleed together as they carried you to the man waiting at the top of the Royal Sierra.

Waiting for you.

——-

The Royal Sierra was a loud kind of quiet. The kind that came from power. Bucky’s kind of place.

Steve pulled up to the entrance, stepping out with effortless authority, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he belonged here. Like you belonged here. No one stopped you. No one asked questions.

His presence alone was a key. A shield.

Bucky Barnes’ reach extended farther than Mr. Crow’s.

Before you knew it, you were stepping into the elevator, watching the floors tick by, your pulse a slow, deliberate drum in your throat. And by the time you reached the penthouse, your body had made a decision your mind refused to acknowledge.

You lifted a gloved hand and slid the key into the lock.

The door opened instantly.

And then, there was Bucky.

His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

Then his hands were on you.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.

You melted, even though you knew better.

You knew this was dangerous. That this wasn’t just about lust, or longing, or the years between you. But none of it mattered as you wound your arms around him, tangling your fingers in the dark curls you missed too damn much.

Bucky groaned, dragging you flush against him. His hands roamed lower, exploring this new version of you, the one with fuller curves, wider hips, a body that had known things he hadn’t been there to witness.

He needed to erase it all.

He deepened the kiss, his breath ragged as he backed you against the wall, pinning you there, swallowing the soft sound you made.

God, that sound.

He had dreamed about it.

You pulled back. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, you were beautiful. But there was something else in your eyes.

A flicker of hesitation.

Bucky smirked.

He didn’t want to talk. Not tonight. He wanted to taste you, to relearn every inch of you. 

He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time.

Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.

Bucky Barnes was still so goddamn hot.

“You staying?” 

His voice was hoarse with desire.

Your lips parted slightly. Then, slowly, you nodded. That was all he needed.

With deliberate slowness, he backed you toward the couch, his blue eyes never leaving yours.

He didn’t know why you left.

Didn’t know why you were in Vegas.

Didn’t know how long he had.

And tonight, he wasn’t asking.

"Missed this," he murmured against your throat, his breath hot, his fingers digging into the roundness of your ass. His voice sent a shiver down your spine.

He turned you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. You felt it slide down, the cool air kissing your bare skin as the rich fabric slipped from your shoulders, revealing the decadent silk and lace beneath.

Bucky let out a rough exhale.

The longline bra molded perfectly to your curves, the underwire and boning lifting your breasts high, the lace trim barely concealing your peaked nipples. The silk garter belt cinched your waist, accentuating the swell of your hips, its straps fastened to sheer stockings that clung to your legs like a whisper.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands ghosting over your sides, gripping, kneading. 

“Jesus, Doll… you always did know how to drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped.

He trailed a finger along the edge of your bra, teasing you through the lace with his knuckles grazing the soft swell of your breast. 

“Look at you… all wrapped up like a goddamn present,” he muttered, voice thick with reverence.

His hands slid down, and his thumbs traced slow, reverent paths along the edge of your garter, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs. He tilted his head, lips curving against your jaw.

“Been dreamin’ about this,” he whispered, voice dripping with possession. 

“And now it’s real.”

You shivered beneath his touch, and Bucky smirked, satisfied. He trailed his fingers lower, slipping beneath the garter belt to palm your ass, squeezing greedily, pulling you flush against him.

“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you.

He was losing patience. Six years was too damn long.

His hands found the hooks of your bra, and he made quick work of them, peeling the garment from your body and tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled back for just a second, just long enough to admire the sight of you, bare, breathless, your eyes fully dilated.

“Damn, Doll” he whispered, voice almost reverent. 

Then his mouth was on you, trailing down your neck hotly, over your collarbone, lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking, groaning when your fingers tangled in his hair, when your body arched into his mouth.

“Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.

His hands roamed lower, curling around your thighs, gripping hard as he lifted you effortlessly, walking you backward until your spine hit the cool surface of the wall.

Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel.

“Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.

Bucky pressed a kiss into you, his hard length grinding against your soaked panties. The heat of him, the sheer size of him, had you trembling.

"Need inside you, Doll… so fucking hard for you," he groaned, his voice rough with need.

You gasped as he rocked into you, your damp panties and his boxers doing little to separate the friction between you. Your hips rolled in response, dragging a throaty grunt from his lips.

"Fuck!"

Bucky hooked a finger into your panties, yanking them to the side. The first brush of his bare cock against your slick folds sent a shudder through you. It was heaven. The aching kind. The kind you felt.

"Bucky, please!"

You needed to feel him again after so long.

His thick cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with every slow stroke. You felt everything, the ridges, the veins, the swollen head nudging at your entrance.

At the same time, his mouth latched onto your nipple, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. His calloused fingers kneaded the roundness of your ass, pulling unashamed whimpers from your throat.

"Mine," Bucky growled.

Your breath hitched. But just as you prepared for that first, deep thrust, he pulled back.

You gasped in protest.

"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed."

You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke.

Your breath stuttered with anticipation.

"Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."

Confusion flickered in your eyes, until you felt your legs being thrown over his shoulders. Then, Bucky was between your thighs.

You scrambled up on your elbows, heat rushing to your face as he spread you open with two fingers, stroking the sensitive, slick folds hidden beneath. His gaze locked onto your glistening sex, mesmerized.

"So beautiful, Lark."

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he ran his fingers through your wetness, spreading it.

"So wet… dripping… coating my fingers, Baby."

The filthy words, the intensity of his stare, made fresh arousal seep from you. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, aching for more.

"Pinch those nipples for me," Bucky rasped,

Your lips parted in shock, but his stare was unwavering. With a shaky breath, you obeyed.

The added sensation sent pleasure rippling through you, making your back arch, your ass pressing into the mattress as Bucky pumped his fingers nice and slow. The other hand fisted around his cock, stroking in time with the movement inside you.

Your gaze dropped to watch him touch himself as he touched you. Fuck.

A gush of slick spilled from you. Bucky cursed under his breath, scissoring his fingers, stretching you, preparing you.

"So fucking tight, Doll. Need to get you ready."

Then, his head dipped lower. Your gasp filled the room. Bucky smirked.

"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—"

He stopped.

Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly.

"Oh, shit."

His tone was different now, understanding. 

"It’s okay, Baby. I got you."

Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth.

Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly.

Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.

When he pried your thighs apart and plunged two fingers back inside, curling them just right, you detonated. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, your body seizing, your walls fluttering around his fingers as a flood of wetness spilled into his mouth.

"Bucky!"

He pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"S’okay, Baby. It’s natural."

Then he leaned down again. And drank from you like a man dying of thirst.

You whimpered, overwhelmed, your body trembling as he held you down, refusing to let you escape. The overstimulation was brutal, unbearable.

Too much, too good.

"Really have been such a good girl for me…" he murmured against your sensitive skin.

Then, his voice dropped to something sinful.

"Gonna give you this cock you been waiting for."

When he finally kissed you, his lips slick with you, the last shred of restraint dissolved.

You moaned into his mouth as he lined himself up, dragging the thick, swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds. He parted your lips, teasing you with tiny, torturous strokes. Then, with a sharp slap, he tapped his cock against your clit, making you cry out.

"Shit, Doll…" 

Bucky’s voice was strained, his jaw tight as he fought for control. You rolled your hips, desperate, pleading.

"Inside, please!"

"You’re gonna feel… so… goodddd…"

He bit it out through clenched teeth as he pushed forward slow, steady, and stretching you inch by inch. You choked on a moan as he filled you. He was so big. You had forgotten how thick, how deep, how perfect he felt inside you.

"Ohhhhhh, Bucky!"

"Right here, Baby."

His eyes locked onto you, greedily drinking in your bouncing breasts, your trembling stomach, the way your body took him. The sight alone nearly ended him. His head dropped back, his grip on you tightening as he bottomed out, grinding his hips into yours, making you wail in pleasure.

"You feel amazing… so fucking good. Never felt anything like this, I swear, Lark."

Your walls clenched around him, and Bucky’s face twisted, his control slipping.

"I need you to cum all over my dick."

You gasped as his hand found your clit, circling it with the same practiced precision that always ruined you. His other hand pinched your nipple, sending another bolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Cum for me, Doll."

You had no choice. Your body seized, pleasure obliterating you as you came, gushing around his cock, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you.

Bucky’s grip turned bruising as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His breath caught. 

"Mine!" he growled. 

And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours.

And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew

You were his again.

—--

Bucky collapsed beside you, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You did the same, but while he was basking in the afterglow, warmth spreading through his chest like hope, your stomach twisted into knots.

"Where you going, Lark?"

His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.

"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up."

Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little.

You disappeared into the harsh fluorescent glow of the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

—--

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, watching as you slipped your shoes back on. You moved quickly, deliberately. Like you’d planned your exit before you ever walked through his door.

"You don’t have to run out like this," he said, voice rough.

You hesitated, just for a second, before fastening your coat.

"I have to get home."

Bucky’s fingers flexed against the sheets.

"Home."

He rolled the word over his tongue. He didn’t like the way it tasted.

Your gaze lifted, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered there, regret, and sorrow buried so deep he almost missed it.

Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them.

So he let you go.

But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.

—-----

Bucky sat in the back of the Continental, silent as Steve drove.

He hadn’t said a word since Steve muttered, “I’ll take you to where she lives.”

Vegas never slept, but the streets were quiet this early. Bucky stared out the window, jaw clenched.

He should’ve stopped you from leaving. Should’ve asked the damn questions instead of letting you walk out. But you were good at slipping away. You’d done it before.

Not this time.

Steve glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"You sure about this?"

Bucky’s eyes stayed on the road ahead.

"Just drive."

Steve sighed but didn’t argue. The car veered off the Strip, where the lights weren’t as bright, where the buildings weren’t as tall, where the money wasn’t as loud. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it sure as hell wasn’t where Bucky expected you to be.

The car slowed.

A modest duplex came into view, its porch light flickering on.

Bucky barely registered anything beyond you were here. Until he saw the front door open.

You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open.

And out ran a little boy.

Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms.

You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear.

Like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Because you had.

The realization hit like a bullet to the ribs.

You had a son.

Bucky’s world tilted.

Then, the boy’s voice, small and sleepy, carried through the quiet street.

"Mama, you’re home."

His breath left him in a rush.

"Yes, Jamie, I’m home."

Steve tensed, hands gripping the wheel.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists.

"Buck—"

"Drive," he rasped. The word barely made it past his lips.

Steve hesitated.

"Now."

The car pulled away, but Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on you.

Six years.

Six years, and you had kept this from him.

—---

The moment Jamie crashed into your arms, the world melted away.

"Mama, you’re home!"

You exhaled shakily, smoothing his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Miss Thea stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her housecoat, watching with quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions. Never had. Just gave you a slow nod before retreating inside.

Jamie yawned, burrowing into your shoulder, his little arms tightening around your neck.

"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms.

"Yeah? What do I smell like?"

Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake.

"Like trouble," he sighed.

Your breath caught.

A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street.

Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.

You swallowed hard, clutching Jamie closer as you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. You couldn’t shake the feeling.

Bucky knew.

And no matter how much you wanted to believe you could keep him away….You knew better.

James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you.

For both of you.

[luvst4rc0r3]

I love the Loser!Jinx fics, there so funny and cute but I can’t help but think that no one believes in Jinx, like everyone believes she can’t do anything right and tell it to her face and to the reader. And I can’t help but the reader slowly getting mad at everyone for not believing in jinx or themselves being together and hoping for their downfall.

Overall: the reader getting mad at everyone so saying mean things about her loser girlfriend

Sorry if this was way to specific, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I do hope you have a great day tho!

It had been a long week. Between the whispers at school, the sideways glances, and the snickers from people who thought they knew better, Reader had nearly had enough. Every time someone so much as looked at Jinx, it was like they were waiting for her to mess up. And she did, sure—she was Jinx, after all, a wild, chaotic force of nature. But that wasn’t all she was.

Reader had seen the side of Jinx that no one else did. The one that hid behind that manic laughter, the one that cared deeply for the people around her, the one that was just trying to find her place in a world that had constantly kicked her down. But no one saw that.

No one except Reader.

-

It started with the comments in the halls.

"Did you see Jinx’s latest stunt? What a joke," someone sneered. Reader was walking beside them, trying to ignore it, but the words grated on her nerves like sandpaper.

"Yeah, how does someone that stupid even survive?" another voice added.

That was it. The last straw.

Reader’s hand curled into a fist, and her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t even realized she was walking faster until the voices were behind her.

“Jinx is more than her mess-ups. She’s more than the mistakes you keep throwing in her face,” Reader said, voice sharp. The words were out before she could stop them.

“Don’t get all defensive. She’s pathetic,” one of them spat.

That was the moment it clicked. The fury rose in Reader like a wave crashing over everything. She stopped, turned, and looked the person straight in the eye.

“Pathetic?” Reader’s voice was cold now, controlled but dripping with venom. “You don’t know her. You don’t see the hours she spends trying to make something of herself, trying to fix all the broken pieces no one else cares about. Maybe if you weren’t so busy tearing her down, you’d actually notice how much she’s trying.”

They all blinked, the words hitting harder than they’d expected. But the damage had been done, hadn’t it? The doubt in their eyes, the laughs they’d shared at Jinx’s expense—it was too much. Too far.

“I’m not going to stand here while you make her feel like shit. She’s mine, and I won’t let you tear her down anymore. So take your pathetic comments and shove them.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the whole group staring at Reader like they couldn’t quite process what had just happened. Reader didn’t care. They turned on their heel, storming off with a fire in their eyes that was impossible to ignore.

-

Later that day, Jinx was sitting by herself at the edge of the school grounds, fiddling with a broken toy she’d somehow managed to scavenge. Her usual chaotic energy was subdued, and her eyes looked tired, the weight of the day clearly starting to take its toll.

Reader walked over and sat beside her, the anger from earlier still simmering in their chest.

"Hey, you okay?" Reader asked softly, not wanting to push Jinx too much.

Jinx looked up at them, her lips curling into that small, hesitant smile that only Reader ever really saw.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. She was used to being the punchline, to being the odd one out. Reader could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, the way her hands shook slightly as she twisted the toy in her grip.

Reader reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You know, I don’t care what they say. They don’t know you like I do. And they sure as hell don’t get to treat you like that.”

Jinx’s gaze softened, her blue eyes brightening just a little. She leaned into Reader’s side, resting her head against their shoulder.

“Thanks... I don’t really care about what they think,” she murmured, but Reader could feel the doubt still lingering in her voice. They kissed her forehead, pulling her closer.

“You should,” Reader said, voice fierce now, as if it could somehow shield Jinx from all the hurt that had been thrown her way. “You’re not pathetic. You’re worth more than any of them could ever see.”

Jinx smiled at that, a little more genuine this time. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

“Always.”

And that was enough. For now, that was enough.

-

The next day, the whispers were quieter. The snickers were less frequent. Reader wasn’t sure if they had changed anyone’s mind or if they’d just earned a bit of respect. But what mattered was that Jinx was a little less burdened by the weight of the world, and that meant everything.

The world could think whatever it wanted, but Reader would never stop believing in Jinx. No one else had to, as long as they did.

And that was all that mattered.

I want sleep

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

Stupid game II

MDNI

John price x journalist reader

Cw: noncon, unprotected piv,cum eating, the word grape used, oral fixation, brat taming of you squint, oral on M, basically all smut

Obsessed with the idea of a morally righteous journalist!reader who sticks her nose in Prices’ business , only to find out how he takes care of pretty little muckrakers who stick their paws where they don’t belong.

Notes: my first noncon scene, huge thanks to @ghouljams for helping get me through it.

Part 2 <<Part 1

Under the guise of morally righteousness ,the need to maintain the chimera of an inherently just world, You were fundamentally driven by the rush when you teetered on the razor sharp edge of danger, a dark cloud of peril followed you— the lighting could strike any time , almost inevitably because of mischievous disregard you had for power.

(Brazen or stupid, you knew you were a glorified canary in coal mines , sounding alarms about the noxious which was fated to consume you)

————

This, this is it. He is quick, before you can even blink, he is onto you. His gaze boring into yours, blistering hot, hypnotic ,turning you to stone, he looks like half god-half beast, carved in the image of a megalomaniac king, you feel minute, a spec,like your bones were made of crystalline ice, melting , disintegrating into nothing .

His rough, weathered paw swallows your arm , fingers digging through the soft flesh, bursting the tiny blood vessels , bruising, tainting you already. Your face mere inches away as he pulls you into his chest, his breath thick with tobacco, nicotine , stale smoke.

It’s all too much, you feel unsteady, feeble, untethered to your own body, almost grateful for the lingering grounding ache from his unyielding grip on your arm.

(Your cunt pulses,blistering hot, leaking into your panties, dampening the lacy fabric, which rattles you, purely physiological response, you suppose panic stricken and unassured. )

“Cat’s got your tounge ,huh?…had so much to say “ he hums, dark ,pupils dilated, hungry for your little exasperated gasps escaping through parted lips, the flutter of your wet lashes. “Too late now sweetheart….wouldn’t do you any good.” He muses, voice syrupy,dripping with what could only be lust.

“So what now, are you going to rape me”

You spit, breathless, feeble, with as much weight in your voice as you could muster (and little conviction), in such a blunt, abrupt manner that it momentarily off-balances him. Stupid girl. The flicker of unease in his gaze turns to seething rage, he lets go of your arm, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, grabbing a fistful,pulling— revealing your neck.

He momentarily pauses —taking in the delicate curve, your pulse, considers sticking his canines into your jugular, marking the soft flesh, instead settles on hiking up your dress with his other hand shoving it down your panties,cupping your mound.

It’s absurd really, almost pornographic how little, how soft your wet pussy is in his bearish paw.

Humiliation, arousal, shame, fear ,floods your veins, searing and chilling you in the same breath, twisting through you like a slow-burning fire. John growls, guttural, running his thick fingers through your sopping folds, back and forth, circling your fluttering hole, collecting the viscous slick. when he pauses , lightly pressing your pebbled clit, your breath hitches.

“fuckin hell” he sighs , his gaze smouldering, so laden with want that it threatens to asphyxiate you.

“Rape huh? as if I couldn’t smell ‘ur little cunt from ’cross the room.” He grunts while holding up his sticky fingers in a garish display of the mess you made. The viscous, syrupy slick clings to his fingers webbing between them, translucent, pearlescent glops glistening in the faint warm light.

“Please” you whimper, cottony soft, shame drips out of your pores staining your lash line with dew,you almost feel like a gulitly , tail tucked puppy caught red handed, for peeing on the carpet. Though before you can run your mouth more, he shoves his fingers between your parted lips, pressing against your tongue. You can taste the brine on his skin, the soot ,the earthy taste of your sex.

It’s slow, almost intimate how he inspects your lax mouth, running his fingers over your teeth, gums, the roof of your mouth, your uvula, leisurely shoving them down your throat. With his other fist still tugging your hair, he can feel your throat clenching, muscles flexing,swallowing around his thick fingers. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, down your chin , jaw, glistening around curve your neck, chest.

“Little more sweetheart, sure ‘ave done this before hmm” , he murmurs, pleased , finally gaging you when he shoves his fingers down to the last knuckle, yanking you hair fisted in his other palm, properly taking you in.

He likes the look of you now, eyes drenched, glassy, heavy drops of tears slipping down , mascara streaking your pretty face, drool running down your swollen lips, chin,neck,it’s almost too much for him to take in, you look ruined, tainted. It makes his cock stir.

“What —what are you doing?” You squeak, as he spins you, caging you between the wall, and himself,pressing you against his body. One hand grabs your throat, applying light pressure, so he can tilt your head, and look down at your pretty, sullied face.

“Nothing you don’t deserve” he growls under his breath, a dark rumbling chuckle escapes him, reverberating through your body.

Warm light flickers across his face, the shadows make him look so intense that it deeply unnerves you, big fat tears roll down your cheeks. Much to your dismay your cunt pulses, slick drooling down your inner thighs.

“Just —just fuck me and get this over with already“. You whimper, which gets you a hard sharp smack on your bare ass, stinging pain spreads over the supple skin, his fingers into your ass cheeks, causing you to yelp.

“Fuck’in brat” he growls, through gritted teeth, more to himself ,than to you. He yanks at your thong until it rips and shoves it in your mouth, his hand wrapping around your mouth to keep it in. The other digs into your arm.

“Yeah...better for you to shut up” he rasps, as he slots his engorged head against your sloppy hole, little involuntary sounds escape you, muffled by your panties, he enters you in a single thrust, bullying as much of his thick cock in your tight little cunt as he can. A guttural, animal growl escapes him, reverberating through your body.

The stretch , the burning sting, is all-consuming ,so overwhelming that you are rendered silent, his length so deep inside you that you can feel it piercing through your guts.

“Fuck…little cunt’s strangling me love” he drawls , hot breath wafting into your cheek, he goes deeper, deeper, rim pulled taut around his girth,until his cock head nudges your cervix. You feel like you are going to tear apart, shatter into a million pieces. Your pussy flutters, aching to be ruined.

He is fucking you in earnest now, pounding your hole, powerful thrusts pushing you into wall, his scent, stale musk, cologne, tobacco, soot, smoke engulfing you, you feel like you are intertwining with his very being, untethered from your body, the pain, pleasure, fear, anger too much to process, when your brain is mush,leaking out of your ears unable to form a thought beyond him and his cock.

“ yeah, that’s it , take it, take it all, perfect girl, made for me , ain’t you love” the praise makes you clench, mewl , like a domesticated cat, the veins of his cock, gliding against your gummy walls, your cunt creaming around him, a frothy ring forms around the base.

It’s all too much, your knees buck, you feel like a new born fawn, unsteady and feeble. The pleasure mounts, coil tightening and tightening, your pussy strangling his cock so tight that his relentless thrusts slow down. “Yeah ..sweetheart , just let it go, come on now” ,he groans, planting wet kisses on your temple , while squeezing your throat, a weird juxtaposition really. But that does it the coil releases , pleasure spreads like wildfire, burning through you, your body violently spasms in his hold , knees buck, the little strength you had drains through your pores.

“That’s it..Good. Fucking. Girl” , he fucks you through your orgasm, harsh thrusts rattling your bones, he has somehow managed to fit his entire length into your hole.Heavy balls slap against rump, you are in earnest liquid now anchored up only by his cock spearing into you and the wall.

“Yeah…going to fill you up love , that’s what you wanted huh?” He grunts,practically using your limp body as a flesh light now, thursts getting rougher more frantic, until you feel his cock pulsing, throbbing , and hot spurts of cum filling you up, coating your insides.

He pauses for a moment, arms wrapped around you, holding up your body, plugging you with his softening cock. You whimper around the fabric in your mouth as he pulls out, his come floods out of your fluttering hole leaking onto the floor.

You drop on your knees with a loud thud as he lets go of you, your body limp and boneless, wet panties still in your mouth, haziness, hypoxia,endorphins coursing through your flesh. Adrenal exhaustion washes over you, you feel like your neurons are fried, unable to even conjure fear. He grabs you by your hair presenting his half hard wet cock to you.

Now that you see it, it’s a big thick veiny thing with engorged angry head. His balls are hairy,heavy,sagging because of the weight. It makes you drool.

“Yeah, sweetheart …clean daddy up, come on now, good girl” , you look at him with big wet eyes, and take his mushroom head in your mouth, gently suckling the tip, running your tongue over his weeping slit, the briny taste of left over cum makes your cunt pulse. You slowly lave your tongue over his shaft, feeling the velvety skin, the ridges of his veins, even take his big hairy balls in your mouth, gently sucking one at a time, tasting yourself on him. You feel emancipated finally relenting to your lust.

You feel his fist yank your hair so you can look at him, his cock still in your mouth.

“Keep doing that and it’s not going to end well for you love ”

so you respond by , slowly lowering your mouth until his entire shaft is lodged in your throat, delicate muscles taut against his girth, clenching, flexing, nose flat against the dark curls, above his shaft.

This is bad, bad.

[hrrtshape]

i heard it was ask ema hogwarts questions hour!! i found ur answers to my last ask about this so interesting, especially when you talked about the goblin wars and witch princesses. did you learn anything about how magic was found? or yk like the beginning of witchcraft. cavemen but wizards? do you have to handle anything disgusting for potions? like an animals eyeball or teeth?

what’s the relationship gossip? are sirius and remus together? is james dramatically on his knees for lily? is regulus moody and alone or has he realised he’s cable of love… and with who?

i’m super interested in what the creative subjects are like if there is any. what’s the difference between muggle art and witchy art? is there music or creative writing classes?

is it strange not having a phone? no tumblr for 5 months 💔💔💔

are you on the quidditch team? and is there any other sports you can do?

other than hogsmede, have you ventured out of the castle? to diagon alley or the leaky cauldron? do you have school trips?

have you met moaning myrtle? and since u know where the chamber of secrets is, do you plan on keeping that a secret or going to explore it?

ok some last questions. what’s the fashion like? what’s your fave wizard candy? are there witch/wizard celebrities? are you a animagus? whats it like turning into an animal? i’d freak the fuck out. i’m going to be in ravenclaw, have you been to their common room and what’s it like? okay that’s all thank u soooooo much ur the coolest ever

oh my god, you’re actually my favorite person for asking all of this !?!?!?

ancient wizard cavemen lore

YES, actually. i had so many late-night discussions (arguments) with remus about this. magic has always been there, but how it was discovered is a whole other thing. apparently, the earliest wizards didn’t even use wands. they just felt it and willed things to happen. which, honestly, terrifying. imagine some neolithic dude just thinking about fire and accidentally setting his entire cave on fire. but yeah, magic was raw back then. chaotic. unrefined. people had no clue what they were doing.

potions class horrors

potions is literally a nightmare class. why is there always something festering in a jar? why do i have to desecrate a frog just to pass a test? some highlights of things i have had to touch.......

flobberworm mucus (somehow both slimy and sticky??? defies science.)

an entire rat spleen (it plopped onto my desk. i have never known true horror until that moment.)

something’s eyeball. never identified what animal it belonged to. refused to ask.

relationship gossip

sirius and remus? no. sssorrrryyyy. i love wolfstar truthers but those two were too busy being insufferable and not realising they should be together. tragic, honestly.

james? so on his knees for lily. practically living in that position.

regulus. moody, yes. alone? debatable. i have seen some things. and i have some thoughts. but i’ll let the mystery simmer. 🫣

wizard arts & creativity

SO interesting. muggle art is about technique, but wizard art is alive. literally. paintings move, obviously, but also change depending on the mood of the room. i saw a portrait sulk once. music is enchanted, instruments play themselves, but it’s all very classical. like no wizard rock bands, just dramatic orchestral stuff. creative writing exists, but sometimes the words change on their own if they think you could do better. imagine your journal critiquing you. horrifying.

living without a phone

yes. it hurt. five months without tumblr was a near crisis. but i had scripted it wouldn’t bother me, so it was fine. (except for the fact that my brain still thought in twitter slang. painful. imagine if i had said that we should celebrate my 19th birthday in poland. like. that is what was going on in my mind)

quidditch & sports

seeker for gryffindor, obviously. and listen, me and coryo on the pitch,,,,(NOT LIKE THAT. DON’T EVEN START.) warfare. i have never hated someone more in my life than when we were mid-air chasing the snitch. other sports were wizard duelling was kind of a thing, though very much not encouraged as an official extracurricular.

leaving the castle

yeah!! hogsmeade is the obvious one, but we also had school trips to diagon alley, and there were some special trips for certain subjects. like visiting the ministry for political studies (yes. i had to script that in). also, technically not allowed, but i may have wandered past the usual boundaries of the castle a few times. (listen. curiosity is a disease.)

moaning myrtle & chamber of secrets

met myrtle. love her, but also, girl, please get a hobby besides haunting bathrooms. and yes, i know where the chamber is. and no, i am absolutely not going in there. why would i do that. i value my life.

wizard fashion

robes are standard, obviously, but people get creative. lots of vintage, lots of flowy silhouettes, lots of layers. wizard fashion is like if academia and cottagecore had a chaotic crazy baby. my favourite thing was these enchanted scarves that would shift colours depending on mood. so dramatic. never wore them tho. 70s fashion was crazy.

wizard candy

chocolate frogs (obviously !!!!)

fizzing whizzbees (they make you float. it’s terrifying if you’re unprepared.)

sugar quills (technically candy, but also great for just chewing on absentmindedly.)

wizard celebrities

yes!!! there are famous quidditch players, obviously, but also famous duelists and curse-breakers. and yes we did discuss whether musicians such as david bowie could be a wizard !!!! we didn't find out though : (

animagus life

yes!!! i was a fox. yes, it’s predictable. shut up. transforming is insane. it’s like your body folds in on itself and suddenly you’re seeing the world from a whole different perspective. super cool but also incredibly disorienting.

ravenclaw common room

been there!!! it’s in a tower, and you have to answer a riddle to get in, which is hilarious because sometimes even the ravenclaws get stuck outside debating answers. it’s very airy, very full of books, and the vibe is so pretentious in the best way.

okay. that was a LOT but your questions were elite. 10/10. feel free to send more. 💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

[zmbiesoph]

FUN IN THE BARN

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - VERY SURPRISING DROP, SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN A WHOLE MONTH😭 lowkey boring smut but 🤷‍♀️. I really wanna write some jaw dropping, horny ass smut soon so give me ideas :)

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you and Carl go out to check out a barn for food for Alexandria, and things get a little… heated. And somehow, Daryl knows????

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, use of Y/N, unprotected P in V

AGED UP CARL

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the landscape as Carl and you trudged through the overgrown field towards the old barn. Alexandria's supplies were dwindling, and this place was our last hope for finding food before nightfall.

"I can't believe Rick agreed to send us out this late," you grumbled, your bow and quiver bumping against your back with each step. "It's almost sundown."

Carl glanced over at you, his almond-shaped eyes filled with determination. "We'll be fine, Y/N. We've done this plenty of times before."

You nodded, not wanting to dwell on the possibility of running into walkers. Especially with Carl. Ever since you’d met Carl on your farm when he got shot, he'd grown into a handsome young man - tall, lean, with a chiseled jawline and messy black hair that constantly fell into his face. And those eyes... you caught myself staring more than once.

Focus, Y/N.

You guys reached the barn, its wooden walls weathered and worn. Carl kicked open the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his gun. "Let's make this quick."

You followed him inside, your heart pounding in your chest. The musty scent of old hay filled the air. Rays of fading sunlight streamed through cracks in the walls, illuminating dust particles floating through the space.

Carl began searching through the dusty corners while you climbed up to the loft, scanning for anything edible. You spotted a few cans tucked away and reached for them, your foot catching on a loose board. You stumbled forward, your hand gripping the edge of the loft to catch yourself.

Suddenly, Carl was there, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you. "Careful," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

You turned to face him, your bodies pressed close. His eyes darkened as they met yours, full of unspoken desire. Your pulse quickened, a rush of heat spreading through you.

"Carl..." you whispered, your lips just inches from his.

He closed the gap, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as your tongues danced. He pushed you against the wall of the loft, his hands roaming over your curves.

You gasped as he kissed a trail down your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a path of fire in their wake. "We shouldn't..." you breathed, even as you arched into his touch.

"We will," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I want you, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long..."

He crashed his mouth back to yours as he hiked up your shirt. You fumbled with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel him. Your clothes fell away until you both were skin against skin, touching and exploring every inch of each other.

Carl lifted you effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You cried out, your head falling back as he filled you completely. He started a steady rhythm, each stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"Yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't stop..."

He captured your mouth again as he drove into you harder, faster. Your bodies moved in perfect sync, lost in pleasure. You could feel your release building, the coil winding tighter and tighter.

"Y/N," Carl groaned against your lips. "Come for me..."

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you. He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck as he found his own release.

You two stayed locked together, catching your breath in the fading light. Carl pressed a soft kiss to your lips before carefully setting you back on my feet.

"We should probably head back," you said reluctantly, already missing the feel of him inside you.

He nodded, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "We'll have to do this again sometime."

You grinned, straightening your clothes. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

You guys gathered what supplies you two could find and made your way back to Alexandria under the cover of darkness. As you slipped inside the gates, Daryl stepped out of the shadows, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Have fun in the barn?" he asked, his tone full of innuendo.

You felt your cheeks heat but kept walking, Carl chuckling behind you.

@hiro--aoki @acid9786 @carlsangel @bethberry

[sentientgolfball]

I'd be Home With You

Continuing the Devotion universe with this sorta sequel! You don't need to read Devotion to understand the story, but if you're worried or just want some added context all you'd need to read is the final chapter. Also Swiss is referred to as Multi throughout most of the story as he has not chosen the name Swiss…yet. Also pspsp @thehypnone

Read here or on ao3

Pairing: Swissalps

Word Count: 19k

Tags: hurt/comfort, Mountain has depression and I apologize in advance, eventual happy ending, one small mention of retching, brief violence

Summary: A new pack and Dew's elemental transition have cast a cloud of dread over Mountain's mind. He tries to remain the pack's perfect provider, but when the earth crumbles the one to fill the cracks is the last person he would have considered.

Or

How Mountain and Swiss fell in love.

Navy blue dappled with sparkles of silver slowly melt away into a soft orange. That soft orange turns into an even yellow before finally giving way to bright blue. Mountain watches each transformation the sky goes through. His head is leaning against his soft downy pillow and his blanket is up to his chin, yet his eyes are wide open. They have been for nearly the entire night. 

Sleep is not something that has been finding him recently. Not since he heard Dew’s screams and smelled the scent of burning flesh. Really it goes back further than that though. His mind has not been grounded ever since Dew first told him and Aether of his plan to become a fire ghoul. That was months ago. Long before the actual ritual. Long before their den was filled with new ghouls of various elements. 

 Mountain sighs. Even though he is beyond exhausted, he throws his blanket off him. He needs to get up. Laying in bed while the sun creeps higher and higher in the sky will do him no good. Though he is not sure how much better it will be to go out into the world with a mask of calm. But someone has to make breakfast. He has to make sure his pack is fed. Because if he will not, then who?

He swings his legs over the side of his bed, hooves clacking when they make contact with the hardwood floor. He stands, making his way to the bathroom. Each potted plant he passes leans in his direction before snapping back into place once he is out of range, as if the leaves and the vines were reaching out to him. He flicks on the light with a claw tipped finger. He takes a moment to just stare at his reflection. Dark circles have formed under his eyes, deep purple against forest green. His hair is getting longer. He does not remember the last time he trimmed it. His fur does not look as shiny as it used to. He barely recognizes himself anymore. 

He tries not to dwell on it. He has more important things to do than worry about his physical appearance. He has a pack that needs to be taken care of. 

He turns on the faucet, letting the water heat to a comfortable temperature. Once warm enough, he cups his hands. He lets it pool in his palms until it spills over before leaning down so he can splash the water in his face. He repeats the process a few more times. Until he deems himself awake and present enough. This has become a daily ritual for him. He used to have enough time to wake up and shower before getting breakfast made for the pack, but with each sunrise he finds himself laying in bed longer and longer. He cannot shower if he wants to have food ready at the same time he always has. So a few splashes of water and maybe some soap, if he remembers, will have to do. 

He lifts his head, making eye contact with his reflection once more as water drips from the fur on his face. He does not stare this time though. Instead he grabs a hand towel and dries himself. When his fur is only a little damp, he tosses the towel in his laundry basket. He takes a deep breath, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, searching for his center. Searching for the strength to face the day like everything is normal. He exhales, shoulders falling. He grabs his hearing aids from the corner of the counter, puts them in and walks out of the door. 

His plants reach for him again as he goes, but he does not stop. If he stops now he may not make it out. He walks down the hall, trying to steer his thoughts in the direction of breakfast. French toast sounds good. He brought in a fresh harvest of berries the other day, so he could add strawberries and blueberries to it. Though he is not sure if there is cinnamon in the kitchen. He will just have to see how many ingredients they have. 

As Mountain passes by Dew’s door, his even steps falter. His eyes glance to the handle. He knows Dew is awake. Even before the fire, he was always an early riser. But ever since the ritual, he has woken up the moment the first rays of the sun shine through the dark. Just like every other fire ghoul in the Ministry, called to consciousness by Her energy. 

A part of him wants to twist the handle, see if it is locked. See if he can get in and join Dew for whatever little morning routine he has now, even if it is just laying in bed. Mountain does not think he would mind missing breakfast if it meant hours alone with his Dewdrop. 

But then the cold fog of guilt comes creeping in. He has not entered Dew’s room without explicit invitation since that fight six months ago. When he uttered the words he so desperately wished he could take back. So Mountain just sighs and keeps walking. He will not invade Dew’s space. Especially not first thing in the morning when he has no idea what kind of pain day it is. 

When Mountain rounds the corner to the common room, he is surprised to see Multi sitting at one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. Well, he is not surprised it is Multi, he seems to always be the first up beside Mountain himself. He is simply startled to see anyone else yet. Usually he at least has breakfast started before anyone wanders in. He must have stayed in bed for too long. He will be sure to get up extra early tomorrow to make up for it. 

Multi is humming to himself, tail and legs swaying to the rhythm in his head. Mountain is not exactly a silent creature, but he makes sure his hoof falls are extra heavy so as not to startle him. When that clack clack clack reaches his ears, Multi spins around on his stool and flashes Mountain a fang filled smile. 

“Morning,” his voice is still raspy from disuse. He must have only just woken up. 

“Good morning.” Mountain returns the smile. If he shows no signs of the weight of his exhaustion then perhaps Multi will not question his tardiness. 

“Ya know when I didn’t see you right away I was worried I’d have to figure out food on my own,” He teases, “but hey there’s nothing wrong with a few extra hours.”

Of course. 

Mountain steps fully into the kitchen and opens the top cabinets to look for ingredients, “Yeah. Long day in the greenhouse. Guess I was more tired than I thought.” He keeps his voice light. Easy. Just two ghouls having a conversation. 

He is genuinely glad it is only Multi out here though. He does make it easier. Mountain has probably spent the most amount of time with him versus the other new summons. He always seems so eager to learn so Mountain has been happy to teach. Cooking lessons, an hour or two in the greenhouse to test his earth magick, technology questions. Multi seems to default to him whenever anything new catches his interest. Mountain is thankful for it. It keeps his head clear. As a result, Multi has become familiar. Easy. 

Once Mountain is sure they have all the dry ingredients he floats around the kitchen, grabbing the bowls, cups, and utensils he will need. He can feel Multi’s eyes on him the entire time. He can feel the question burning the tip of his tongue. He is always like this. Always hesitant to actually ask, but once the door opens he never seems to stop. 

“Have I shown you how to make French toast before?” Mountain turns to look at him. 

Multi shakes head causing the golden cuffs adoring his locs to jingle, “Nope.” 

“Come here then.” He smiles softly. 

Multi is quick to hop off the barstool and around the counter into the kitchen. His tag wags happily behind him as he comes to stand beside Mountain. 

“It’s a pretty simple recipe. Kind of like pancakes.” 

“So I’m gonna drop shit on the floor?” 

“I’d like to believe your flipping skills have improved since then.” 

“Only cause I have such a great teacher.” Multi bumps his hip against Mountain’s. 

Mountain simply hums, the smile on his face growing ever so slightly. Multi really has become familiar. An integral part of his morning routine. Rather than drinking caffeinated tea in a futile attempt to wake his brain up, he has Multi’s shining grin to pull his mind from the shadows. It is nice. Especially since he seems to see his original pack less and less with each day. Aether back to working in the infirmary. Dew dealing with his health after the change and his ever growing closeness with Rain. Ifrit and Zephyr doing whatever it is retired ghouls do. 

But Multi is here. Solid and present. He is still so new in comparison, yet Mountain feels content with him. 

“Okay mister chef, how do we make this toast?” Multi eyes the dry ingredients sitting next to the mixing bowl. 

“Grab the milk and three eggs for me?” 

Multi pads over to the fridge, slinging it open with enough force to make a handful of bottles on the door shelf cling together. He pulls out the glass that contains the milk fresh from Ministry livestock. He sets it on the nearest counter before grabbing out three eggs. 

He holds them to his chest like is scared he will drop them otherwise, “Now what?” 

“Go ahead and measure out the dry ingredients.” Mountain chuckles and takes the eggs from him. 

Multi nods and smiles at him before picking up the measuring cups. Mountain tells him how much they will need for each ingredient. Multi is very careful to not spill anything, brow furrowed in concentration as he scoops up flour and sugar and cinnamon. 

Cinnamon. 

Such a strong scent. It had burnt his nose the first time he walked into Dew’s infirmary room. It was so intense. Nothing like Ifrit or Alpha. Sharp and spicy. But still so sweet. A perfect contrast to the bandaged body that laid unconscious under white sheets. 

“How much is a pinch?” Multi holds the container of salt, turning it around in his hands as he examines it. 

Mountain blinks, eyes refocusing as his mind comes back to reality, “What?” 

“You said I needed a pinch of salt. I have no idea what kind of measurement that is.” 

“Right. Yes. It’s uh it’s exactly what it sounds like. Just pinch your fingers in the salt and throw whatever you get into the mix.” 

Multi shrugs, “Whatever you say. What’s next?” 

“Uh milk. We need the milk. Just a cup.” 

Instead of turning to grab the glass container, Multi turns towards Mountain, “You alright? Your inflection sounds weird.” 

He shakes his head and forces a smile onto his face, “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“Ya know I’m sure I could figure out a decent breakfast if you wanna start sleepin in more.” 

He probably could. Mountain has been giving him cooking lessons nearly everyday. But then what else does he have? If he cannot be the one to provide for his pack then why get out of bed in the morning? He knows Multi is just trying to be helpful. Show his care for Mountain. But he does not understand how badly he needs this. 

“It’s no problem really.” Mountain assures him. 

Multi looks at him like he does not quite believe him, “Well if it ever does become a problem tell me. I’d like to help.” 

Mountain only hums, acknowledging his words but putting an end to this conversation. He slides closer to Multi, “Here let me mix the batter.” 

Multis gives Mountain a lingering look, but scoots off to the side. Though he does not go far. He stays close enough that Mountain’s arm brushes against his each time he grabs one of the cups with the ingredients. Mountain does not mind. It is better than having him continue to insist he take a break. 

He lets Multi watch for a little, just long enough to see how he slowly whisks everything in. When he gets to the last cup he tilts his head towards the stove, “Heat up a pan and grab the bread.” 

He gives Mountain’s arm a squeeze and nods. He crouches down to dig around in the cabinet next to the oven, searching for the same pan they use for pancakes. He makes a little ah ha noise when he finds it. The sound of metal clanging against metal briefly fills the room as he wrestles it out from under the pots. While he does that, Mountain lifts the whisk to watch the batter fall off, testing the thickness. 

Multi stands back up, pan in hand. He swipes the cabinet door closed with his tail as he sets it down on one of the burners. The stove turns on with a click as he turns the dial to a nice medium heat. 

“Remember to—“

“To butter the pan,” Multi smiles at him, “Don’t worry. I got it. I learned my lesson after last time.” 

Last time had Multi scrubbing egg off the pan for the better half of an hour. Mountain was just proud that he did not let anything burn even when it got stuck. 

Mountain lifts the whisk again, giving a satisfied hum. He pulls the bread from the breadbox and grabs the container of butter from the fridge for Multi. He holds it out for him and their hands brush when he grabs it. Mountain then grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer for him. He watches Multi scoop up a little more than probably necessary and plop it onto the pan. The sound of sizzling fills the kitchen and Mountain has to fight to keep his face even. 

Like water getting burnt away into nothing. 

Oh how he wishes he could reach up and rip his hearing aids out so he does not have to listen. 

“Now what?” Multi’s tail begins to wag again. The tip of it brushes against Mountain’s calf with each flick. Mountain’s own tail instinctively reaches out to twine together with his. 

“Now we soak the bread in the mixture. Just two at a time. The pan isn’t big enough for more than that.” Mountain pulls the bowl closer to the stovetop. 

They stare at each other. Neither of them move. Multi then looks between Mountain and the bowl, a look of realization lighting up his face, “You want me to do it?” 

Mountain smiles, “Have to learn somehow.” 

Multi gives him a fang filled grin and grabs two bread slices. He plops them into the mixture with more force than necessary. He pokes them with the tips of his claws, making sure every part of the bread is submerged. Mountain does not have the heart to tell him that he definitely does not need to do that. The look of joy on his face warms his heart. If he can make his packmate happy, then he supposes a few soggy pieces of French toast are fine. He will eat those if he has to. As long as Multi’s eyes continue to sparkle. 

When he deems the bread squishy enough, Multi picks them as carefully as he can. Droplets of the mixture drip down his hand and onto the counter. Then onto the stovetop when he brings it over to the pan. As does this, a few fall into the burner. It makes a hissing noise as the mixture burns. 

Instead of charred sugar and milk, Mountain smells the sour rot of flesh. Acrid. Sickly-sweet. A scent he will never forget. He can hear Dew’s screams echoing in his head. The smell of burning fat and flesh filled the stone hallway like an invisible fog. His stomach churns like it did as he waited outside the ritual room. 

He cannot fight the gag that crawls up his throat. He is lucky he has not eaten anything yet today or it might have come up. His hands slam down heavily on the counter, keeping himself steady with the force his body bends into itself. Salvia fills his mouth and he squeezes his eyes shut as he focuses on pushing the feeling away. 

Burning. 

Dew is burning and he cannot do anything to stop it. 

Dew will die if he tries. 

Dew cannot die. 

Dew has to live. He has to. 

An arm thrown over his shoulders and a hand on his bicep pulls him from his mind. Amber and spice replaces the sour scent as Multi guides Mountain over to one of the barstools. He sits him down, but keeps a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Mountain?” He asks with concern. 

He shakes his head, “‘M fine.” 

“I don’t think people who are fine do that. What happened?” 

What is he supposed to say? He had to stand guard at Dew’s ritual to make sure it did not get interrupted and now the slightest hint of something burning makes him want to puke? Multi does not need to know that. He does not need to be burdened with the weight Mountain carries. 

“Really I’m okay. Just need to eat something. Must’ve been more hungry than I thought.” 

Multi hums, not totally convinced but not willing to argue either. His hand runs slowly up and down Mountain’s back. Mountain appreciates the gesture. It is soothing. Grounding. Something for him to focus on so his mind cannot slip back. He finds himself leaning into it. 

They sit like that for a little before Mountain tries to stand up again. Though Multi is quick to stop him. 

“You keep your big ass in that chair.” 

“Multi it’s fine. I’m feeling better already.” 

“Nuhuh you’ve been actin weird all morning. Ass. Chair.” 

Multi applies more pressure between his shoulder blades before walking off. Mountain has half a mind to get up and just finish the cooking now that the ghoul almost as big as him is not hovering over him. But then he sees Multi pass the stove in favor of the fridge. He watches him open the door, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” He asks flatly. 

“You said you were hungry.” Multi pulls the container of blueberries from the fridge alongside one of the jars with chia seed yogurt. 

He grabs a bowl from one of the cabinets before scooping out a decently sized portion of the yogurt. He then dumps way too many blueberries on top before sticking the spoon in there and walking it over to Mountain. 

He just. Stares at him. Nobody else has ever made him food. Minus his summoning day when Dew and Aether tried to bake him a cake. But still. He is the one who provides. 

“Should I have picked the raspberries instead?” Multi teases, but there is a hint of genuine worry in his voice. 

Mountain shakes his head, “No this is. Fine. Thank you.” 

Multi hums, “Of course. Now I better see that thing scraped clean.” He points at him before going back to the stove. 

Mountain does not necessarily feel hungry, especially after that wave of nausea. But it would be rude to not eat what Multi gave him. So he picks at the blueberries that sit at the top while he watches Multi. 

He moves the pan back onto the burner with heat. He stands with his arms crossed and a spatula in hand, watching the bread toast. Waiting for the right moment to flip it. Mountain is reminded of the first time they made grilled cheese together. Eyes glued to the pan as if looking away would magically ruin it. He is always so careful in the kitchen. So attentive to everything. It is fun to watch, even if Mountain would prefer to bury himself in the earth until he feels normal again right about now. 

Multi finishes the first two slices of French toast, flipping them onto a plate with enough force Mountain is worried they will slide right off and onto the floor. Thankfully they do not. They land heavily on the porcelain with a light thunk. Multi smiles to himself before setting the plate down on the counter for Mountain to inspect. He throws the handful of blueberries he has into his mouth, wiping some of the excess juice on his pajama pants before pulling the plate closer. 

The toast is dark, the crust looking a little burnt. Mountain does not have a fork, so he cuts off a piece with the spoon from his yogurt. He pops it into his mouth and hums. Once past the initial crunch, the inside is. Very soggy. It definitely does not help his churning stomach. But he swallows it nonetheless. 

“Not bad. For the next two, try not to let them soak in the mixture as long.” Mountain pushes the plate back over to him so he has somewhere to put the rest as he makes them. 

“Don’t let them soak for too long, got it.” Multi grabs two more slices of bread and throws them into the bowl with the batter. 

The two sit in a comfortable silence while Multi continues to perfect his French toast making skills. He hums as he works, hips swaying with the rhythm. A rhythm Mountain knows. He is humming one of the songs Mountain showed him when he first came to the greenhouse. Some dad rock song that came over the little beat up radio kept in there by the older earth ghouls. Multi had instantly taken a liking to it, so after their work, he had shown him how to get it on his phone. 

Mountain starts to drum his fingers against the counter alongside Multi’s humming. Even though he is not looking at him, Mountain can see the way the corners of his mouth twitch up. It brings a smile to his own face, even if it is a weak one. 

“Didn’t know we had rehearsal this early in the morning,” an airy voice calls out. 

“Lus!” Multi exclaims, tail wagging. 

“Multi!” She laughs and takes a seat next to Mountain on one of the barstools. 

“Good morning,” he says softly, turning his head to look at her. 

“Morning Mounty.” She smiles brightly at him. 

“Breakfast will be ready soon, so you just sit there and look pretty.” Multi flips the next to two finished pieces onto the plate. 

Cumulus points between herself and Mountain, “Me or him?” 

He grins, “Both.” 

Mountain huffs a laugh, but he stands up from the barstool. He pushes what remains of his blueberries and yogurt towards Cumulus. He knows she will be happy to pick at it and finish it off for him. It also gives her something to snack on while she waits since Mountain was so late this morning. He walks back around the counter in the direction of the fridge. When he passes by Multi, he feels his tail wrap around his calf. Mountain stops and turns to look at him. 

He gives Mountain a look. One that screams at him to go sit back down. He appreciates the concern, he really does, but the rest of the pack is starting to wake. It is one thing when it is just him and Multi, but with Cumulus here too he cannot just sit around and do nothing while Multi finishes up. 

“It’s alright,” Mountain whispers to him, “I’m feeling better now that I ate.” 

It is not a total lie. Eating and watching Multi took his mind off that smell. The nausea has passed. He feels well enough to work. 

Multi does not look entirely convinced, but he does let Mountain go. He forces a smile onto his face to reassure him that everything is fine before walking to the fridge. He opens it up and grabs out the rest of the blueberries and the strawberries. They have an abundance of produce right now. Yesterday was a harvest day. Mountain and Biggs picked through every plant that was ready to give. The majority of their yield gets sent to the Ministry kitchen, but the ghouls are allowed to set aside enough for themselves. Once human and ghoul alike have been fed, the remainder is sold in the nearby town. It makes Mountain happy knowing his hands can feed so many people. 

He takes the two containers and sets them up over at the bar. Cumulus trills when they are placed in front of her. Mountain huffs in amusement, “Save enough for everyone.” 

She stabs a strawberry with one of her talons and pops it into her mouth, “They snooze they lose.” 

“Who’s losing?” A sleep raspy voice comes from the hallway. Cirrus steps in the common area, making her way over to Cumulus. She yawns and buries her face in her hair, shoulders rising as she breathes in her scent. 

“Nobody is losing anything love.” Cumulus affectionately reaches up to pat her arm. With her free hand, she sneaks another strawberry, humming with delight. 

Mountain turns away from them, busying himself with the dishes. He is so happy that those two have finally got used to being with a new pack. Cumulus is fun and sweet and has such a way with words. Cirrus is confident and puts so much of herself into the things she does. They really are great. But he cannot stand to look at them when they are together. Lords Below does it make him feel awful, but he just cannot. They remind him too much of what he had with Dew. Of what he lost. Of what he wants back more than anything. 

What he would not give to get that back. 

He jumps a little when he feels something brush against him, causing water to splash onto the counter. Multi’s tail has wrapped itself around Mountain’s. He looks over his shoulder at him, but all he sees is his back. He is still focused on the French toast. Mountain cannot tell if the touch is intentional or not. Either way, he appreciates it. He turns his attention back to the dishes, curling his tail so that they twine together. 

He rinses out the measuring cups, setting them off to the side to dry. He will have to do the rest when Multi is finished cooking and everyone has made a plate. Without anything more to do, he moves to stand next to him at the stove again. He is careful to not tug on their tangled tails. 

“Just about done. Makin the last couple of slices.” Multi presses the spatula down on a piece of toast. 

“They look good.” 

“I just hope they taste good.” 

“They will.” 

Multi smiles, flipping the toast over. When the bread finally cooks to an even brown, he scoops them up and puts them on the plate with the rest. There are enough for each ghoul to have two. Mountain picks the plate up and sets it down at the bar next to the strawberries and blueberries. Multi brings a stack of plates and utensils for the others to use. Cirrus makes a grumbling noise when Cumulus moves to start fixing herself a plate. 

“I’ll make a pot of coffee.” Mountain turns from them quickly. 

Cirrus mumbles something that sounds like a thank you, but it is muffled by Cumulus’ fluffy hair. 

Mountain steps over to the coffee machine, opening it up to put in a fresh filter and fill up the water. He opens the cabinet right above the machine, eyes scanning over the different flavors. He picks out the bag of dark chocolate grounds, Dew’s favorite. He is not sure whether or not the others will like it, but that does not stop him from scooping out enough to fill up the pot. 

While the machine boils the water, Mountain picks out a mug for Cirrus and Dew. Even though he is not here, Mountain knows he will want a cup. He has been drinking more caffeine ever since the ritual. 

“Would you make one for me too?” Cumulus asks. 

Mountain nods and hums, pulling another mug out. Before he closes the cabinet he looks at Multi. 

“Oh nah. I can’t stand that stuff. Tastes like hot bean water.” Multi wrinkles his nose as he fixes himself a plate. 

“That’s because you don’t know how to make it good,” Cumulus teases. 

“Taste is irrelevant.” Cirrus finally lifts her from Cumulus’ hair and takes the seat next to her. She does not make herself a plate yet, but she does pick from the strawberries on Cumulus’. 

Mountain brings the three mugs over just as the coffee machine clicks, signaling it is finished brewing. The noise makes his ear twitch. He picks up the pot, pouring the steaming liquid into each cup. The scent of dark chocolate and coffee wafts through the air. A pleasant smell, but similar to Multi, Mountain cannot get past the taste. 

With each mug filled, Mountain places the now half filled pot back on the machine. He grabs the milk from the fridge and pours it into Cumulus’ mug until the dark liquid turns into a lighter shade. He then adds just a sprinkle of sugar. He does not add anything to Cirrus’ cup. He picks both of them up, walking them over to where the two are sitting. Cirrus takes hers from his hand, not even blowing on it before taking her first sip. Cumulus hums her thanks when he sets hers down next to her plate. 

Mountain gently pats her shoulder before going back to the mug meant for Dew. He picks up the bag of sugar and begins to pour it into the cup as if it was milk or creamer. Too sweet to stomach. Just the way Dew likes it. 

As Mountain stirs the coffee, the scent of petrichor and sea salt breaks through the rich aroma. He looks up to see Rain shuffling in from the hallway. The muscles in Mountain’s jaw flexes as his stomach tightens. If Rain is out here by himself then Mountain was right to not go into Dew’s room earlier. 

“Morning little fishy,” Multi grins at him. 

Cumulus and Cirrus also greet him. 

“Good morning Rainy.” 

“Morning.” 

Rain just simply hums and nods. 

Even though it has been six months since his summoning, Rain is still quiet around the entire pack. He seems most comfortable with only one or two people around. Or Dew. If Dew is nearby then he looks as content as a cat in a sunbeam. If Rain came out to the kitchen without Dew then today must be bad. He normally tries to make an appearance first thing in the morning. His pain usually worsens through the day until Aether can coax him to sleep with a spark of quintessence. It has been getting better. Less flare ups. Lower doses. But there will always be days like this. 

Mountain wishes there was something he could do. When the pain would take hold of Dew for days, Mountain would run himself ragged creating herbal mixture to soothe him. None of them were ever enough. 

Rain makes his way over to Mountain, head ducked just enough that his hair covers most of his face. When he is close enough, Mountain presses the warm mug into his hands. Rain takes it without hesitation. This is not the first time they have done this dance and it definitely will not be the last. 

“He says he can’t eat,” Rain murmurs. 

“Is he okay?” A stupid question. Mountain knows the answer to that. But he needs to know if he has to go pull Aether from the infirmary or not. 

“We’re steaming up the bathroom right now. He wants to see if it helps.” Rain taps his claws against the porcelain of the mug. 

Mountain nods, “I’ll make him something light. His body needs something to burn.” 

Rain nods in acknowledgment and rests his elbows against the counter. He stares down into the mug. Mountain rests a large hand between his shoulder blades, “You need to eat too.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Rain.” 

He sighs, hanging his head. He is still for a moment before pushing his hair out of his face. He turns to glare at Mountain, but does not say anything more. 

“I’ll make you a bagel,” his voice has a hint of finality in it. No room for an argument. Another step to their dance. 

Rain is too much like himself for his comfort. Like a distorted reflection. Rain is so much like how he was when Mountain was still fresh from the Pits. But the way he puts Dew before even his own needs is too similar to how Mountain is now. Maybe that is the reason Mountain has kept him so close compared to the others, even Multi. He cannot bring himself to focus on his own needs, so he makes sure every single one of Rain’s are met. Maybe if he keeps the weeds from sprouting in Rain’s heart then they will not take root in Mountain’s. 

He grabs the bag of bagels from one of the cabinets. He grabs out two, twisting the end of it shut once more. Mountain adjusts the toaster settings before popping the first one in. While it cooks, he goes to the fridge. He pulls out the cream cheese and a slice of raw salmon. The scent of warm bread wafts through the air as the bagel toasts. When it pops, Mountain instinctively jumps. He grabs the two halves, setting them on an empty plate before putting the other two in. He gives it a moment to cool before spreading the cream cheese and cutting it in half. A plain bagel for Dew. 

He goes through the same process for the other bagel, only this time adding the salmon for Rain. The conversations of the pack act as a pleasant background noise. They keep his mind from drifting to far away places. Once he cuts Rain’s bagel in half, he hands the plate to him. 

“Thank you.” Rain shifts the mug so he can grab both. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Mountain shakes his head, “Just tell Dew I love him.” 

Rain stares at him for a moment. His lips twitch like he wants to say something but apparently he decides against it. He takes the food and Dew’s coffee and turns to leave. 

Mountain follows him with his eyes until he disappears down the hallway. He sighs and rinses off the knife he used to spread the cream cheese in the sink. He has had enough fun for one morning. He is more than ready to head to the greenhouse to get lost in his element until it is time for rehearsal. 

He turns the water off and dries his hands with a nearby rag. He begins to head to his room to get changed, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns to see Multi smiling at him. 

“Any chance I could join you? I wanna work more on what you showed me last time.” 

“Of course. You’re always welcome.” Mountain says it before he can even think about it. Though he does not really need to think about it. Teaching Multi how to tap into his earth magick has become one of his favorite things. 

Multi beams when Mountain says yes. He pats him on the shoulder again, “I’ll go get ready then.” 

Mountain nods and they both walk off. He turns down the right side of the hallway while Multi turns down the left. As Mountain passes by Dew’s door again, he can hear voices. They are too muffled to make out what they are saying though. His hands twitch at his side as he glances at the doorknob. 

One day. One day he will be able to just walk right in like he used to. But today is not that day. 

He continues on to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He takes a moment to slump against the wood. His horns clack against the frame as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back with a deep sigh. He tries to ground himself. Tries to find his center again. A pair of shears to that unkempt garden. 

But then he groans, scrubs his face with his hands, and pushes off the door. He cannot linger. Multi is waiting for him. It is a good thing Multi is waiting. Otherwise he may have been tempted to throw away the shears and let nature reclaim the garden for good. 

He walks over to his closet, fingers petting against leaves and petals as he goes. He pulls out a sandy canvas button down and a pair of grey cargo pants. His go to for working in the greenhouse. It is rather helpful to have so many pockets. Well that is until Mountain forgets he put something in there and then drives himself crazy looking for it. But still. Helpful. 

He tosses his work clothes onto his bed before pulling his sleep shirt off and tossing it into his laundry basket. He does the same with his flannel pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He gets dressed quickly, tugging on his pants and then the button down before going into his bathroom. He stares at his reflection, playing with the ends of his hair. He really should cut it. But he is always either too tired or too busy. 

Sometime soon though, he tells himself the same thing everyday. 

He grabs a hair tie from the dish on his sink, pulling it back into a loose bun. Something simple just to keep it out of his face while he works. He keeps gaze away from the mirror as he turns and leaves the bathroom. He quickly waters his plants that need it before heading back into the hallway to go find Multi. That ever present nagging of guilt chews at his insides as he walks. Usually he likes to take his time with his plants, check in with each of them. See how they are doing. What they need. But because he woke up too late, he does not have the time. He never seems to have the time anymore. Just another reason to wake up extra early tomorrow. 

He spots Multi waiting where the hallway opens up to the common room. He shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, staring out of a nearby window with a small smile on his face. He looks happy. Content. It chases away that nagging. Shrinks the gaping hole. 

“Ready?” Mountain rumbles when he is close enough. 

He immediately turns around at the sound of his voice, small smile only growing wider, “Course I am. Oh wait. Here.” 

He shoves a brown paper bag into Mountain’s hands, “Made us lunch. It’s nothing crazy, just some pb and j but ya know. So we don’t starve out there.” 

“Oh. Thank you. If you were still hungry though, I could've made you something.” 

“I just said they were for later Mount,” he teases, “consider it my thanks for teaching me a new recipe this morning.” 

“Alright,” Mountain offers him a smile, “Well then if you’re ready we can head out.” 

“After you big guy.” He gestures to the door with one hand. 

Mountain heads toward the door. He waves his goodbye to Cirrus and Cumulus who are still sitting at the barstools. Before leaving, he pauses to grab his leather messenger bag that hangs on the coat rack. While he does that, Multi slips on his boots and crouches down to lace them. Mountain waits patiently for him, adjusting the strap of his bag so it is comfortable on his shoulder. When Multi stands again, he smiles at Mountain and laces their hands together. A touchy ghoul since the day he was summoned. 

Mountain gives his hand a light squeeze and opens the door. The sun is high in the sky, casting shining columns of light through the grand windows of the Ministry. Siblings and ghouls walk through the hallways, murmuring their good mornings as they pass the two on the way to their own duties for the day. Mountain simply nods with a smile while Multi greets every one of them. 

When they are not passing by the other inhabitants of the Ministry, they walk in a comfortable silence. Mountain is always reminded of Dewdrop when they walk together. Just like him, Multi can talk for hours on end but then be perfectly content without making a noise. Like some kind of switch has been flipped. Dew only gets silent around humans he does not know. It makes him wonder what causes Multi to go quiet. 

They eventually reach the door that connects the greenhouse to the Ministry. It is on a more remote side. Far from the chapel and the den. Mountain does not mind it though. There is something nice about being able to see the sun rising through the windows, painting the ancient stone architecture pink. Though it is not like he has seen it recently. Not with his habit of lingering under his sheets. 

“I swear that walk gets longer every single time,” Multi huffs with a smile. 

“Well you don’t have to make it if you don’t want to.” Mountain pushes the door open, holding it for Multi. 

He steps inside, “What? And miss out on quality dirt boy time?” 

Mountain hums a laugh and follows in after him. The moment his hooves make contact with the dirt floor he pauses. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, breathing in the musky, earthy scent. The tension in him seems to melt away as he is enveloped in his element. He scuffs his hooves, digging them deeper into the dirt. He can feel the hum of the earth. The vibration of life. It greets him warmly, arms wide open to welcome home. The temptation to take root is strong, but he cannot. He has work to do. Ghouls to look after. 

He opens his eyes and starts walking to his work bench, Multi tailing after him. He sets the paper bag with his lunch in it on the nearby shelf so it does not get in the way. He picks up his apron, unfolding it and shaking out some of the excess streaks of dirt from yesterday's work. It does not really do much. The material has long since stained. No amount of washing will ever get it all the way out. 

He puts it on, tying the strings comfortably around his waist. Multi has already grabbed one of the spares that hang on the wall by the sink. He crosses the strings behind his back before bringing them to the front to tie. Once that is situated, Mountain pulls out a pair of gloves and tosses them to Multi. Mountain never uses them. He prefers to feel everything that is around him. Sometimes he ends the day by picking thorns from his palms, but it is worth knowing that the roses wanted more sunlight. 

Multi slips the gloves onto his hands, flexing his fingers as he walks back over to Mountain, “So what’s the plan?” 

“Harvest the vegetables.” Mountain hands him a basket. 

He raises an eyebrow, “Thought you said yesterday was harvest day?” 

“It was. Biggs and I picked all the berries, but there’s a lot more that still needs to be done.” 

“Riiight. So I just,” he makes a nonsensical gesture with his hands, “pull shit from the ground?” 

Mountain huffs a laugh, “More or less. I’ll show you.” 

He leads Multi over to where the vegetable rows are. He figures starting with the tomatoes and peppers will be easier than the carrots or potatoes. He brings him to the towering vines, light reds and oranges peeking through the green foliage. Water droplets glisten off the flesh, making them shine. Mountain palms one of the larger tomatoes, giving it a light squeeze. The fruit gives a little before slowly bouncing back into shape. Definitely ready for harvest. 

He nods his head, motioning for Multi to come closer. He awkwardly shuffles over, shoulder pressing against Mountain’s as he looks down at the tomato in his hand. 

“You see how it’s a kind of pinky color?” Mountain asks in a hushed tone. It always feels right to keep his voice low on harvest days. 

“That’s orange. Maybe yellow.” Multi raises an eyebrow at him. 

Mountains chuckles, “It’s just a term. When they’re like this they’re called pink or blushing since they’re getting closer to red.”

“Uhhuh…”

“It means they’re ready to be picked.” He pinches the vines between thumb and forefinger as close as he can get to the tomato. He twists and pulls with expert force, pulling it free from the plant in one smooth motion. He places it in his own basket down by his hooves. 

Multi blinks at him before turning his attention to the plant Mountain pulled from. He grabs one of the tomatoes that have a similar color. He mimics Mountain, giving it a squeeze even though he is not quite sure what he is looking for. Mountain watches though, humming in approval. 

“That’s a good one,” he says gently, “be careful when you pull it. Try to get as close to the body as possible. We don’t want to hurt the vines.” 

Multi hesitates to pluck it from the plant. He tries to keep his normal face of confidence, but Mountain can tell by the flick of his ears that he is nervous. For what, he has no idea but Mountain does not care. He can take this as slow as he needs. 

Mountain reaches into the basket he handed Multi. He pulls out a pair of shears, “Here. It’ll be easier if you use these.” 

Multi takes them from him, turning them over in his hand, “Thanks. So where do I…?” 

He traces his claw at the perfect spot for Multi to cut, “You don’t want to take too much of the vine with you.” 

He nods and snips the shears in the same place Mountain pointed out. The leaves rustle as the tomato breaks free from the vine and it snaps back into place without the excess weight. Mountain pats him on the shoulder with a smile, “That was good.” 

Multi beams at the praise, shadows of his nerves melting away. He places it in the basket Mountain had handed to him, “That’s all there is to it?” 

Mountain hums and nods, “Yup. Well. Now that you know what you’re doing, how about you do these and I’ll take care of the peppers?” 

“You want me. To do it by myself?” 

Mountain nods again. 

“But what if I fuck something up? I don’t wanna ruin your plants.” 

“You won’t,” Mountain shrugs, “but if it really worries you, try to listen to them with your magick. They’ll tell you everything they need.” 

Multi still looks unconvinced, but he does not protest. Mountain quickly knocks their horns together before standing, grabbing his own basket, and heading over to the rows with the peppers. 

Normally Mountain would not dare let anyone who is not an earth ghoul near the produce. It is too important, feeds too many people, for him to feel comfortable with it. But he is confident in what Multi can do. He is keen on learning and understanding everything shown to him. His earth magick is already so much stronger than what it was six months ago. Mountain does not think there is anyone else he would rather have helping him. 

Well. 

Except one. 

Dew used to come out here to help. Back when they were both so new to it all. Back when Mountain was still finding his own footing as one of the greenhouse earth ghouls. Dew used to come out here to find him. Spend time with him. When Mountain got overwhelmed, he would be there to help him go through the rows to water everything. He always had such a gentle touch, hyper aware that Mountain had a connection to the plants. Like taking care of them somehow would make adjusting to the Topside easier on him. 

Mountain cannot remember the last time Dew came to the greenhouse. It was before the ritual that is for sure. He still gets a regular visitor in the form of Multi, but. He misses the scent of spring water and wet moss. 

He startles when he feels something slither around his pointer and ring fingers. He looks down to see one of the vines of the green pepper plant wrapping around him. He blinks at it before thumbing over the leaf. Gently. Soothingly. Guess that is his queue to get to work. 

His body works almost automatically at this point, pinching and pulling the peppers from their vines and placing them in his basket. He occasionally lifts his head to steal a glance at Multi. He is so focused, eyebrows pulled together in a little furrow. Far behind Mountain in the rows too, taking his time with each and every tomato. It makes Mountain smile, watching him be so careful with the plants he cares so deeply about. 

He always is. It makes Mountain wonder how his earth magick is barely present. It seems so natural to him. Though he supposes he knows nothing about multi ghouls. How their mix of all the elements works. That and Multi is mostly quint and fire. Probably means he lived somewhere without much green Down Below. But he could be wrong. Mountain does not know. Nobody does really. Multi has yet to utter a single word about his time in the Pits. He understands, it is not always a kind place. But it does make him wonder. 

The next time Mountain raises his head to glance at him, he catches Multi’s eye. Mountain immediately ducks his head again, staring at the group of peppers he is working on. 

“Caught you staring Mountain,” he teases, dragging out his name. 

“Not staring. I was just checking on you.” He has the urge to stomp on his tail to stop it from flicking. 

“More like checking me out,” Multi laughs. 

Mountain snuffles, pulling another pepper off its vine and into his basket. They are silent for a few moments before Multi speaks again. 

“But uh seriously now. Am I. Doin okay?” All the bravado gone from his voice. 

It amazes Mountain how quickly he switches between bold and confident to soft sincerity. And it makes his head spin just a bit. He thinks he knows who the real Multi is, but he is never quite sure. 

Mountain lifts head again to smile at him, “You’re doing just fine.” 

His eyes seem to light up again, corners of his mouth tugging up into a grin, “Just fine?” 

Mountain rolls his eyes, stepping over to the next row of peppers. They go back to working in a comfortable silence. The rustling of leaves as they harvest the produce is the only sound filling the space. Occasionally they can hear a bird chirp or some Siblings shouting from somewhere outside. The sun is at Her highest point now, bathing the greenhouse in Her rays. It is warm, but not unpleasantly so. At least, not yet anyway. Though Mountain starts to wish his winter coat would finish shedding. It is already late spring and he still has thick tufts all over his body. 

Multi’s hums begin to join in with the bird songs the longer they go. They are all nonsensical, not a single tune Mountain recognizes. Simply just whatever rhythm lives in his head. But then it slowly morphs into something he does know. Quite well actually. One of the Cardinal’s songs, Rats. The one they have been drilling over and over again in all of their recent rehearsals. 

Mountain’s tail starts to thump back and forth with the beat, instinctively keeping time even when he is not behind his kit. He bobs his head too as his mind fills in the lyrics. 

“Rats,” Multi mutters before sticking his head up to look at Mountain, “What the fuck is a rat anyways?” 

“Did you ever see a diabolus mus Down Below?” 

“Course. Fuckers were everywhere.” 

“Rats are like that. But a lot smaller and without all the spikes and fire.” 

“Huh. Gross.” 

Mountain huffs a laugh and steps around to the next row. They continue to work, conversation sparking up every so often. Mountain finishes harvesting all of the peppers before Multi is done with the tomatoes. He sets his baskets off to the side, grabbing an empty one to help him. By the time both of their baskets are full, they are sweaty and hungry. 

They each gather their harvest and bring it over to the largest workbench in the back corner of the greenhouse. Luckily they do not have to do the sorting, that job is reserved for Biggs. Instead, they wash their hands and shuffle back over to Mountain’s workbench where their lunches await. Mountain offers the stool for Multi, but he refuses. He insists Mountain sit at his own seat. After a never ending back and forth, Mountain relents and pulls the stool out. Multi grins happily and plops himself down on the nearby bags of soil. 

“Thank you again for making this,” Mountain says as he opens the paper bag. 

“Mount it’s a sandwich and two oranges. It’s not like I made you a five course meal,” Multi laughs. 

“And I appreciate it,” he says simply. 

Multi pulls one of his oranges from his bag, “Well I’m glad.” 

He stabs his claw into it with more force than necessary for peeling a fruit. Juice squirts out, dribbling down his arm and onto his pants. He hisses, shaking his hand and flinging stray droplets everywhere in a futile attempt to get the stickiness off of him. Mountain sets his still wrapped sandwich down, leaning forward and holding out his hand. He motions for Multi to give it to him. He does so, standing to go wash his hands once Mountain takes it. 

“Still not used to how soft everything is Topside,” he throws over his shoulder from the sink. 

Mountain hums in acknowledgment as he slides his own claw into the puncture Multi made. He gets the peel under tip before slowly turning the orange in his hand. The skin follows easily, peeling off in one perfect spiral. 

“How do you do that so good?” Multi cocks his with a smile as he walks back over. 

“Don’t know. Lots of practice I suppose.” He picks off some stray pieces of the peel before handing the now naked fruit back to Multi. 

He sinks his fangs into it, tearing half of the flesh off in one bite. Juice drips down his chin as a rumbly little purr kicks up in his chest. Mountain just smiles and begins to peel his own orange. He gathers all of the skin in a pile to dry later before picking out pieces of the fruit one at a time. 

Conversation carries easily between them as they finish their lunches. Mountain gathers their trash and tosses it away into one of the bins near the main entrance of the greenhouse. He rolls his shoulders as he walks back over to where Multi is sitting, stretching the stiff muscles and popping his joints. His tail wags as Mountain reappears. 

“Back to harvesting I presume?” Multi stands up, ready to grab another basket. 

Mountain hums, “No. figured we could work on your magick.” 

“Oh thank the Lords Below. My back was starting to kill me. Not that I didn’t enjoy it but well.” He shrugs and smiles. 

Mountain just goes back to his work bench, clearing off as much room as he possibly can, “Go on then.” 

Multi gives him a pat on the back before dashing off to the corner they keep his mini pots at. Mountain has been teaching him to feel the earth the way he does. Hear Her song. Her voice. If he can do that then the rest will come easily. He has been doing this by giving him some spare seeds. Something to grow all on his own so he can tune into the whispers of the plants. Progress has been slow, but still, Mountain can see him improving every single time they do this. 

He returns, four mini pots clutched to his chest and a blinding grin on his face. He sets them down carefully and looks at them with pride. Each of them has the smallest dot of green beginning to push through the dirt. 

“Which do you want to work with this time?” Mountain cannot help but trail his fingers over the lip of the terracotta, dipping his claw into the soil. Listening. 

“Sheryl.” 

“Sheryl?” 

“Yeah Sheryl.” Multi points to the pot marked mint. 

Mountain has no idea when he decided to give them names, but it makes him smile, “Sheryl it is.” 

He pulls the mint pot forward, setting it between the two of them. He gives it a quick once over with his own magick, making sure it is in the right condition before letting Multi practice. 

“Remember what I told you last time?” He nudges it closer to him.

Multi nods, voice suddenly quiet, “Listen for their voice because they’ll tell me what I need to do.” 

“Good,” he praises, “try helping her grow.”

His lips pull together in a thin line as he turns his attention from Mountain to the pot. He reaches forward and grabs it, bringing it close to him. He stares at it, thumb rubbing up and down the smooth terracotta. It feels like an eternity of Multi just staring at the plant. Mountain does not rush him though. The earth requires patience. 

Multi chews his lip, “How do you do it? Make them grow?” 

“I told you. Listen to them,” he speaks in a hushed tone. 

“But what does that mean Mount? They don’t have voices, all I can hear is sounds.” 

Mountain hums in thought, “You’ve used your quintessence to heal before yes?” 

He nods. 

“Well it’s like that,” Mountain grabs some stray seeds scattered on the workbench, “You have to connect yourself to them. Find the part of them that needs nurturing and pour yourself into it. You become the thing that gives them life. Give it to them with a gentle hand.” 

He squeezes his hand shut. His eyes seem to shine a beautiful green as the scent of pine and freshly churned dirt fills the air. When Mountain opens his hand again, a white carnation rests in his palm. Multi delicately picks it up, brushing his thumb through the petals before tucking it behind his ear. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” he admits. 

“You can.” 

He stares back down at the mint pot. Mountain can see the gears turning in his head, lip still pulled between his fang. He finally relents, taking a deep breath and bringing the pot close to his face. Multi closes his eyes, letting his fingers dip into the moist dirt. He begins mumbling to himself, but Mountain tries to tune it out. Whatever words he speaks now are not for him. They are meant for the earth. 

He can feel it when it happens, Multi’s earth element sparking to life. It smells herbaceous and sits thickly on his tongue. Mountain locks his eyes onto the ring sprout of the mint plant, watching for any signs of change. For a moment nothing happens. But then very slowly, the green begins to grow. The little sprig grows taller and taller as more leaves begin to shoot from the stem. Soon another branch pushes its way from the dirt. Then another and another. It is growing quickly. 

A little too quickly. 

“Multi.” Mountain calls his attention back. 

The moment he says his name, the growing stops. Multi cracks his eyes open, the normal black and white overtaken by a deep forest green as his earth still flows through him. 

“Did I fuck up?” 

“Well I wouldn’t say that.” Mountain motions with his head to look. 

He now completely opens his eyes to see the nearly fully grown mint plant. His expression immediately lifts, eyes shining as his lips pull up into a beaming smile. His tail starts to wag rapidly behind him, “I did that?” 

“I knew you could.” 

Multi laughs and raises his pot into the air, “I made a fucking plant grow! I actually did it!” 

Mountain laughs with him, but it quickly dies in his throat. That look in his eye. So much like Dewdrop. It teleports him back to the first time he came to help Mountain water the flowers. He looked so pleased that he was actually able to conjure a water bubble. He was so happy that he could actually help. 

A lifetime ago. 

“Mount?” 

He shakes his head, turning his eyes back to Multi with a hum. 

“You good? You spaced out there.” Multi raises an eyebrow. 

“Yes, sorry. I was just. Thinking about how we should move Sheryl to a bigger pot.” 

“Oh. Yeah I guess that makes sense. Have any laying around?” 

Mountain stands from his stool and walks over to the sink area. Usually they did have some extras, though with it being late in the season he is not quite sure if they will have anything bigger. And he just needed to get away. He liked Multi he really does and he is beyond proud of him, but that look. It just makes him hurt knowing Dew will probably never show him that look ever again. Multi does not deserve to have his happiness crushed because of Mountain. He cannot do that to another ghoul. 

He locates another pot after taking a moment to breathe. It is not that much bigger than the mint’s current one, but it will do for now. Until something else can be moved into the garden. He takes it back over to Multi who smiles when he sees him again. 

“Do you want me to do it or do you remember from last time?” Mountain sets it down between them. 

“Nah I got it. She’s mine, I should take care of her.” Multi looks at the soil selection on the workbench. 

Mountain waits to see if he remembers what kind best suits mint. His hand hovers over something that holds a lot of water and he makes a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Maybe a different one.” 

“Right right. I was just testing you.” Multi’s eyes scan over the selection again before landing on a good one this time. Though before he picks it up, he glances at Mountain. He nods and Multi grins. 

He opens the bag and begins to scoop dirt out with his bare hands. Mountain watches him for a little before that voice in the back of his head creeps in. Whispers to him. Makes his jaw clench so hard his teeth hurt. This is not fair to Multi. 

He stands abruptly, “While you work on that I’m going to finish harvesting. If you need help I’ll be in the potatoes.” 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah okay. I’ll come over when I’m done.” He barely gets the words out before Mountain has turned around in the direction of the vegetable rows. 

What is wrong with him? He is supposed to care for these ghouls and he cannot even look at Multi’s face without his chest aching. He needs to be better than this. 

Maybe some time alone in his element will clear his head. Let Her take it away from him. At least, that is what he begs for when he sinks his claws into the dirt to pull at the potatoes. 

Mountain gets about halfway through the rows when Multi joins him again. He does not say anything, neither of them do. Mountain is focused on each plant that he barely notices when he first approaches. The silence is not the same as before. It hangs in the air as they work side by side. It is not until the Ministry’s bell rings that Mountain realizes how much time has passed. 

He stands from where he was kneeling with a groan, brushing dirt off his apron. The sun is beginning to sink lower in the sky, not quite setting but enough to make the blue of the sky darker. When the bell stops ringing, Mountain cracks his back. It is time for rehearsal. 

He steps over to where Multi is crouched a few rows from his. He does not look up at him until Mountain extends his hand. He blinks, glancing between Mountain’s face and his hand before deciding to take it. He hauls him, patting him between the shoulder blades. 

“Thank you for your help today.” Mountain gives his hand a squeeze. 

The corner of Multi’s mouth twitches up into a smile. It only makes Mountain feel worse. 

“It was all my pleasure and I’ll happily do it again. Dirt boy.” 

Mountain offers him his best smile at the nickname. It does make a small part of him feel better though. It does not seem like he totally ruined Multi’s day. 

“Alright come on now,” Mountain tugs at his hand, “we can’t be late to rehearsal.” 

Multi waves his hand, “Ah what’s a few minutes, Cardi won’t care.” 

Despite his words, Multi does walk off with Mountain. The pair cleans up as best they can, washing their hands and putting their aprons back on the hooks. Mountain is definitely worse for wear, dirt smeared on the sleeves of his shirt and the bottom of his pants. It does not bother him though. He really only notices it when Multi points it out by trying to brush it off. 

Mountain does not let him fuss over it though, stepping away towards the main doors. Multi jogs after him, flicking his tail against Mountain’s when they are side by side. He hesitates for just a moment before flicking his in return, giving his permission. Multi immediately takes it, twining their tails together. 

The halls are much more alive than what they were this morning. Siblings and ghouls bustling through. Finishing their chores and heading back to their dorms to change for dinner. None of them greet the pair this time, too caught up in their own conversations. It does not bother Mountain though. He is happy to fade to the background as they make their way to the practice room. Multi still offers every one of them a wave or a smile. 

The journey to the rehearsal room is much shorter than the one they took this morning. The crowd thins as they get closer, as stone and marble turn to wood and metal. This part of the Ministry was added much later, a renovation when the Clergy first created the Ghost Project. Stuck at the back of the building so as not to break up the flow. A pair of metal doors painted black is the only thing separating the rest of the inhabitants from the work they do. The music they create. 

Mountain pushes those doors open, holding them so Multi can enter first. It is a stark contrast to the greenhouse. Bright fluorescent lighting and blasts of cold air. The floor is carpeted with a few odd stains dotted around. A mock stage, if it can even be called that, takes up most of the space. 

The Cardinal looks up from where he is talking to Cirrus and Cumulus. He smiles and waves at them. Mountain is a bit surprised to see they are not the first ones here. The Cardinal is a given, he is always punctual, but usually Mountain is the first ghoul to be present. He should have paid better attention to the time. Tomorrow, he can fix his schedule tomorrow. 

“Mountain, Multi! It is ehh good to see you!” the Cardinal greets as they step further into the room.  

“Cardi. Ladies.” Multi grins at them. He walks closer to them, opening his arms for a hug. Cumulus is quick to dodge him with an indignant squawk. 

“Don’t you dare touch me! You stink!” The feathers on her neck poof up, but there is a smile on her face. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. C’mooon Lussy c’mere!” Multi swipes at her, trying to wrap her in his arms. 

She laughs and jumps away again, “Absolutely not!” 

They stare at each other for a moment. Multi’s tail whips back and forth, like a cat who caught a glimpse of a bird in a window. Cumulus’ feathered tail splays out behind her. As if they could read each other’s minds, she darts off at the exact same moment he tries to pounce on her. Their laughter fills the practice room as he chases her around the space. 

The Cardinal watches them nervously, wringing his hands. Mountain can tell just by the look on his face that he does not know if he should stop them or not. He glances at Cirrus every so often, trying to gauge her reaction. She is watching them as well, eyes glued to Multi. The fact that she does not seem like she is going to intervene seems to keep him quiet. 

Mountain crosses the rest of the distance to stand with them, The Cardinal gives him a lopsided smile, “I hope the ehh planting was well for you today.” 

“We finished harvesting most of the vegetables,” Mountain says simply. He is still not quite sure how he feels about the Cardinal. He seems mousy but he acts high and mighty whenever the Clergy is around. A complete opposite of Terzo. Not that Mountain really got to know Terzo before he was dethroned. But he was the man who summoned him. By nature he has a loyalty to him. 

“Good good. Well ehh keep up the great work!” He nudges Mountain lightly on the arm. 

“Speaking of work…” Cirrus chimes in. Her hand darts out the next time Multi and Cumulus run past them, scruffing him by the back of the neck causing him to yelp. 

“…shouldn’t we get started?” 

“Aw come on Cir, we’re still missing like half of our damn band.” He tries in vain to wiggle free from her iron grip. 

“I would love to leoncina, but Multi does make a good point.” He toys with his fingers as he speaks. 

Rain, Aether, and Dew are the only ones missing. It makes Mountain’s stomach churn. He knows Dew is struggling today if his absence at breakfast is anything to go off of. This would not be the first time he has missed a rehearsal because of it, but the other two not being here. It makes him only think of the worst. What if Dew is being rushed to infirmary right now and Mountain is not there with him? What if he is already at the infirmary and Aether nor Omega can help him? 

What if? What if? What if? 

As if they could hear his thoughts, the door to the practice room swings open only a minute later. Aether enters first, a smile on his face despite the dark circles under his eyes. Rain follows in after him, expressionless as ever. To Mountain’s surprise, Dew brings up the rear. He looks small. Of course he is not the largest ghoul, but he always carries himself in a way that makes him seem bigger. But right now he is slouched over with his arms wrapped around his middle. There is a furrow between his brow and scowl on his face. Mountain does not know if it is from anger or pain. 

Both seems like a good guess though. 

“Ah there you are my ghouls!” Copia spreads his arms, gesturing with his hands. “I was wondering where—“ 

“Let’s just get started.” Dew grits out as he stomps over to the guitar rack. 

“Eh hehhhh right. Yes. Let’s.” The Cardinal deflates a little before shuffling over to the podium to get his papers in order. 

As the ghouls begin to get set up for rehearsal, Mountain makes his way over to Aether. He taps him on the shoulder, dragging his attention away from where he had begun to pull out his guitar. 

“What do ya need Mount?” He looks up at him, smile still on his face. 

“Is he okay?” He keeps his voice low so Dew will not hear him. 

Aether’s smile falters for only a moment before it is back, “It’s his joints. Rain brought him down just before rehearsal to get some quint. Couldn’t give him much though because he had a treatment yesterday. That’s why he looks so grumpy.” 

“Should he even be here then?” 

“Do you wanna tell him to go sit and do nothing?” 

Aether sighs, eyes dropping to the floor, “I tried Mount. Believe me I did. But he wouldn’t listen.” 

Of course he did not. Stubborn as always. More so now that fire courses through his veins. Dew will not rest until his body gives out on him. But it makes Mountain worry. He still needs to heal. He still needs to take it easy while he adjusts to his new element. So much could still happen to him. Delta did not succumb to the void right away after all. Nobody knows what lies in store for Dew. 

“I know. I believe you. I just want him to be okay.” 

“We all do.” Aether rests a hand on Mountain’s arm. He pulls him down and Mountain goes easily. Aether presses a quick kiss to his lips when their faces are level. 

“It’ll all work out sapling. Now go get ready so we can rock out.” Another kiss and then Aether pats his cheek before letting him go. 

Mountain bumps their horns together and then leaves him to go get ready. He tries to focus on Aether’s optimism. Take it at face value. But he knows him too well. It is not optimism. It is desperation. He could almost hear the it has to as he spoke to him. But if he can lie to himself, convince himself Aether really is confident everything will be okay, then maybe it will come true. Anything to get the pit inside of him to be filled. 

As he goes to his drum kit, he passes by Multi’s mock platform. He sits cross legged in the center with his guitar in his lap, tail swiping back and forth as he tunes. He pauses only to lift his head and wave at Mountain as he goes by. He waves back only with much less enthusiasm than Multi. It is like his body is running on autopilot as his gaze keeps finding its way across the room. To Dewdrop.

 He cannot hear him from here, but he can see the way his lips curl up in a snarl at something Rain says. Dew immediately hangs his head though. Should he go over there? Try to talk to him? Convince him to rest? But would Dew even care? If Aether could not get through to him, then Mountain certainly will not. Maybe in a different time, a different life, one where there is not a stain on their hearts. But not this one. 

“Hey Mountain!” Multi calls. 

He lifts his head and stares at him, eyes wide. 

“Pass me the tuner will you?” 

He nods and digs through the cabinet that is right behind his kit. All of the excess electronics are kept here. Spare mics, tuners, in ear monitors. Alongside Mountain’s spare sticks.

He grabs the little grey box and tosses it over to Multi. He beams brightly in return, chirping a loud thank you. Mountain is not even sure why he wants it. He is confident in saying Multi probably has perfect pitch. He has watched him during rehearsal enough times to guess as much. He is probably wrong though. All he has been is wrong lately. 

He grabs a monitor from the cabinet and a pair of sticks before sitting himself down behind his kit. He places his things onto the ground, freeing up his hands to stretch. He cracks his knuckles before sticking his arm out with his palm out and fingers pointing up. He wraps his other hand around his fingers and pulls back just until he feels the muscles in his wrist and forearm grow taut. He holds for a moment before repeating the stretch on the opposite hand. 

As he does this, the room becomes abuzz with disjointed notes. Plucks of strings and vocal warm ups and squeals of keys. Mountain soon joins in, tapping his way through his scales. 

“Alright my ghouls!” Copia speaks through his mic, “Let us pick up where we left off last time with ehh Dance.” 

Everyone gets into their places as Mountain puts in his monitor. He sets the metronome to the proper speed, tail flicking with each tick. He has each song memorized by heart at this point. A result of long hours spent practicing when his mind would wander too far in the dead of night. He could probably get by without the metronome at this point, but still he uses it. He has to make sure he is right on time so that the others can follow. 

“Mountain. Whenever you are ready.” The Cardinal gives him a nod. 

Mountain returns the gesture, tapping his hoof against the floor to find the beat. When he gets it, he shifts to press against the pedal of the bass drum. Dew’s guitar joins in two counts behind where it normally should. The notes sound shaky at first, like he is not quite pressing down on the strings hard enough. Mountain has to resist the urge to look at him. If he does he knows he will see pain etched onto his face, there is no other reason Dewdrop would not be perfect. It will throw his focus. He needs to stay focused so they can get through this rehearsal. 

Despite the unsteady beginning, the rest of the ghouls quickly find the rhythm. Aether and Rain join in at the proper counts as do Cirrus and Cumulus. The Cardinal stands center stage, watching all of them play as he nods his head to the beat. This is how they always start, with the song they finished with last time. One run without vocals to warm up and then another with Copia joining in. 

They have been working on Dance Macabre for a while now. Once they settled on their opener, the Cardinal insisted they move onto one of their closers. Something along the lines of starting strong and finishing stronger. 

They get through the first run fine. No hiccups minus a few wrong notes from Aether near the end. The Cardinal praises them, applauding as the room goes silent again. 

“Molto bene! Let’s ehh see if we can improve.” He points at Mountain, giving him the go ahead. 

They start again, only this time Copia’s voice joins the mix. He wanders the mock stage as he sings, going through the blocking he has in his head. He drifts a little too close to Dew though. Mountain can hear the faintest hiss catch on the microphone. He grits his teeth and slams his stick down on the cymbal with more force than really necessary. 

Get through rehearsal. Just get through rehearsal and then he can rest again. Stay focused. 

They wrap up Dance with no bumps this time. The Cardinal finally must feel satisfied with it because he does not have them run it again. Once again, praise falls from his lips when the last note rings through the air. He keeps babbling on as he shuffles over to the podium where all his papers are. He sifts through them, mumbling to himself as he decides what to do next. 

Without the music, the urge is too great to resist. Mountain glances over in Dew’s direction. He is looking down at his hand as he opens and closes his fist, flexing his fingers. Mountain can see the way they shake from his platform. Clearly he is not the only one who sees it too as Aether wanders over to Dew. Aether takes his hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. Mountain’s nose twitches at the pop of ozone in the air, gone just as quickly as it came. He watches as Dew’s shoulders sag ever so slightly in relief. 

All he can do is watch. That is all he can ever do. Watch. He longs to do more yet the claws of guilt keep him pinned in place. Dew would have every right to turn him away but Mountain fears if he does, the weeds will over take the garden. 

Thankfully though, before Mountain can contemplate any longer, the Cardinal pulls them back together. He decides they will work through the first three songs of the planned act one setlist. Mountain adjusts his metronome, grips his sticks, and waits for the Cardinal’s direction. 

It all goes fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Rain nearly tripping over a cord, Aether falling out of time, the Cardinal forgetting his own lyrics. But they still manage to work through their problem spots. Though during all of this, the room has gotten noticeably hotter. The temperature seems to spike every time Dew’s fingers slip from the fretboard. Mountain is used to being drenched in sweat during a good rehearsal though so he works through it. 

It all comes crashing down though. The Cardinal wanders too close to Mountain’s mock platform. A sharp squeal pierces his ears, feedback from the microphone and his hearing aids. It makes his heart pound in his chest. The sound of splintering wood replaces the snare and cymbals as he grips his sticks so hard they snap in two. 

Not this again. Please not this again. 

All he can see is the look of horror on Aether’s face as he pounds on Dew’s chest. All he can hear is the screeching heart monitor. All he can feel is fear of not knowing if this is it. If this is the end. 

It cannot be the end. It just cannot. He has to come back. He has to so Mountain can apologize to him. So he can love him again. He has to stay with them. He cannot survive without him. Dew cannot be dead. 

Dew is dead. 

Dew is dead. 

Dew is dead. 

Dew is—

“Mountain!” 

He jumps, head snapping up at the call of his name. All eyes are on him as he slowly looks around the room, getting his bearings. His eyes catch Dewdrop’s. Even his scowl is gone, replaced with concern. Mountain quickly averts his gaze. 

“Mountain? Cerbiatto, are you well?” It is the Cardinal’s voice that pulls him more and more into the present. 

“What?” 

“Are you well?” 

Not at all. He can still see the infirmary room when he closes his eyes. But the others do not need to know that. 

He shakes his head, “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

“Are you ehh sure?” The Cardinal glances down at the broken sticks he is still clutching. 

Mountain follows his gaze, blinking down at where the top half of them sits on the floor. He did not even realize. He quickly sets the bottom ends on his snare, being careful to shield his shaking hands as best he can. 

“Yes I’m sure. I guess I just got too into it.” 

“Yeah. You must have. Considering you didn’t respond to the Cardinal when he called for you.” Cirrus narrows her eyes and tilts her head. 

“I did.” 

“After the third time maybe.” 

He looks away from her too, opting to just stare at his broken sticks instead of anyone else. The silence hangs heavy in the air. So quiet he is painfully aware of his own deep breaths and beating heart. 

Finally it is broken by the Cardinal clearing his throat, “Well ehh I think we should call it there for today.” 

“Really I’m fine—“ 

“It is okay cerbiatto. You all worked very hard today and I am very proud of you. Go enjoy the rest of your evening.” He gives him a lopsided smile. 

They stare at each other for just a moment longer before Copia turns and saunters down the mock platform to the podium. Everyone else is hesitant, but as he begins to pack up his papers they start to move. Mountain stays glued to his seat though, staring at the splinters in his hand. 

“Should probably get Aeth to take em out.” Multi shuffles over to Mountain. He does not get close though, giving him any space he may need. 

Mountain swallows thickly, “Yeah. Probably.” 

His body feels like it moves on autopilot as he slowly stands and makes his way down to Aether. He is only vaguely aware of Multi following after him. Everything feels so fuzzy.

Aether crosses the rest of the distance between them, quickly meeting him, “Mount what happened up there?” 

“Broke my sticks.” He holds his splintered hand out to him. He takes it with a huffed laugh. 

“Well yes I saw that part. But why?” 

Mountain does not say anything. He does not need to. He knows the moment Aether touched his skin his quintessence told him everything Mountain is feeling right now. 

Aether just sighs and begins to examine where the splinter is, “We’re talking about this later.” 

Mountain opens his mouth but is caught off by a spark of quint coursing through his body. Something gentle and sweet yet wholly overwhelming. 

“Don’t you dare say you’re fine. I know you better than that mister Mountain ghoul.” Aether is able to pull it out with the tips of his claws as his quint soothes the pain. He kisses the spot where it was. 

“Okay?” He mumbles against his palm. 

Mountain hesitates before responding, “Okay.” 

Aether smiles, “Okay. You and me then. After dinner.” 

“After?” 

“I have to go back to the infirmary. It’s swamped right now. Siblings and their allergies.” He gives him an apologetic look, but he still smiles. He then stands up straighter and points past Mountain. 

“You. Make sure he doesn’t break anything else until I get back.” 

“As you wish.” Multi now steps closer to them. 

Mountain looks down at him before turning back towards Aether, “I’ll make your favorite tonight.” 

“Well then, now I have something to look forward to,” he kisses Mountain’s hand again, “I’ll see you soon sprout.” 

With that, Aether takes one last look at him and then over to where Dew and Rain are before heading out of the door. Before he even has time to dwell on the fact that he definitely ruined rehearsal, Multi’s hand slips into his with a squeeze. When Mountain looks at him, he just smiles. 

“Come on Mounty. We gotta shower before dinner, we stink.” 

He does not  say anything as he lets Multi lead him out of the practice room and into the hallway. He does not say anything the entire walk back to the den. He does not say anything when they enter through the ornate wooden doors to see Ifrit and Zephyr lounging together on the couch. He does not say anything as Multi pulls him to his room. 

All day he has told himself tomorrow will be different. He will fix everything tomorrow. But how can he do that now? After causing a scene at rehearsal? The way they all looked at him with pity and concern. Even Dewdrop despite being the one suffering the most right now. How could he do that? How could he let his pack catch even a glimpse of an unkempt garden when he is supposed to be taking care of it? He is supposed to be their foundation. He cannot crumble. He is not allowed to. Because if he does then what stops the others from falling into nothing? 

“Did you hear me?” Multi tilts his head. 

“Hm?” 

“I asked if you want me to stay. With you. Help you wash up.”

“No.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Multi looks like he wants to say more. Argue, push back and convince Mountain to let him stay. But he does not. He just nods and pulls him into a quick hug. Mountain’s limbs feel too heavy to reciprocate. 

“Just holler if you change your mind.” Multi pulls back, stares at him for a moment longer, and then slips out of Mountain’s door. 

Without anyone around to see, Mountain finally crumbles. He sinks to the floor next to his bed, forehead pressed to the cool wood. He digs his claws into his hair as the events of the day play over and over again. He wants to scream. His throat burns from the effort to hold back his cries. 

What would be the point? What would it solve? It would be nothing but a waste of the little  energy he has. Crying will not make Dew’s body stop aching. Crying will not repair their fractured relationship. Crying will not fill the chasm that exists at the core of his being. 

He has spent enough nights over the last six months with tears streaking down his cheeks to know it will do nothing. So when he feels the first drop slip out of the corner of his eye, he takes a deep, shaky breath and pushes himself up. He kneels there for just a moment longer, eyes closed as he wills himself to get a grip. 

He has to shower so he can go make dinner. He promised to make Aether’s favorite and that is exactly what he will do. With another sigh, he finally stands again. He shucks his shirt off as he walks to his bathroom, throwing it in the direction of his hamper. He can hear his plants rustling as he goes past them, desperately reaching for him. He ignores them in favor of undoing his pants and kicking them off. 

He does not even turn the light on when he enters his bathroom. He just sticks his hand behind the plastic curtain and turns the shower handle towards hot. While it warms up, he pulls his hair from the bun he put it in this morning. He does not bother with brushing it despite the way his claws catch in tangles. He just needs to be quick. He would not even be doing this if not for Multi walking him to his room. He would be able to tell Mountain did not actually shower. He does not need another awkward conversation. Not when he knows Aether will not let him out of the one he promised. 

He sticks his hand under the spray from the shower head. He deems it warm enough, stepping into the shower. He hangs his head under the water, letting his hair curtain his face in wet clumps as he watches the stream swirl down the drain. The heat does feel good on his muscles, sore from the harvest and rehearsal. But cannot stay. If he lingers for too long then the others may come knocking, especially after the scene he caused. 

So, he sits up straight and gets to work scrubbing himself clean. He lathers his eucalyptus shampoo into his hair, messaging it into his scalp. He does not give it time to set, immediately rinsing it out when he is satisfied with the amount of bubbles on his hands. He places the bottle back on its shelf before grabbing the one with his body wash. He forgoes the rag he normally uses, squirting some of soap into the palm of his hand. He rubs his fingers through his fur over the planes of his body, the scent of pine filling the air. It rinses as he works since he did not bother moving out of the warmth of the water. 

Quick and easy. A simple wash is all he needs to keep Multi, or anyone else, off his back. He flips the handle to turn the shower off and steps out. He grabs his last clean towel off the rack and pats himself dry. He steps back out into his bedroom, picking up his pajamas he discarded this morning and pulling them back on. His fur is still slightly damp, but he does not let it bother him. It will fully dry soon enough. The shower did help. Just a little. It at least gave him something else to focus on for a bit. 

Dinner will give him another distraction. As he steps out into the hallway, he mentally runs through the recipe for Aether’s favorite. A creamy mushroom soup. Repeating the list over and over drives the shadows in his mind away, only tinting the edges rather than consuming him whole. He rounds the corner into the common room to see the rest of the pack back. Some are still in their day clothes while others have already changed into their pajamas. 

Dew is one of them, dressed in baggy black sweatpants and an oversized purple hoodie. He sits on the couch, leaning heavily against Ifrit. He looks ready to pass out. Mountain has half a mind to suggest taking him back to his bed so he can sleep, but he holds his tongue. He has no room to give him advice after the things he said to him before that ritual. So he just goes into the kitchen instead. 

“Mount come lick this.” Multi does not look up from where he is cutting mushrooms. 

He stops dead in his tracks and just stares. Multi has his locs pulled back into a bun and the recipe binder out in front of him. Various ingredients are dotted throughout the kitchen, a bottle of olive oil, butter, discarded parts of an onion. A pot sits on the stove, steam rising off of it. 

“You. Started dinner,” Mountain says almost in disbelief. Like he cannot fathom the idea that someone else is cooking. 

“Course I did, now come lick this.” Multi’s tail flicks in the direction of the stove. 

Mountain still feels stunned as he walks over to the pot. He does not even know what to feel. Anger? No, that is not fair to Multi. Disappointment? Annoyance? He just does not know. The last task of the day he has to distract himself got taken. He knows Multi probably means it as a way to show he cares, take something from Mountain’s shoulders, but he is unaware of how desperately Mountain needs this. But what is he supposed to do? Kick him out of the kitchen and tell him to never do this again? What would be the point of that? 

So, he simply does what Multi asks. He picks up a nearby spoon, stirring the broth in the pot before bringing it up to his lips. He blows to cool it down as he tentatively puts it into his mouth. It is definitely missing most of its flavor, though he has only just gotten started. 

Mountain licks his lips as he sets the spoon down, “It. Could use just a little bit more pepper.” 

Multi finishes slicing the mushroom, scraping off the cutting board into the bowl with the rest. He grabs the pepper grinder and gives the top a twist over the broth. Flecks of black sit at the top before he takes the same spoon Mountain had and mixes it in. 

“Okay now try.” He scoops up some of the broth and hands the spoon over to Mountain. 

He lets the liquid wash over his tongue. It is warm as it goes down. “Better.” 

“I’ll take it.” Multi grins and grabs the bowl of mushrooms. He begins to scoop them out, tossing them into the broth by the handful. 

“Would you like me to help?” Mountain’s eyes stay glued to his hands. Watching as he works. 

“Sure! You can start by taking a seat.” 

“Excuse me?” 

When about half of the mushrooms are in the broth, Multi sets the bowl down and turns to look at Mountain, “You need to take a damn break. I’m worried for you Mounty.”

“I’m okay. Promise.” 

There is a flick of hesitation in his eyes before he speaks again, “Come on. This morning when you almost got sick? Snapping your sticks at rehearsal? I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.” 

Mountain does not know what to say. What can he say? Keep insisting that he is fine? Multi clearly is not buying that anymore. But he is not exactly keen on the idea of spilling his guts in the middle of the kitchen. Especially when the whole pack is only a few feet away in the common room. It is bad enough Aether is going to make him sit with him, he does not need to throw it at Multi too. 

He opens and closes his mouth. The longer he goes without saying anything, the more Multi’s expression softens until eventually Mountain relents. He would rather not cause another scene. He takes a hesitant step forward. Then another and another until he plops himself down on one of the barstools. 

Multi smiles at him, “Just sit and enjoy the show.” 

But what other choice does he have? With dinner gone, he searches for something else to trim the unruly garden. Ears twitching as he listens to the pack’s chatter. Eyes focused on every movement Multi makes as he stirs the rest of the ingredients into the soup. Grasping onto every little thing he can to keep himself present. Reminding himself that tomorrow will be different, the mantra that has kept him going the entire day. He just has to hold on a little longer. 

He does not even realize he is picking at the skin around his claws until movement next to him makes him startle. He turns his head to see Zephyr now sitting next to him on the other barstool, cane leaning against the counter. They take one of his hands and lace their fingers together. 

“I heard you caused quite the ruckus at rehearsal today clover.” They rub their thumb over his knuckles. 

Mountain sighs, “Really nothing happened. I snapped a few sticks, it’s not like I’ve never done that before.” 

They hum, “And that’s it? It was only some stick snapping?” 

Of all the ghouls his little incident has to get back to it just has to be Zephyr. They’re too smart, too perceptive. If it were not for the feathers and that symbol on their chest, Mountain would be convinced they have quintessence in their veins with how well they can read a room. 

“Yes. That’s all it was. We were having a good run and I got too into it. Is that a problem?” He snaps out the last part, though when he hears himself he immediately regrets it. But he cannot help it. He is tired of everyone trying to break the dirt to search for something that is not there. He is fine. Everything is fine. He has just had a tough couple of weeks but it will work itself out. He does not need this prodding. 

Zephyr eyes Mountain for just a moment before replying, “No. No problem at all.” 

“Great,” Mountain says flatly. 

They do not say anything more, but they do keep their hands laced with Mountain’s. It just makes him feel worse for snapping. Luckily though, Multi calls from the kitchen. 

“It’s almost ready!” 

He drops Zephyr’s hand as he prepares to stand, “I’ll set the table then.” 

But before he can even put one hoof on the ground, a burst of heat passes him by. Dewdrop enters the kitchen, jaw set in either pain or determination. Mountain is not sure which. Dew glances over at him, a blinding blaze meets a dark forest as their eyes catch. 

“I’ve got it.” His voice is rusty in the way that is when he first wakes up. 

“Dew…” he breathes. 

He leans heavily against the counter as he stares at Mountain, waiting to see what he wants to say. 

What does he want to say? A lot. He wants to tell him to rest. He wants to usher him back to where he was with Ifrit. He wants to ask if he is feeling better. He just wants to talk to him. Hear his voice. Feel his warmth. Bask in his light. But doubt creeps into his mind as the guilt settles like a stone in his gut. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

When the silence stretches for too long Dew just pushes himself up and goes to the cabinet where the bowls are. His body screams at him to stand up and actually do something like he is supposed to do, but he does not even twitch. He sits paralyzed as he wrestles to free himself from the vines of that unkempt garden. As wrap around him and hold him still. 

Dew should not have to do this. He should be doing this. He needs to get a hold of himself and what he is supposed to do. 

“Why thank you little sprite.” Multis nods as he stirs the soup. 

Dew says nothing in response as he opens the cabinet door. His arms visibly shake as he reaches up for the first stack of bowls. He purses his lips as he gets a hold of them. He quickly pulls them out and sets them onto the countertop with a heavy thud, as if their weight is too much for him. He flexes his jaw as he reaches up again for the second stack, still trembling. As he lifts them, the faint sound of porcelain clinking together can be heard over the chatter of the pack. He pulls them out of the cabinet to put them down next to the first stack. But he does not make it that far. 

A shatter echoes through the kitchen as the bowls hit the ground. Shards of white go flying, cascading over the floor like cracked ice. 

All of the noise in the den stops. 

Everyone turns their attention to Dewdrop. 

Everything is still, frozen in place for only a moment. Then there is a flurry of movement as the pack jumps to see what happened. 

Multi turns the stove to a simmer before trying to step over to Dew, careful of the broken pieces of porcelain that now litters the floor. 

Cumulus peers over the back of the couch calling from the common room, asking if he is alright. 

Rain pushes off the loveseat to make his way into the kitchen. 

A loud beeping starts to blare as smoke curls from Dew’s nostrils and mouth with each heavy breath he takes. Cirrus quickly opens a window as Zephyr tries to funnel the smoke out. 

Dew balls his fists at his sides as the breeze flows through the room. He hisses and slams the cabinet door shut with a heavy thunk. Before anyone can reach him, he storms out of the kitchen. His steps are dotted with red, a trail of blood left in his wake from ignoring the shards. 

Heat rolls off him in waves as he stampedes away from Multi. Past Cumulus and Rain. Past Mountain. Past all of them so he can get to his bedroom. 

Like ice left out in the summer sun, the heat finally makes Mountain move. He jumps off his stool at the same time Dew slams his door shut. He immediately moves to follow him. 

“Rain.” Mountain does not even look back to see if he follows. He knows he will. And he cannot bear to take his eyes off where Dew disappeared down the hall. 

The white porcelain now stained red as it lay cracked and shattered in the floor acts as shears to the strangling vines. Dew is hurt. Really hurt. There may be a million things they need to say to each other, but if Dew is hurt then there is not a single thing in this world or the next that will stop Mountain from going to him. He would claw his way out of a landslide just to get to Dew when he needs someone. 

Now that Rain and Mountain are outside of his door, the smell of smoke is suffocating. The fire alarm still blares from the kitchen as they glance at each other. Something heavy crashes to the ground from inside. Mountain does not hesitate to throw the door open. 

It is dark inside yet they can see perfectly thanks to the orange glow emanating from the farthest corner of the room. The only thing they can hear now are Dew’s hiccuping sobs and pained snarls. Rain dashes past Mountain, heading straight for that orange light. 

Dew has squeezed himself in the space between his bed and the wall. He is curled in on himself, knees to his chest with his face hidden. Rain immediately drops down onto his knees to scoot closer to him. 

Dew’s head lifts slightly, just enough to see his eyes. They burn brightly, shining like embers being stoked to life. His brow is set in a hard scowl, but the look in them screams nothing but fear. Like a fox cornered in its den. 

Rain moves even closer with his hands outstretched, “Dewdrop. You’re bleeding. You have to let us see.” 

He only hisses sharply in return, growling as he presses himself closer to the wall. His tail whips across the floor in front of his feet, curling from his calf. His pupils are narrowed to slits. His ears pin back as Rain continues to inch forward. 

Mountain narrows his eyes at him. He has seen him like this once before. When he hurt so badly he could not get out of bed. He had missed rehearsal and tried to still practice on his own, but he could not even hold his guitar. That moment ended with a destroyed bedroom and scorched carpet. 

“Rain. Back away from him.” Mountain’s tail twitches behind him. Something is not right. He needs to get Rain away from Dew. At the very least he needs to put himself between them. 

“He needs help,” Rain snaps. 

“I’m aware. But just look at him. We can’t touch him like this.” He has to be glowing for a reason and if the heat of the room is any indication, then Rain really needs to move. 

But Rain just ignores him. He crawls forward on his knees again, only a few feet away from Dew now. He hisses again, baring his fangs as if he were a cat. 

“It’s okay Dew. We just want to help.” Rain reaches forward toward his bloody feet. 

A dull thud echoes through the room as Dew lunges at Rain, knocking him to the ground. His claws are extended as he rears back to swipe at his face. Rain flinches and brings his arms up to shield himself but before Dew can do much as twitch, Mountain rushes forward. He grabs Dew around the middle and yanks him off of Rain. 

He hisses as Dew struggles in his grasp, causing their skin to touch. He is burning. 

“Go get Multi! Now!” Mountains yells at Rain. Aether is not here. They need his quintessence. 

Rain sits up, shaking his head and blinking hard. He looks at where Mountain is restraining Dew for a second before jumping up and darting out of the room. 

Dew continues to wiggle in his hold, desperately trying to get away from him. He hisses and spits, whipping his tail against Mountain as he digs his claws into the meat of his forearms. Mountain grunts pressing him closer to his body despite the way Dew burns. He cannot let go. Not until he is himself again. If he lets go now, he will only hurt himself more. He could even hurt the others. 

Mountain has to stop him. He has to keep everyone safe. 

The heat makes it hard though. It is oppressive, like standing too close to an open flame. Sweat collects at his hairline. His shirt clings to his body. 

“Dewdrop,” he hisses when his claws finally break the skin on his arm, “stop. It’s only me. I’m trying to help.” 

Whatever states Dew is in, it does not seem like he can hear Mountain. He growls low in his throat before slamming his head back against Mountain’s nose. He cries out, instinctively dropping his hold to clutch at his face. Dew practically pushes off of him, knocking Mountain’s head against the wall. His ears begin to ring as stars dance across his vision. 

He blinks hard to clear the fuzzy edges. Everything feels like it is moving in slow motion as he watches Dew bolt for the door. His mind screams at him to move. To stop him. With a grunt, he grits his teeth and forces himself up. He has to protect everyone. 

He is unstable on his feet, nearly falling right back over once he is up. But he does not have to go far. The space is small and Mountain lives up to his name. He takes only two steps forward before his hand shoots out and grabs at Dew’s wrist to pull him back. 

He spins on his heel immediately, lips curling up in a snarl but all Mountain can hear is the sharp ringing. Sweat makes his fur feel heavy. His head pounds in time with his heart. His limbs do not move with the speed he needs. He is not able to react fast enough. 

Dew’s claws slash across Mountain’s face, hot blood splattering onto the floor. Mountain roars as he stumbles back, hand coming up to clutch as the oozing wound. Blood pools into his mouth from a slice on his lip as his vision is clouded with red.

 His back collides with the wall as he tries to get his bearings. He feels like he cannot breathe. What is left of his visions blurs and swims as the shape of Dewdrop breaks for the door again. He weakly tries to follow, but his knees buckle. 

So much blood. 

Too much blood. 

Hot. 

Too hot. 

He cannot think. He cannot move. He has to move. He has to. Someone has to get to Dew. He tries to crawl forward in the direction he thinks he went but he does not make it far. He screams at his body to keep going, but his muscles do not even twitch. 

He collapses fully, leaning his weight against the nearest solid object as black tinges the edges of the world. The only thing he registers before he closes his unscathed eye is an overwhelming scent of ozone, amber, and spice. 

He only opens his eye again when the sound of ringing fades away, replaced by the call of his name. He slowly looks up to see Multi crouching in front of him with his arms extended.

“Mountain? Can you hear me now?” 

He nods, but immediately regrets it as his skull pounds, “Did you…?” 

Multi returns the nod, “Got his mind back.”

“Where. Is he?” 

As if on queue, Mountain can hear the sound of retching echo from the open bathroom door. 

“Is he. Alright?” Mountain’s breath comes in heavy pants. 

“Is he alright? Mount I think there are other things to worry about right now.” 

It is only then that Mountain realizes Multi has his hands pressed against the wound on his face. He can still feel the warmth of blood as it trickles down his chin to drip stains into his shirt. 

“What the fuck happened?” Multi practically begs. 

“He. He didn’t mean it. Wasn’t himself. It’s the pain and the fire. He’s not used to it yet. He just needs someone to help him.” Mountain makes a half hearted attempt to push against Multi. To try and stand. 

“Help him?!  You can’t be fucking serious right now?” He does not budge. 

“Just let me—“ 

“Mountain stop.” 

“He needs someone to help him.” 

“So do you!” 

Mountain tries to find the strength to form a rebuttal, but he cannot. The adrenaline is fading. He is starting to become aware of the pain from the slash across his face. It stings as sweat drips from his hairline to mingle with the blood. Mountain slumps back again, horns clacking against the wood of Dew’s bed frame. 

He feels like the weight of the world has been placed on top of him, body buried under layers of rock and dirt. He closes his eye again as he feels Multi move on his own hands to his face. He uses the last of strength to hold it there, keeping pressure to the wound as Multi hooks his hands under Mountain’s armpits. He lets himself be hoisted to his feet, swaying like a tree in a windstorm. 

Multi steadys him, grunting with the effort of holding up most of Mountain’s weight. He takes a tentative step forward, trying to lead Mountain towards the door. He does not have it in him to fight it. Oh he wants to. He wants to pull away and go to the bathroom to make sure Dew did not get injured in the spat. But it takes all of his focus just to put one hoof in front of the other. He would fall flat on his face if he tried. 

“Come on. We’re gonna get you out of here and we’re gonna get you fixed and cleaned up and you’re gonna be okay.” 

Mountain barely resisters the words, head still pounding. A quiet ringing coming from his hearing aids. He keeps his head down as they pass the threshold and enter the hallway where the rest of the pack is gathered around. 

They try to talk to him, call his name. Ask what happened as Multi heads towards his room. But he ignores all of them. How could he face them? Answer them? He is their foundation, or at least he was supposed to be. How can he call himself that now? When he is being carried away as a bloody mess. The last of the light leaves his garden. All that remains is weeds and thorns. Everything he was is eroded away, crumbling into dust. 

How can he be their protector, their provider? 

How could he have failed so badly? 

[rs-hawk]

*cough cough*...i cant help but imagine the duchess making sure everyone gets out during a disaster, only for her to get trapped in the rubble. And the orc is the first to notice the duchess isnt anywhere in sight and goes to find her, getting her unconscious body out.

Orc Slave: Part Three

Dianthus woke you up, panic on his ethereal face. “Duchess! There’s a cave in coming!”

You try to blink away the sleepiness, your vision still hazy with sleep. “What?” You mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your eyes.

The Fey quickly explains that he can feel the foundation under the manor shifting. The Dwarves from the nearby village obviously went too far west, compromising the the foundation, and with all those hollowed out tunnels underneath the manor, when it starts to fail, it will hit like an earthquake.

The blood drains from your face. Your fingers feel like they feel asleep whit the tingles in them. You try to take a breath, but your chest is tight. After a moment, you nod slowly. You can’t panic. If you do, no one will think clearly. Everyone looks to you.

“Okay,” you almost whisper the word, forcing air into your lungs. “We have to evacuate the servants first since they in the under stories, and there’s no way if the manor collapses they’ll survive. I’ll go tell my guests while you go tell the servants, okay?”

Dianthus hesitates. He’s so anxious his wings are flitting faster than you’ve ever seen them. It seems like it’s taking everything in him to not be fluttering to the ceiling. “But Duchess, I can’t just leave you,” he protests quietly.

“We don’t have time for this,” you say sternly. He hesitates for a moment longer before fluttering out of the room.

You smooth down your hair and get out of bed, pulling on your glove to cover the Orc bite and tusk marks on your arms from the attack you suffered as a child. For a moment, your mind flits to the Orc slave you recently acquired and worry pricks your brain, but you force it down. He should be in the servants quarters as well. He’ll be fine.

Then, the floor under you starts to shake. Your blood runs cold when you hear Dianthus scream. “Dia!” You shout, stumbling out of your room. He had been caught in a doorway, his wings pinned under a wooden beam.

“I’m okay, Duchess,” he lies, wincing as he turns to help you lift the beam off of his wings. He stands up on shaky feet.

You know that he’s not used to walking, so you make a quick decision. “Go get the Viscount and his wife. I’ll go get the servants.”

“You can’t! You need to get out now. The manor is already coming down,” Dianthus protests, wincing again as he tries to fold his wings against his back.

“That is a direct order, Dianthus. You get those two out and I’ll be right behind you, okay?” You feel the fear balling into a lump in your throat, but you can’t let everyone else die. The fear and panic makes your limbs feel numb. “Dianthus, did you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says quietly. He grabs your face, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before running to the stairs. The gesture reminds you of when you were little. Tears prick your eyes, He’s always been there for you, always tried to take care of you. He’s the closest thing to family you have left.

After a moment you wipe your eyes and start hurrying down the stairs. No shoes, no outer clothes. Just your gloves and a night gown that is arguably scandalous. The servants have already begun trying to get everyone out, and most are horrified to see that you’ve come to check on them instead of getting out.

“Alright everyone, make sure you have your partner you decided on after the fire last year,” you call, trying to do a headcount, but you can’t remember everyone’s name or face.

“Mistress, you need to get outside,” the Housekeeper says worriedly. “This is everyone, and I’ll make sure they all get out.”

Your eyes flit this way and that, your shoulders relaxing slightly. The floor shifts, and there’s a few panicked cries, not no one seems to really get hurt. You nod for a moment, then do another quick scan.

“Where’s the Orc?” You ask, the lump in your throat returning.

The Housekeeper follows your gaze, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t… I don’t know, and there’s no way he could have gotten out without me seeing.”

“Get everyone out. I’m going to find him,” you say, lifting your nightgown to rush down the stairs, ignoring her shouting for you to wait.

Dust and derby are already settling this close to the cracking and crumbling foundation. You cough, pulling the collar of your dress up to cover your nose and mouth to try to be able to breathe. Now you’re kicking yourself, wishing that you had never taken this stupid position. Surely besides a title there is something else you could have gotten for saving the Prince. Now you have people’s lives in your hand, and every move you make affects them.

Outside, the Orc walks over to Dianthus. He had fallen asleep in the forge. “What is going on?” He asks gruffly, watching the other servants file out of the manor. Another quad rocks his feet, making him fall to one knee for a moment as he braces himself.

Dianthus explains the tunnels are collapsing, fussing over the Viscount and his wife, his injured wing tucked protectively against his back. The Orc huffs in acknowledgement. Then, after a moment, he asks, “And where’s the lady?”

“What?” Dianthus says, looking over at the Housekeeper and Butler, who are both doing a headcount. “She, she said that she was going to get the servants out…”

“I do not see her,” he mutters, scanning the crowd again.

The Housekeeper spots him and says something to the Butler before walking over to the Orc. “There you are! The Mistress was worried sick wondering where you went. Where did she find you?”

The Orc’s eyes dart to the entrance of the manor. “She didn’t.”

Before anyone else can process his words, he’s darting towards the manor. Easily he tosses the debris out of the way. Another quake makes the ground under his feet move, but he doesn’t stop. He’s cursing under his breath, covering his head as the upstairs start to cave in, narrowly missing collapsing on his head. He finds his way down to the servant quarters and starts shouting “Duchess!”. There’s no response.

He curses loudly again. “Why am I doing this for a stupid human? She probably realized I was not down here and got out already. Why am I risking himself for her?’

But despite his angry words, he makes his way down the stairs, having to squint his eyes to see through the dust. As he starts looking from room to room, he’s about to leave. He can’t see you anywhere. However, he hears a soft coughing from down the hall.

His loud footsteps sound like shotgun blasts as he runs down the hall, slamming his bare feet against the cobblestone. Under a small pile of stone and wood is your unconscious body.

“Y/N!” He shouts, forgetting formalities. He starts shoving it off of you, clawing at it like a wild animal. When he picks up your body, it’s with more care than he thought he was capable of. “You are alright. Everything is alright,” he murmurs agaisnt your hair, cradling you to his chest in one arm.

Using his free arm to shield your head, he manages to make his way to a servant’s entrance and get out the back of the manor. He can hear Dainthus now worriedly calling for you, and he can hear the flitting of wings, signalling the Fey is injuring himself further to look through the crowd.

“Over here!” the Orc shouts, getting you further from the manor before laying you down.

Your face is covered in soot and dust, and your clothes are torn. His eyes fall to your hands and arms- skin he’s never seen since you always keep them covered in those pristine white gloves that are now torn to shreds.

“Y/N, you fool,” Dianthus wails when he rushes over, a mix of a stumbling fall and a falling fly. He drops to your side, pressing his ear to your chest. His shoulders are rising and falling rapidly before he starts to calm down. He looks up at the Orc, tears now pouring down his angelic face, his ears twitching back. “She’s alive. She’ll be okay.”

The Orc is still staring at the obvious Orc bite and tusk marks on your arms. He blinks slowly, finally looking up at Dianthus. “Good… That is good.”

[funpoire]

Yuu after a overblot

note: mention of scars, blood and broken bones. headcanon maybe occ. If you want more post like that you can send request.

To me, book 6 and Rollo overblot were very violent overblot (the other too but for my yuu sake it will be these two). The thing is that every time there is an overblot it seems no one is hurt (let’s close our eyes to Lilia's situation). There is so much potential to make some angst or hurt/comfort and make your character get hurt. I know Yuu can’t be very useful during the fight. They don’t have magic but could still find a way to be useful. Also in book 6, it’s pretty hard not to get involved in the battle.

I think for Book 6:

When Yuu come back they look like they came back from hell. Messy hair, bag under eyes, hurt, puffy eyes because they cried a lot or maybe got hit, maybe both.

Let Yuu have a break. Can’t feel any of there muscles especially legs after they had to run and walk for a day straight.

Will get a scar because of grim attack.

Will probably spend a few days in the infirmary and or in a isolated room in Pomefiore.

Have bruises everywhere. With the amount of attack it’s hard to not get involved but also because the styx solider wasn’t very gentle when they attacked.

If Yuu was hurt to the point they had to go to the hospital I like to think Idia would pay for it because of guilt.

Eat like there is no tomorrow. I think it has been said but the food in Styx wasn’t a 5-star meal and after all the emotion Yuu was hungry.

Even if Yuu is not from Pomefiore doesn't mean they can eat anything. Get ready for a full mean made for Yuu to heal faster. Full of protein and veggies.

Free food for Yuu. All the snacks they want will be delivered. Just don't let Vil know.

After this there is no way Yuu is not been seen as on of the coolest guy of the school. What do you mean you had no magic and you survive styx and overblot ghost ?

To get better Yuu gets a t-shirt saying “I survived Styx (and 6 overblot)” Everyone finds it funny except Idia.

If Yuu get hurt to the point to get a caster everyone will doodle or write on it. Word of encouragement and thanking.

Princess is treated by Adeuce after going back home. They tough Yuu was gone or worse and when they came back they were looking like a zombie.

Yeah, Ace is not letting this slide. Yuu get ready for Ace being a total ass because he was super worried.

Ace and Deuce don't want to let Yuu go. If Deuce will said it's because he is worried and only want their good. Ace will deny about being worried and talk about how he don't want Yuu to cause more trouble.

In a way, Adeuceyuu gets closer to this experience. All of them being worried and yuu getting hurt make them more true to their feeling.

Could also make them hurry to confess if you want. At the same time, I also think this is not the best moment to confess. But it's a good moment to realize your feelings. If you get what I mean.

For my Yuu he tried to get grim who was falling and hurt his should by falling down. shoulder dislocation or something like that. Maybe less painful but still something that hurt.

A very traumatic moment in your life mean a new look. For my Yuu he end up by shaving his hair. Yes, the buzz cut got him.

Finish by getting traumatized by the event.

I think for Rollo overblot :

Rollo overblot is him on fire. What could make more sense is to get burn scars. Not too bad but enough to keep a mark.

The type of fight where Rollo trying to protect the magicless finish by hurting them.

I forgot the event i be honest so maybe it was in the event in the first place but Yuu got trapped in the other side of the school. Rollo wanted to only hurt the mage and since Yuu is a magicless he decided to put them in some room. He is like “Yeah don’t worry we need to fix something on your costume stay here for a moment”. Then lock the door.

See to get out of this situation only two scenarios: 1) jump out of the window (hope it’s not a very tall jump) and 2) break the door.

Yulanda could have tried to fight it, trying to get Rollo back to his normal self and end up getting hurt, hard.

Yulanda would choose the first option. She doesn’t think rationally under pressure. Also, she would sound cooler if she said she got out by the window than by the door.

She will be finished by being slightly burned and with probably a broken bone but she rings the bell so that’s fine for her. She finishes in the infirmary with pride.

see also :

yuusei - yulanda - more overblot talk

I think I reach every twst topics in 2 weeks and already feel like my blog has grown. I still struggle to reach 10 notes in an hour but it takes time you know. This post is also rambling, not my fav but I need to get this out of my head.