#this is based off of who interacted btw

[thecurtainswereblue]

I shall dream of it tonight, I find its words… almost seductive

[monochromeyuri]

two switches dating, (especially when they both know dom =/= topping and vice versa) is honestly peak. you're telling me at one moment I'm fucking her because her needy little hole needs to be filled and the next I'm the needy little thing in a rut??? and I didn't even have to pull out for that switch to happen? honestly peak

[hongjoongspoetry]

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and  concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter. 

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes. 

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words. 

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends. 

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates. 

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?” 

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes. 

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue. 

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went. 

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him? 

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?” 

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain. 

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening. 

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere. 

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that? 

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up. 

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!” 

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind. 

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?” 

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you  couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past. 

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row. 

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul. 

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to. 

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls. 

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.” 

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license. 

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe. 

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen? 

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.” 

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.” 

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side. 

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store. 

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view. 

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items. 

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.” 

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter. 

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags. 

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin. 

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.” 

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them. 

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. 

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.” 

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind. 

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again. 

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table. 

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more. 

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange. 

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse. 

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness. 

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed. 

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels. 

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture. 

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale. 

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up? 

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew. 

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames. 

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!” 

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?” 

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were. 

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually. 

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew. 

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities. 

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go. 

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.” 

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it. 

“We are both at fault, love.” 

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy. 

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him. 

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation. 

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one. 

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.” 

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.” 

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[complaintsdonttakeitseriously]

Tw: typical neglected reader trope, mentions of abuse and enslavement, tag as yandere batfam but has no mention of yandere behaviors… yet. Reader has no morals btw they only care about their interest

Anyway genius reader who still yearns for a family and her nemesis is her own blood brother Damian. They are the only ones who actually related to Bruce yet they’re the one thrown to the side. Unbelievable. That’s the last straw of her patience with this fucked up family so she went off the grid to start her own life.

The others didn’t notice for a long time mostly because they still see her around the manor, aimlessly going around hallways, talking to Alfred. Of course the old butler didn’t pay it much attention, they are always so independent so when they say they already ate then that’s that. What they didn’t know is that the Reader they were interacting with is actually a semi realistic hologram with pre recorded messages specifically for Alfred only. Mostly cause his the only one who bothers. The hologram is crude, it flickers and glitches but it still does its purpose for the next two years. No one noticed anything.

By the time they notice, probably one of the boys accidentally ’bumping’ into them only to phase through like they pass by ghost. That’s when they started to notice that Reader is gone. Then whole drama and angst of gut wrenching guilt consumes the narrative meanwhile Reader is off to somewhere in the multiverse adventuring on their own because their universe sucks.

Okay so let’s see what Reader was actually up to during their two years of no contact. First off they made their base, secure themselves as financially independent by selling tech to the highest bidder unironically helping the villains on fighting against the heroes. Then got themselves a spaceship of their own then setting off to the multiverse to find a new home. No Man Sky style. After building a base they did something out of pure malice and spite, they clone Damian to enslaved and abuse. They didn’t go through it though because the bastard is actually lovable if molded right. So now Reader has a sidekick and the ideal little brother, she renamed Daemon, on her side for infinity.

Yes I did imagine the batfam eventually finding reader but only because they went back to earth for whatever reason. Yes, Damian will crash out because he got replaced by a much better version of himself. Yes, it’s going to cause so much drama and Damian wanted to kill his clone while Reader cheers for Daemon to kill Damian instead. Yes, it will absolutely crash him. Reader does not care and lowkey is cruel about it.

Reader also doesn’t like Jason mostly because they’re attach to Jason that died. Doesn’t believe that he got brought back to life and still firmly thinks post Lazarus Jason is a fake that Bruce took in and gave the identity of their deceased brother. Reader calls him, Cryptid (derogatorily). They also hates Bruce for not only neglecting them but also doing something as diabolical as giving their dead brother’s identity to some random.

[skydaemon]

so we (and by we, i mean the very specific overlap of jews and nerds among whom i make my home) talk a lot about how tolkien's dwarves, in both the books and movies, were likely influenced by certain jewish stereotypes. obsessed with gold/wealth, secretive (especially about their language and religion), refugees from their ancestral home, portrayed with big, sometimes hooked, noses and interesting facial hair, and most specifically: the favourite little meow meows of one particular god, causing them to be shunned and persecuted by other races and creeds. this is likely unintentional, coming from the subconscious of tolkien in the same way orcs were "based on mongols" (ew colonialism) and activating subconscious biases/stereotypes in the people who designed the dwarves for the movies. it's subtext, albeit subtext that influenced the next eighty years of fantasy.

but what i don't see much discussion of is the fact that in terry pratchett's discworld, it's intentional. terry pratchett's dwarves are, more or less, jews.

carrot is a human adopted by dwarves, based on human standards. but within dwarf culture, he IS a dwarf. specifically, he has undergone specific rituals and memorised certain passages, making him LEGALLY a dwarf. this is basically how conversion works in judaism. indeed, as in judaism, it's considered rude to even mention that carrot is six feet tall and obviously wasn't born into the culture he has adopted.

the dwarves also have internal rifts - there are a group of 'orthodox' dwarves who consider the dwarves in ankh-morpork (who have adopted other customs and don't follow traditional roles) not to be dwarves at all, and don't recognise carrot as a dwarf for the same reason. they believe that the way to be a dwarf is to live in an all-dwarf community and follow their traditional rules, while other dwarves believe they need to change with the times and integrate (at least somewhat) with larger society. jewish as fuck.

there's also the interaction of dwarves with gender. when cherie comes out as female (which isn't a recognised gender by dwarvish society) she is ostracised for taking on the feminine roles common to other discworld races. however, she could never THINK of cutting off her beard, because she is still a dwarf. i see parallels with women in judaism taking on roles traditionally considered 'masculine' (e.g., as rabbis, wearing tallit and kippot) and the acceptance of queer people into jewish communities. there's lots of great discussion about cherie as a trans character on tumblr, btw.

finally, something that particularly strikes me is the line from carrot in tfe, where he says that the biggest dwarf city on the disc is ankh-morpork. obviously all diaspora communities can relate, but it's really something to know that new york is the city with the most jews in the world (960k to jerusalem's 570k. btw, 3rd is LA!).

i just love that, again, consciously or unconsciously, pratchett incorporated more positive elements of jewish culture into his portrayal of the dwarves.

[furiouskettle]

I am so itching to hear more of your takes/headcannons on Hellen's character. You seem to have a different grasp from what I've seen, and I'm really curious about it 👀

(You seem to really embrace the brutal/maniac aspects really well based on that one fic you wrote)

eheheheheee thank you!!

I looove hellen's whole standoffish vibe. She's pretty particular in her mannerisms and i enjoy it sooo much.

Some Hellen components that are vital to me personally:

She's a really confident person. She knows what she's doing pretty much all the time (or at least she's definitely acting like she does). are you going to argue with her? better have a good reason for it. (She's fine not taking charge, but her boundaries are ROCK. SOLID.)

Very direct and blunt when speaking.

i LOVE that despite this (or because of it?) she's pretty bad at emoting and/or expressing herself.

hellen if you want the knife just say so.

she keeps LOOMING instead of saying she likes something. She doesn't do it all the time but it's happened more than once. can't tell if she's doing it intentionally or if she's like. "i really want the thing but i dont wanna overstep"

Hard to gauge if she's good with kids cause she does start interacting with rat kid like approaching a small animal? so i like to think she doesn't like dealing with kids all that much but she's not awful at it. (ratkid being the exception but also ratkid is a little critter)

(that being said her tone gets so much gentler when talking with rat kid? so it seems her bluntness is just towards adults - could be that she just has her guard up way more around people?)

Dutiful. sometimes the duty is eviscerating some inhuman horror, sometimes it is washing the dishes cause the guy who let her crash at his place made dinner. (sometimes it's letting the guy know that he's doing a horrible job of keeping his plant alive)

hot sauce enjoyer.....

I don't think she's exactly... insecure, about her face. I don't think she likes it much, but she seems to have accepted it as fact that her face alarms people. (hence why she hides it. it's quite bothersome to try to talk to someone when they keep screaming)

(I headcanon it's less that it's scary and more something abt the spiral that wigs (almost) everyone out whether they're prepared to see it or not)

(one time i had her take her mask off and she scared herself lol)

she was probably already tall and intimidating before so she's kinda used to it in a way.

She's pretty particular about her bloodlust it looks like??? she tries out the blood ghoul game and immediately decides "nah not my thing" but she's SOOOOOO into the wraithscourge game. maybe she loves the whole hunt part of killing things and it just isnt right without it.

i think its so funny that she DESPISES crosswords. She lets you know this very clearly.

thinks abt her coming to your door to ask for a place to stay.... like. she didnt have to do that, she's totally capable of just taking it by force if she wanted to.

if i recall, if you attack her at the door, she'll just say "oh. okay." AS IF IT'S NOT THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE SHE ASKED FOR HELP HAS ATTACKED HER...

just. idk. it feels like she's putting a LOT of trust in sam.

anyway I LOOOOVE character that are kind but not nice. that's Hellen to me.

I feel like sometimes ppl make her too soft or shy/internally anxious for my liking... ok i am also guilty of making hellen more sweet than i feel she is so like. I Get It. but also

(this is NOT a critique of anyone's thing btw you guys have fun!!! 😎👍)

anyway this is long and i feel i havent even exhausted all the things to say abt hellen but i really should go sleep

[asksonicverse]

[ Creator Special! ]

Heya! Another creator special for you guys :)

So for this one, I don’t know really. I have so many ideas for different Sonic AU’s and comics I want to do but I don’t want to burn myself out even if I have the urge to DRAW DRAW DRAW (cough cough check out my other Sonic art over on @verizzafai )

I am soo grateful for all the support on this blog and I want to provide for yall for awhile. So it won’t wrap up too soon, but I don’t see this particular ask blog lasting more than a year :) (especially with how fast I pump these out)

And thank you 💞

Ok here’s my height head canons! (just taller and shorter, not specific to eachother btw)

Wanting to address both of these in the same comment.

Of course!!! You are very welcome to start your own ask blog, if you base it directly after mine I’d atleast put a credit somewhere, but if it’s just the idea of “stick them in a room” then you never even have to ask! Also link me when you do… I would love to see it… hehe!

I am very aware of @askssgenerations and their work, while similar in concept, is different to mine! From what they’ve shown/teased their story is going to be very different from mine and I encourage you to check them out if you want more Ask Blog shenanigans. They even were very kind to give me credits for the similarities in our blogs.

I also sort of addressed this in one of my anecdotes at the bottom of my posts but I want to say it again here. Anyone is welcome to do this idea, it’s not a super unique one, you know? Stick a bunch of dudes in a room and make them interact. We love those!!! So go ahead! Create away.

Please remember to be kind :)

It’s mostly just the fact that they’re knight and king… not super professional for a KING to be in love with a knight, even a high ranking one such as Lancelot.

They’re figuring it out :’)

No, paradox is the only one who knows and he’s going to keep his mouth SHUT! (To everyone else that is, even Prism.)

He’s not as put off by them because Lance and Arthur aren’t “Sonic and Shadow” like the others, so If/when the others find out, they can sorta excuse it.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one!

Previous | Next

[palettepainter]

Snare (Mer Ratchet x Reader)

We are back again and I offer more stuff with my fish husband, based off this ask on muletia's blog

This merformer AU belongs to @muletia, who you should all go and check out btw cuz they're really cool and their writing is delicious, Mer Ratchet's design based off this

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

It’s concerning just how quickly you adjust to the hollow ache in your stomach 

Seven days. Seven days stuck on the island. Seven days too many

Seven long, grueling days where the island continued to mock you and your inexperience in survival: from tripping over stubborn roots hiding in plain sight, or a rude wake up call from one of the dozens of exoctic arachnids that got far too close for your comfort level, to narrowly avoiding being clobbered by falling coconuts 

You’d always liked to think of yourself as adaptable

Life outside of the four, comforting walls of your family home, exposed to the ruthless nature of city life, you had grown to overcome many of the everyday perolas dangers thrown at you: traffic that moved to a painful crawl in the rush hour, rowdy drunks lurking on street corners till the stupid hours of the morning (or until some unfortunate officer was tasked with moving them), catcallers, and worst of all, the horrors of working retail

Even now, in your delirious, thirsty, near starved state, you can still oh so clearly remember the latest interaction you’d had with one of your regulars before becoming marooned. A large chap, unkempt beard and seemingly always wore socks and sandals when he decided to generously grace the store with his presence 

He’d always have something to complain about, it’d become a somewhat inside joke between you and some co-workers to guess what the new topic of interest he’d want to discuss with the cashier, and just who would be the sad sap stuck to listen to it - of course it would have been you, just another thing life wanted to throw in your face 

Thinking back on the occasion you groaned without thinking. Wine, he’d come in to complain about wine

He wanted a refund, saying it tasted “off”

Oh your wine tasted off you say? It’s grape juice that burnt how the FUCK could it taste off?!

Still, if the stars and planets aligned and washed that thick skulled yapper onto the very shoreline you’d washed up on, you’d probably kiss him. Heck, you’d probably kiss the wine bottle, and you weren’t even a big fan of alcohol

A sharp, sudden stinging sensation stabbing your midsection abruptly derails your train of thought

The whine that leaves you is entirely involuntary, and is followed by your stomach trying to further digest itself to your growing discomfort. Arms snake around your midsection where you hug yourself tightly, leaning forward on yourself with weary eyes tightly shut. Maybe if you hugged yourself tight enough, you could squeeze the pain away..

Your attempts are as effective as holding water with a siv. You groan, but press on spitefully 

The only blessing the day seemed to bring you was the weather, which for now, was calm

If it’s just down to bad luck or the whereabouts of where the island you were stuck on lied, but not only were the islands (in your opinion) far too many species of creepy crawlies plotting to give you a heart attack from how often they seemingly materialised out of nowhere, but the weather had also actively been trying to kill you

Even if you’d spent the majority of your life residing in cities, you weren’t totally unaware of how dangerous the natural elements were, how they could flip on a dime. All things considered, only dealing with torrential downpour in the city on occasion, you were privileged

Just two nights ago the wind had been raging, furiously searching for unassuming small trees to batter about, and poor unassuming you had almost gotten crushed when the wind did find a branch to unleash its fury on 

Looking back, you liked to believe you handled the situation gracefully: you’d only cursed aloud seven times and told the branch to go fuck itself once 

To say the experience had rattled you would be a gentle way of phrasing it, but you could only go so long eating papaya and french kissing rain water out of cupped leafs before your body craved for something better, anything that wasn’t fruit 

On your second day on the island you’d had a brief explore of the coastline, and thankfully the island was far from short in its collection of natural rock pools, the perfect, temporary fridge that would gift you a platter of the oceans delicacies 

If only there weren’t other residents lurking in the waters that were just as hungry as you

As the very statement crossed your mind, you went rigid, throwing your gaze to the water. It was still and peaceful, some distance for you to travel to meet it, but nothing for the colossal arms of a creature you’d half convinced yourself was a figment of dehydration to pull themselves out of 

It’s like the ocean was teasing your paranoia with how tranquilly it rests beneath the sun, glimmering and crystal clear

No finned head appears, no massive tail slaps the surface, no face of teeth growling and hissing jumps out at you. Nothing. Not even a gull flies down to settle 

It was hard to keep your persistent hunger and your urge to rush before you attracted company in check as you easily hoisted yourself up onto a horizontal slab of ashy coloured stone that stretched for miles ahead of you, covering the gap between the treeline and the gentle sea that lapped at the rocks edges 

In your state, near crazed with the craving for something made of meat, you begin pleading under your breath while carefully traversing the rock slab “Please be fish please be fish!..” 

Every tiny ripple or shimmer in the rockpools that are littered about at random have your hopes skyrocketing, but what life you find swimming in the enclosed pockets of water are too small fish and shrimps. Agile creatures you know you won’t have a hope of catching, creatures you know won’t quell your hunger 

You needed something bigger, hopefully, something big enough you could easily grab, something that couldn’t slip into a nice safe crack to hide from your grabby hands 

Maybe a crab

‘I’d eat the SHIT out of a crab right now..’

Your mouth becomes an embarrassing pool of saliva that makes you cringe only slightly before you resume your searching, periodically throwing cautious glances to the water to be sure you are alone, safe

Pool after pool after pool turns up lackluster results, only small clusters of shrimp which are eager to dart away as your shadow swallows their rockpool and a handful of fish that blend in with the sandy bottom greet you, nothing that will substitute as even a snack, nothing you want

Your stomach voiced its impatience, and you aim a harsh look down at it  “I’m working on it alright?!”

Given how you have bigger problems to tackle, you’re nowhere near as concerned as one should be at the fact it hadn’t even taken a full day for you to start talking to yourself. It was one of the few things you had left, a constant, the sound of your own voice trying to quell your own panicking. Something the island couldn’t dangle in front of you on a stick and then rip away

Being your own company was better than no company you figured 

Your not so lost to your own increasingly growing urge to feed that you’ve forgotten you don’t necessarily possess the tools to actually cook anything you catch, you are however just famished enough that the notion of consuming a fish raw right out of your bare hands no longer sounds so disgusting 

Worse case scenario, you get food poisoning, but given how the other option was dying from starvation (or dehydration, or infection from a wound, or even a bite from some exoctic, poisonous creature), you’re willing to take your chances

Ten minutes of time trickle by painfully slowly, a lone sea slug lounging in the barely submerged sandflat is the only thing you debate on eating. It doesn’t sound especially appetising, the idea of eating something with the word slug in its name, but you can’t afford to be picky…still, you note the creature down as a last resort if you find nothing else, the soles of your worn shoes softly padding on the sand as you move off the rocks

Time had lost all of it’s meaning since your phone had become a victim to the sea, so you’d been relying purely on your gut and general knowledge to wager when the tide would come in and out 

Your gut however probably looked like a shrivelled up raisin from how dehydrated you felt, so you take a pause to glance back to the line of the water drawn far back along the beach

It’s not clear if it’ll get further out, but it’s far enough out that even if it was coming in, you’d have more than enough time to move inland. Moving further away from your resting place at the lagoon doesn’t give you any peace of mind though, even if the island was small, you’d learnt it was extremely easy to get lost 

And when you were lost, it was easier to let yourself spiral, where the gravity of your situation hit you at its hardest..

Your stomach churned painfully, and not just because you were hungry

You could feel your awareness stretching to the rest of the island around you, the possibility of getting cut off because you were too distracted and having to navigate through the dense undergrowth, becoming the centre of attention to it’s deadly and venomous tennants 

Your mind fuzzed over and looped the horrific scenario till you were forced to rapidly shake your head. Your downward tumbling thoughts were dashed to the furthest corners of your mind, though not enough to entirely relieve you of your anxiety

“Just find a fish! Y-Yeah, just-...just find some food, and go back” you throw a final look up to the waterline, exactly where it was the last time you looked, before slowly moving on 

The slab of rock you’d previously been moving across gradually broke into clusters of rocks surrounded by sand, you opt to trace the sandy paths weaving around them, before climbing the rocks to inspect any rock pools. 

The results continued to disappoint, aside from one particularly large shrimp that was about the size of your thumb, your selection of meal choices were distressingly slim

You were starting to feel like you were fighting a losing battle, your fate already sealed: another evening spent gnawing the flesh off a papaya skin

“Come on! Is it so much to ask for one lousy FISH?!” you announce irritably to the island, your only reply is the soft rustle of palm leaves in the breeze

You groan

“Someone up there must really hate me..” your head slumped, tense shoulders sagging under an intense weight that had been cramped the muscles around your neck from stress. Your shoes leave dragged indents in the sand behind you, emphasising your sulkiness

“Some people might get lost trying to navigate an airport or wait at the wrong bus stop. But nooo not me! I managed to get stuck on a freaking deserted ISLAND-”

The end of your foot caught on something unexpectedly and you stumbled, your look of annoyance swapping for instant panic and regret as you clumsily wobble to catch yourself, which you manage to do with minimal grace

Turning, your expression once again swapped for a new one, confusion sweeping in to take hold of your features as you try to find what culprit tripped you

When you find it, sticking up obviously from the sand, you do a double take and blink: it’s a chain. A thick, rusted one

You’re no marine biologist, but you know that metal chains aren’t naturally occurring, which meant that if this chain was here then..something man made had to be 

Hunger and annoyance are doused in an instant and a warm, welcomed sensation blooms in the centre of your chest, a feeling that you had been longing for, a feeling you’d almost forgotten - hope. Soothing, real hope 

There’s no way it can be people, your logical side barely manages to speak above the surge that pushed you to pick up your feet and follow the chain, if it was more people surely you would have run into them by now 

But still, if the chain was here, it could lead to a boat. Maybe you could salvage something, maybe it’d have tools, or could work as a new shelter - or better yet - honest to good food 

What you would do if it meant you’d find a chocolate bar 

It’s not clear how long you run for, or when exactly it was your jog had shifted to a break neck speed, but by the time you reach the end of the chain, you have to lean against a rock to catch your breath, though you don’t once avert your focus from the vessel before you 

It’s a boat

It’s large, clearly not your average watercraft, and more notably, it’s weathered and damaged far beyond your skill set to be repaired. More so, it was made from metal, so the chances of you being able to restore it to its former glory are next to none.

Dismayed, but undeterred, once your heart settled within your ribcage you push yourself to stand and approach the broken boat 

Even at a distance the extent of the damage is obvious

There's an enormous tear in the side of the hull where a large rock has wedged itself, likely what had caused the harm to begin with. No matter where you look, every area of metal is either rusted a heavy bronze or littered with greedy clumps of barnacles, which say just how long the hunk of metal must have been rotting there. The chain guide that had led you there trailed along the sand, until it climbed up into a small hole along the side, perhaps it used to be some kind of anchor system??

It’s too small to be a cruise ship and too big to be a common purchase for the majority of people. Suppose it doesn’t matter, you reason, approaching the gaping mouth in the side of the boat to better inspect it 

The tear is as large as the boat is rusted, judging the width, it looked like you could easily stretch out your arms and touch either side of metal walls without struggle, but you don’t want to risk a puncture wound, so your arms remain locked steadily at your sides as you carefully lean through the gap 

The inside of the boat arguably looked worse than the outside, everything was covered in barnacles, sand or seaweed, and the lingering stench of salt water slugged you across the jaw with such force you almost retreated back.

Blinking away the tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes from the sting of the odor, you suck in a breath, inflating your chest, before leaning back in 

Immediately to your right is what you assume to be the shabby remains of the engine, now covered from head to toe in kelp and dustings of sand. Even someone as non educated on mechanics as you can safely say it won’t be up and running anytime soon

It’s a disheartening realisation, even if you had been silently bracing for it

Deciding you want a better look, you venture further inside the slightly lopsided vessel and brush your focus across the interior, which aside from the engine, there wasn’t a great deal you could assign a label too. Directly to your left, is some kind of container unit. It has old writing on it, but it’s too faded for you to clearly decipher, and honestly, you doubted it would be hugely helpful information anyway. You also see a ladder on the furthest side of the boat, just as rusted as everything else, but still fastened to the wall of the ship

From where you stand you can tell the ladder leads topside, a pool of golden light from the sun bathing down through the roof and spreading into a puddle at the last foot rung 

Approaching, you give it a sturdy kick, and shrink at the resounding clang that echoes around you. No retaliation in the form of metal finally giving way with a groan comes to mock you, even when you land a second, more sure kick, to its side. The ladder stays still as a rock 

You give it enough thought, enough time to build up a nervous sweat before you anxiously move your foot onto the lowest rung, lifting your other foot off the floor while your hands keep you steady

A second passes…another second…you don’t hear anything aside from the distant cry of seagulls

Every step is climbed with the utmost care, anticipating the dreaded sound of creaking and for the world to tilt sideways, where the moist, cold sand would race up harshly to greet you. Even when you reach the top of the ladder and are in the middle of pulling yourself up onto the surface of the ship, you don’t let yourself sigh in relief until you are supported steadily on both feet 

Given the way the lower deck of the ship was, you’re not surprised to see the main deck was in a similar condition, discoloured with what had to be years of corrosion and speckles of dried bird poop

Just as you did with the interior, you study your new surroundings, noting a small structure to your right which must have been where the steering wheel was located, and some sort of winch like system seated at the far end

Aside from random piles of old nets, upturned empty barrels and the still very present waft of fish, there isn’t a great deal for you to take in. Whatever event caused the ship to become marooned like you must have stolen the majority of equipment that wasn’t vassened down

Although the former details combined with the smell makes it pretty clear you were standing on the deteriorating remains of some kind of fishing boat. THAT, at least, is promising information 

“Maybe they’ll be some kind of fishing rod” you say as you turn your attention towards the steering quarters fist

You reason that, if there was to be any kind of salvageable equipment on this boat, it’d be kept with the controls. You could only pray whoever had been the captain of this ship stored his tools sensibly 

Hanging by a single hinge, the door swung with a pitiful squeak after you gently knocked it forward. You’re half surprised the thing doesn’t crumble to splinters, it looked one gentle gust of wind away from collapsing entirely

Unlike the door, protected from the onslaught of downpours and howling gails, the steering room - all things considered - looked pretty damn well off. Even the two identical seats, positioned side by side across the dozens of controls and blank monitor screens, were arguably in better shape than yourself 

The temptation to collapse into one, into something cushioned and soft, something not made of a pile of leafs you’d sulkily assembled, but something honest and real and man made, to catch just even ten minutes of undisturbed sleep was so bad you could practically clutch the wish in your hands 

But you’re smart enough to know that it wouldn’t be just ten minutes

If you fell asleep in one of the chairs, you might not ever get up, you’d simply rot there until you had molded to its very frame. So, with great restraint, you turn yourself away and start to inspect the rest of the small cabin 

You don’t even bother checking the controls, they wouldn’t do you any good if the engine was busted, so your focus shifts instead to a set of miniature cabinets secured to the wall next to the door frame. 

The wood it smooth and varnished, unlike the rotting door, and the lack of a lock securing it closed grants you a welcomed, soothing wave that decreases the knot of distress that had been lingering in your stomach for a while 

The cabinet doors swing open with ease, and it feels like you’ve hit the motherload once you recognise what the contents staring back at you are

A small first aid kit, looking completely untouched, sits in the top corner, alongside a torch and a packet of opened batteries. On the last shelf is a pair of sunglasses which won’t be useful to you, but the items besides it cause your already growing smile to beam, your face aching from the sheer intensity as it stretched from ear to ear:

To the opposite side of the storage unit was a genuine, real, unopened duo of energy bars

You weren’t even aware your body could move so fast, snatching up one of the bars with lightning speed, practically tearing into the wrapper with your bare teeth where you then snarf it down in nanoseconds. It’s dry, not bursting with flavour as you’d hoped, but there is a faint taste of honey which almost has you collapsing to your knees

God it was good to eat something that didn’t fall out of a tree!

You're left licking every crumb up from your hands, your tongue dipping into the gaps between your fingers and sucking on each one while you stuff the other bar into your pocket. The first bar had not satisfied your hunger, it had only muffled it for the time being, but it would be wiser to save the second bar for later incase you didn’t find any fish 

Two items remained in the cabinet, a spool of twine - looked like the kind you’d find on fishing rods - and a matching knife, probably a means to cut it. The knife looked professional and extremely solid, curious of its weight you wrap your hand around the handle and lift it up, mindful to not cut yourself 

It had some weight to it, but it’s not unbearably heavy. It could definitely be useful, that's for sure, that first aid kit even more so! You really wished you hadn’t lost your hand luggage in the storm, you could have carried all this easily with your backpack

To make matters more complicated, you don’t see anything on the shelves that resembled a case for the blade, so you have no idea how in the world you’re going to carry it around safely 

“....Well” you eye the first aid kit “Lets see what you have inside you huh?” you decide, tugging it down from the shelf along

A very brief look inside shows you it’s reasonably supplied, with a decent roll of bandages left, some unopened disinfectant wipes, a hand cloth, plasters and even a needle and thread, which you really hope you won’t have to use

Still, it’s something, and the peace of mind knowing you have the proper tools to dress an injury if you get a bad one is enough for you

You stuff the twine into the case, the torch goes into your other pocket and then you meticulously wrap the blade up in the cloth. It’s not the best handiwork you’ve done, and it’s not the smartest solution (calling it smart at all seemed like a stretch), but it was all you could think of as a temporary solution. Better that then you unintentionally stabbing yourself

Giving the room one last look over for anything else that might prove useful, you exit the steering room five minutes later with blade in one hand and medical kit in the other, a newfound vigor pumping through your being 

“Tide is still pretty far out”

Hand settling above your brow you squint at the blue, horizontal line drawn back across the mudflat

The sun hung high in the sky, a strong indicator it must have been the early beginnings of the afternoon, that gives you reason to believe you had, at the very least, a few hours before the sea came back in 

With the shipwreck explored, you see no further reason to linger. You hadn’t forgotten your original objective that had urged you to crawl your way out from the lagoon and to the beach, rather than fester in a depressed lump on the floor. 

Still, if you were leaving anyway, you might as well appease your curiosity of what lies at the far end of the ship. Two birds with one stone and all that 

Crossing the space between you and the end of the ship, aside from the evident winch centred in the middle and the twisted coils of rope knotted inside the feeding system, there’s not a great deal. While you are still no more knowledge on boats than you were before you’d stumbled across the wreck, you wonder if a malfunction with the winch was in anyway related to why it was beached

The immense length of netting feeding out from the winches mouth was a disorderly mess of thick, inky black string. It looked like it had gotten jammed, whoever had been steering the boat prior to its crash hadn’t even ordered for their team to draw the netting back in, leaving it to trail off down the rear of the boat and onto the sand 

Still, whatever reason caused the boat to crash, you knew it had happened a long time ago, and you could only hope that however big the crew was, that they didn’t suffer too badly

Did any of them even survive being washed up on the island, or would you stumble across their naked, skeletal remains. Or worse, did those creatures get to them before they got to the shore, you wonder morbidly-

You shake your head so quickly it practically becomes a blur, your windswept hair tossing back and forth across your shoulders

‘No no!! Lets not think about that!’

Hoping to outrace your own thoughts you make a beeline back to the ladder

The first aid kit is the first to take the descent down, you opt to let it drop to the floor and collect it later rather than risk climbing with it in hand. Thankfully, it lands with a harmlessly thud in the sand, and once your feet land on the ground you find it undamaged after inspecting it 

Exiting back through the tear you take a minute to brush yourself and the first aid kit off, before you round the side of the boat to scavenge any remaining pools. The netting from the boat has been carried over to the side from the insistent pull of the ocean, and idly, you brush your hand along the taut rope like it’s a makeshift safety railing before it droops too low for your hand to follow

If you were completely honest, you were beginning to doubt you’d find anything given your string of luck so far. But with a fresh medical kit, new tools and even an energy bar on hand, you find yourself not nearly as frustrated as you could have been

“This will make getting fruit off the papaya skins easier at least” you say while turning the knife about in your palm “Maybe even help crack open some coconuts” you add more as an afterthought through a hum 

A knife was a game changer

Not only did the idea of harvesting fruit from trees no longer bring forth as much annoyance, but potentially, you might be able to start an actual fire. 

So far, you’d been keeping warm as best you could with the very clothes on your person, your old jacket you’d had since college, and any intact palm tree leaves. It was helpful that whatever continent you’d washed up in seemed to be one of a warmer climate, so the nights weren’t terribly chilly. 

The idea of being watched by sets of hungry eyes in the shrubbery was what kept you lying awake rather than the cold . Even if you didn’t want to entertain the idea of potentially having to use the knife in self defence against an animal, an animal that was just trying to survive like you, knowing you had the means to defend yourself was as reassuring as it was uncomfortable 

At the thought of having to actually fight back against a predator, your eyes unconsciously turn to the sea, pace slowing to an anxious crawl. You’re all too aware of your own fragility all at once, your head swinging on a pivot, feeling the need to rescan your surroundings for danger 

Fidgeting to move, your walking speed shifted to something with more oomph to it, hurriedly shuffling along while being mindful of the space between the edge of the treeline, yourself, and the water

The weight of being ambushed now pushed on your mind like a sack of bricks, fueling your internal panic

Attempting to calm down, you inhaled a greedy lungful of air, sighing loudly “Easy, you're okay..nothings happened yet”

You tried to apply logic to soothe the monkey part of your brain, the part that is the reason for why you’ve lost so many hours of sleep and also the part that’s helped you adapt so far. Your attempts are only half affective, leaving you somewhat calmed, but the anxiety still bubbles within you

“You’re far away from the water, and a creature that big wouldn’t swim into shallow waters anyway unless it needed to” 

The rocks start to form a small incline, and with your hands full holding the med kit and knife, you turn to walk around it rather than scale it, practising calm breathing as you do so

“If I feel scared, I can just run into the trees. There's no way it would follow me inland!” the reminder that the treeline was less than ten feet to your side is seemingly a needed one, your shoulders hunched forward from stress beginning to gradually ease 

“I’m perfectly safe” you breathe, your voice carrying finality to it that has you nodding in agreement with yourself. 

Yes, you are safe, you’re well out of the line of danger from any giant, logic defying creatures that make you question all information humanity holds of the sea. The tide is far out and the temperature high, the further thing from ideal conditions for any animal of the sea

All evidence pointed to you being well and truly safe

You aren’t prepared for the sight that greets you once you have cleared the side of the rock 

There's a body resting against the mudflat, taller and thicker than you by bounds, a tipped up head with a face that’s about as similar to a human as you’d hoped to find on the small area of land. Netting is wrapped around and around its body, pinning its arms down sharply and twisting around it’s lower half adorned by fins, at an awkward angel that has to be uncomfortable

He’s there, trapped before you, a terrifying, unimaginable creature not of your world

Just as you begin to think what you were seeing can’t possibly be real, the damn things chest moves. It’s breathing. It’s alive

With a cry, you throw yourself backwards, tumbling clumsily into the sand where your arms and legs work overtime to propel you away, scrambling to conceal yourself behind the rocks 

Hurriedly shuffling onto your rear, you shove yourself backwards, spine pressed back against the cold surface of the rock where you get a moment to collect yourself, desperately gulping down air that was never enough to fill your lungs

It seemed however, your less than graceful announcement of your presence had stirred the beast from its slumber 

It bellows a loud, haunting croon that launched a heavy rock straight into your stomach that has it bottoming out, and in fear of alerting it further to your presence, you slap your hands tightly over your mouth 

You hear movement, the ground shaking as the gargantuan body of muscle shifted and flexed out of sight just beyond the rocks. The sound of rope stretching to its limits has you casting a cautious glance to the thick, twisted vine of netting nearby that is pulled firmly across the mineral formation supporting you

It loosens by a millimetre, then tightens with a strained snap noise. A distressing, quiet rumble sounds into the air, and then silence. You dare not breath in fear it will discover you’re still lingering, still within attacking range

You brace yourself for something, any kind of sound that would indicate the creature was going to attack you, to find the strength to rip apart its bindings and devour you whole in one bite

The treeline isn’t so far away you couldn’t make a run for it, but that would mean revealing yourself, that would mean turning your vulnerable back and nape of your neck to the creature. Two things you are NOT planning to do

In the very next second, not entirely sure if your panic made you imagine it, you hear a whuff of an exhale, and a low, lamenting croon. It almost sounded…hopeless 

Your panic subsides, just a little

It takes you a minute, to gather what scarce remains of courage you possessed to move out from your hiding spot, carefully peaking out your head to eye the limp body of the beast on the sand 

Despite the terror it’s very presence strikes into your being, its head lolled unsteadily on its shoulders, almost drunkenly. Its tail shifted weakly in the netting, before falling completely still.

Now that you were taking a moment to get a proper look, you can see how the twine had cruelly scraped away the outer layer of its thick pearly white and orange skin, rubbing parts of its sensitive stomach and sides raw from it’s fruitless struggling, revealing the soft, pink flesh underneath 

Despite your fear, you wince at the sight, a ghost of sympathy crossing your face. That looked…really painful

Its breaths are shallow, it’s chest rising only by a few inches with each laboured breath, before deflating with flared nostrils

You make the mistake of letting your eyes travel up further, and you frown at the sight of one particular part of the net that digs into the valley between the bottom of the creature's neck and shoulder blade

The area surrounding the twine already looked decently red, and you can’t begin to imagine the hot irritation it was causing

Your attention moved higher, distantly noting the jagged scratch lines dragged in the sand from the beings claws, and the imprint its head left in the damp sand…an imprint..-

Every single thought in your mind evaporates as you decide to snap your eyes towards the eldritch mers head, where you find its hazy focus angled in your direction. You freeze, ice shooting down your veins and scratching goose bumps along your back

The mer doesn’t move, so much as twitch to your presence, studying you warily, black iris’s thin, threatening lines against turquoise pupils. Lips peel back over teeth that instinctively has you recoiling with a whimper, your monkey brain ready to catapult you into the safety of the forest while a threatening growl ruptures from the mers throat

But then something peculiar happens, something which makes you blink at the mer, your brows furrowing  

His growling fizzles away, his pupils go fuzzy, unfocused, blinking just barely cracked open eyes out of sync. The fins on either side of it’s head droop simultaneously to the wheezing sound of him exhaling, he suddenly looked…exhausted

The tension lifts from your shoulders, not fully sure if the mer is completely aware of your presence or not anymore. Looking at his face, and the notably distant quality to his gaze, it was like he was peering through you. When pale lips seal back over his teeth, you curiously find yourself not feeling any peace of mind

You failed to suppress a flinch when the creature allowed it’s head to flop heavily into the sand

How long had he been beached??..

Beating down from its place hung in the sky, you squint up at the sun, throwing up your hand to try and shield your eyes from stinging too much. It’s sweltering, and despite the slim collection of layers you were wearing - that consisted of a slightly dirtied plain top and a pair of trousers - you’re sweating buckets

In the time you’ve spent on the island, you’d lost what had to have been at least a stone in weight through sweat alone 

It’s too hot out.

The direness of the situation hits you in an instant, causing you to throw your head back towards the mer who was laying unnaturally still, but then a rumbling whine wrenches you out of your thoughts with a visceral jolt 

You have to shake yourself to refocus, something that you feel is becoming second nature, before you eye the rest of the rocks just beyond the mers body. 

With the beast restrained, you could continue safely. You could slip by him, if you were careful enough, perhaps undetected

You needed to find more food

Tightening your jaw, snorting out a breath, you work fluidly to collect up your first aid kit and the knife which you had dropped in your fumble to get away, before hauling yourself up.

Your legs buzz, pins and needles tickling the bottoms of your feet and thighs from how long you had remained sitting. You ignore the pain, pushing off to meet the rest of the rocks

It’s hard to maintain a calm walking pace for your tingling legs while you keep your eyes locked onto the massive body of the mer. Even if they were restrained, you were not about to risk the chance of those rows of teeth biting through the netting and launching at you, but even so every subtle shift of it’s tail has a lump further lodging itself in your throat 

When the rocks are within five feet you practically jump for them, quickly throwing yourself behind the largest one that could hide your body, releasing a breath your body had been holding hostage

You fear you might cry from the way your body runs cold with a potent mix of weariness and immense relief of not being caught, so you clamp your eyes shut, craning your head until the back of your skull softly bumps against the rock 

Somewhere behind you, you can just about hear the frail wheezing of the creatures lungs fighting to intake air, which you promptly ignore 

You owe the beast nothing. Just find more food and go back to the lagoon

Standing to your feet you waste no time in marching ahead, eyes narrowed and intense, busy searching for more pools, maybe if you honed enough of your attention on the task 

at hand you’d forget all about the encounter that just transpired

Alas, despite the wishes of your mind, something within you compels you to turn your eyes to the far off sea still drawn out from the beach 

Unlike yourself, the tide is in no rush to gravitate back towards the soft sand that formed the surrounding beach of the island. Neither is the sun pressured to lower any faster in the sky, not even a passing cloud for it to duck behind even temporarily 

A sinking feeling that causes your stomach to bottom out returns, but for an entirely different set of reasons

Your feet grow restless with the sensation of pins and needles sparking under the flesh 

Reluctantly, knowing it's a bad idea, you turn your head over your shoulder. You can’t see the mer too well from your current position, but to your dismay, you clearly hear the sound of it’s wounded cry that carries through the air

It doesn’t want to be trapped…

…The lump returns in your throat as you peer down to the ground

You can’t believe it, that you’re even considering turning back 

It’s moronic, utterly insane! What were you expecting the mer to do once it was freed? Shake your hand and thank you and then let you walk away?! 

“It’s not my problem” you speak, pressing the ball of your hands into your eyes, muttering the mantra over and over, yet the way your voice carries doesn’t pair with the fact your fighting to re-enforce

‘Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. DON’T get involved!..’

…..You turn your head skyward with a sigh

Placing your first aid kit back down by the rock you’d been hiding behind, shaking all the way, you retrace your steps back to the stranded mer

He’s right where he was before, body just barely shifting under the movement of his weak breathing. Your grip on your knife grows tighter, knuckles turning weight, threatening to crush the handle as you unhurriedly remove the cloth covered the blade

You have no doubt in your mind the knife would be able to cut through that netting, getting close to it was were things were going to get interesting

With every bit of caution you could muster, not daring to even blink for one second, like the mer was going to turn on you and reveal his weakened state to be a trick to play at your little human heartstrings, you begin to close the narrowing space of distance between you

You don’t even pay any mind to the fact you can’t so much as hear your heartbeat in your ears as you do feel it galloping a mile per minute, it’s the massive, tangerine dipped body of the mer, that has your full attention 

It continued to huff for air, and when you are so close you could touch him - well within the creatures throttling distance - do you see how it’s eyes have gradually closed

Must have drained itself of energy in its efforts to free itself, your chest ached in pity at the thought

Tightening your lip, swallowing painfully, the up close, personal look you get of the damage caused by the netting only makes your stomach feel hollow

The flesh of his body goes as stiff as a log with each inhale that inflates his chest, pushing back against the netting which only further worsens the pressure on his skin. A broken whimper tumbles from his mouth, face twisting despite how his eyes stay closed 

You HAD to get this netting off him

There’s a tremble to your hand which you are acutely aware of as you timidly reach your tiny little human appendage towards the mer. Without warning, he inhales sharply, and like you’ve been scorched your hand retreats to safely curl by your chest

The prominent fin atop his back tried to raise with his breathing, but only manages to pathetically twitch beneath the two lines of netting restraining it

You wait, still as a mountain - you didn’t know it was possible for the human body to become so still - before the behemoth's body deflates. Every rational cell in your body was screaming at you to bail, but one look back to the firm netting wound about the mers body, and you know backing out isn’t an option 

Cutting down on the rope wouldn’t work, you might nick more skin, and you don’t fancy having your flesh becoming acquainted with the creature's teeth if you unintentionally stab them. You’d need to cut upward 

A thin sheen of sweat along your forehead reminds you of the sun's intensity, and that time is still not on your side. The longer you hesitate, the more pain the creature would be in, you needed to act 

Forcing your body into motion, careful motion, you lay your hand onto the creature's side. His skin was smooth, and what has your worry tripling, near bone dry. The fact that the mer doesn’t seem to react to your touch is something you decide is a good thing, it’s deleria playing to your advantage, and offering you the needed push to begin cutting 

Wiggling your hand under the first line of netting that wrapped over and around the mers stomach, you manoeuvre the flat side of your blade beneath it and begin to cut. Every fibre that breaks away has you sending quick, observing glances to the mers head, which remained laying sideways in the sand 

The piece of netting you’d been sawing at cracks apart with a sharp SNAP, falling away from the beast's body. Precious little inches are returned, allowing the muscles of his lower body to expand without restraint, yet it still managed to carve an angry indent across its scales

You don’t know what it was that possessed your hand, reaching out until you softly brush your fingers over the mark in some innately human attempt at comfort

‘It’ll be a while before this mark fades’ -  you think sadly, your thumb now brushing back and forth against it -  ‘But at least there isn’t any blood, seemed it didn’t cut too far into-’

At once aware of the sensation of your hand brushing its sensitive skin, the mers eyes snap open. Enlarged pupils shrink to glinting slits, lips drawing back into a snarl with a thundering shriek 

It’s thrashing throws up wet clumps of sand and water that flicks speckles across your face and legs, yet somehow you don’t loosen your grip on your cutting knife in spite of the fear that explodes across your senses

“H-HEY HEY! Woah!- Easy! I-I’m trying to help!-” the monstrous creature reared to the best of its ability, not caring for your explanations, somehow summoning the strength to lift its upper body where it then crashed back into the sand

Panicking, you back peddle and just barely avoid getting your legs crushed

Heart attacking feeling imminent, you launch yourself to the next piece of rope before your body can overpower your mind. A startling shrill threatened to deafen you as another section of netting broke in half with a CRACK, another red line indented in its place. That time, you don’t waste a second to feel sad over it 

Each frantic smack of their tail has your heart threatening to jump out of your throat, every muscle, internal organ and blood cell itching to sprint to the safety of the trees. Each new snap of netting breaking away earns you a blood chilling roar which slices a year off your lifespan, and yet, your body move swiftly without your control 

When you get to the trail, you don’t even think about how it would have been smarter to leave the tail for last so you wouldn’t get battered, or how using your own small, delicate human body as a weight to hold it down was not your best example of improvising 

“Don’t worry!! I’m gonna get you out! J-Just a little bit longer okay?” Why you’re still speaking you don’t know, it’s clear the mer can’t understand you, though maybe you’re trying to reassure yourself more than him

Pinning the very end of his tail down with one hand, the muscle just thin enough for your palm to easily circle it, you start with the parts of netting that have coiled themselves far too tightly around its bottom fins. They’re scrunched up in a way that, if left, you’re positive will leave long lasting scarring

The down side? Given how badly tangled the rope was, you’d have to take your time to cut the netting away 

The body of the mer still thrashed even as you begin the meticulous task of slicing away the net as meticulously and quickly as you can, each gruelling snap as the material frays against the edge of your blade and every warning cry from the head of the creature has you feeling nauseous from the pressure weighing on you

Pushing more onto your knees, one leg either side of the mers tail to steady yourself, you suppress the urge to stress vomit. Barely.

More snaps and cracks of the rope free more and more skin, allowing the tail fins room to breathe and uncurl to their full glory, slapping the sand angrily at your persistent closeness “E-Easy big guy, almost done! Just gotta-”

You jerk your arms back as another piece of the netting breaks apart violently. The reaction from the mer comes sooner than you expected 

The moment it falls to the sand, the tail under you is torn from beneath you. There was still some netting tying it down, and you feel your heart plummeting when in a powerful yank, the mer recoiled and the netting broke in half with the sound of a cracking whip 

As soon as it registered its tail was free it reared upward, arms tearing downward on the last remainder of rope upon its chest that broke as though it was threading. It spasmed wildly, truly like a fish out of water, and before you can come to the sinking realisation your luck might have just run dry, you are hurled away

You were sent flying, cutting off your yelp of terror just in time before you land face first into the sand. You aren’t left laying dazed against the sand for more than a second though before your reliable instinct of flight springs you back to reality. Scrambling back on your arms you heave, searching eyes locating the beast some distance from you, swaying and huffing 

Numbly, you clench your hand, and pale when you don’t clasp around plastic. You must have lost your knife in the tumble, but you’re nowhere near confident enough to shift even a miniscule slither of your attention away from the very awake, free mer

The mer stumbles, propped upward on trembling arms as if it was a struggle to do so, head swinging unevenly, blinking owlishly as if he was trying to refocus. Strenuous breaths are gulped down into his shaking lungs through an open mouth, were just barely, you catch a peek of razor incisors 

Your breathing quickens, chest rising and falling beneath the flimsy fabric of your shirt which feels like your only means of armour protecting your flimsy human skin, and when those peacock blue pupils and thinned, wary slit eyes hone onto you - as though the mer had remembered your presence - fear crashed into you with the force of a meteorite 

This was it

Visions of a sandy grave flash across your mind as you wonder, will you be painstakingly torn limb from limb, or will this beast elect to grant you mercy and put you out of your misery before consuming your flesh. Would it use your bones as toothpicks? Keep your skull as some souvenir??

You want to yelp, to throw your arms over yourself in some meager defence, but you find yourself unable. So you sit there, paralysed from hysterical fear, eyes wide as plates, dreading the moment the mer will explode into motion and lunge at you

….Why wasn’t he moving??

You almost leap out of your skin when the creature unexpectedly clicks, observing you through narrowed eyes, the fins decorating the side of its face raising, but you don’t pay those details much mind. How could you? When the creature has its entire attention solely on you

What the hell was it doing?? Weighing the pros and cons of if you’d make a satisfactory meal??

Somehow, someway, you find the power to pull trembling words from your throat, just barely managing to speak them clearly “W-What?..” you ask, and the mers tail shifted along the sand, flicking upward once. It doesn’t avert its eyes

It moved. It’s body glided slowly yet calculatedly towards you

You panic, resuming your mad scrambling in a desperate attempt to keep yourself within a bubble of safety. For every inch you slide back, the mer covers several with ease, until your hand slips against the damp sand and you fall back onto your elbows with a grunt

The mer is practically on top of you before you can blink, lips thankfully only parted slightly, but that’s still too much, you can see the outline of their teeth

Claustrophobia and megalophobia simultaneously wrap around your chest like a great boa constrictor, pleading for the flesh of the earth to swallow you

Powerless, and utterly small against the creature caging you, you clamp your eyes shut - moisture still leaked from them regardless -  and bite on your gums, whining pathetically. If the worse was to come you didn’t want to witness it 

Sniffing

You feel strands of hair along your scalp wafting, then a blast of hot air blasts over your face, sending them back. What in the actual hell was it DOING?! Was it going to eat you or not?!

You don’t want to look, incapacitated by the overwhelming fear you’ll be annihilated if you so much as twitched. But you must, you need to see what it’s doing, need to see with your own eyes how hard it was contemplating it’s next actions, the actions that decided if you lived or became slowly digested

Shaking like a chihuahua, your eyelids peel back

The mer had leaned back considerably, but seemed shocked at the sight of your pupils staring back at him. It’s not obvious what emotion was on his face nor what he was thinking, but the wave of his fins and the trill that gurgles in the back of his throat portrayed something mildly inquisitive 

…You tilted your head, and to your perplexed shock, the creature cautiously mimicked

“Uhm-” your voice abruptly cutts itself of when you catch the mers pupils contract once again, you try to retract your head into your shoulders like a tortoise 

It leaned forward, eyes narrowed, fins pinned back to the sides of its head giving it the impression of an overly large, annoyed house cat. A house cat with predatory claws and teeth, a very scary, predatory house cat

You swallow, unable to look away

….It uttered a single, pitched chirp in your face, before quick as a flash, it jumps off you and makes a mad dash towards the retracted oceanline

As if recalling you needed air to function, you gasp, chest inflating to its fullest before you exhale, though it sounded more like a poorly disguised wheeze. Everything felt heavy, your body drained of its energy reserves leaving you running on fumes that gradually, if sluggishly, pushed you to sit up

The body of the mer bounding towards the sea on its stomach is a safe enough distance away that you felt it was fine to stand, your legs wobble beneath you, your centre of balance skewed alongside how winded you felt.

Heaving for air that never seemed to satisfy your burning lungs, you watch as the dot of the mer becomes smaller and smaller in the distance, until its shape disappeared beneath the blue of the sea and slipped out of view beneath the waves 

You’re…alive

You’re not bleeding chunks in the bottom of the creature's stomach

To double check, you press two fingers to the side of your neck, where the rapid thump of your pulse races below 

You were alive. Shaken, terrified, perhaps even traumatised, but alive

….Your legs buckled with a weak groan as you collapsed to the ground again, you needed a minute

[knowbites]

　　　I GUESS I'M IN LOVE　　۶ৎ　　kim seungmin.

☕　────　you're everything that i want but i didn't think i'd find ..

⠀ ksm x f reader !⠀⠀6, 3 k.⠀⠀fluff, college au⠀⠀ 𓈀 ⠀⠀ wc.⠀⠀descriptions of social anxiety, getting drunk and kisses. this is based on a personal experience, but it's also based on the love of my life @skzms 's drabble "seungmin in love" which you should check out!

notes.⠀⠀i hope may doesn't mind i bring this back... on her bday <3 (and hour late but let's pretend) happy, happy bday mayy! my lovely teri asked me to post it again because she really liked it, so i saved it for your bday. i listened to i guess i'm in love by clinton kane while writing this btw!

You had never mustered the courage to talk to a boy until university made you come out of your shell.

The morning you had stepped into the lecture hall for the first time, ready to listen to the dean of your faculty give the introductory talk, you had sat alone in one of the front rows—hanging on every word, your heart racing restlessly. You hadn't known anyone among the crowd, and you had decided you would rather focus on the speech, secretly hoping some extrovert would adopt you, than take the first step and start an interaction with a stranger.

But making new friends wasn’t as easy as your high school besties, studying in another town, had made it sound.

You had been shy since you were a child, feeling a sense of panic creeping up your chest at the mere thought of you ending up alone but unable to do something about it, and you were incapable of approaching someone and starting a conversation from scratch. Your fear had always been a prison and the guardian of an anxiety that swirled inside your ribcage, but at college it translated as the number one reason why you had ended up hiding in that lonesome table at the library during all your free hours, instead of hanging out with classmates.

Everyone was new in the first year, most of them didn't know anyone either, but unlike them, you had felt that an invisible wall separating you from them, preventing you from mingling with other students and interacting properly. Not that you wanted to—sometimes you thought you were better off alone, with your music and your inner peace—but there were times when the solitude became suffocating.

Until you met Kim Seungmin. Quiet boy with warm coffee gaze and broad shoulders, usually sitting in the front rows, focused on your professors’ words.

You hadn't spoken to him, at least not at first. You hadn't even realised he existed, at the beginning. You were too scared, mind set on the classes to avoid noticing the silence that clouded your room, and he was just another classmate in the core subjects shared by all those who studied the same degree as you. He smiled softly at the jokes of the teachers he liked, became more serious in the most difficult lectures, and tried not to show his exasperation when the annoying student in the first line of desks made their trademark rancid comment. By late October, you hadn’t even known his name.

But eventually, you found yourself waiting for those little reactions. Like you, he also showed up ten minutes before the first class started, sitting alone, and he also came to school with his headphones on, drowning out all the noise in the corridors with some music. He would arrive with his dark blue backpack slung over one of his shoulders, and a book in his hand—the same one he would read for a while before the professor arrived. You smiled to yourself as you watched him, writing down the titles of his readings, looking forward to the classes you shared with him.

And then you saw him appear for the first time in the library. You were already a regular visitor of the silent place, always at one of the more secluded tables, your back to the wall, your laptop a shield protecting you from the other people in the room. And he had slipped quietly in, ears covered by his black headphones, leaving his backpack on the table in front of yours. For a moment you had stood still, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, the word on your document half-typed, your breath caught in your throat.

And then you had looked away, going on with your work.

It was stupid to react like that for someone you didn't even know.

Right?

But the next day you repeated your little choreography, sitting opposite of each other, in complete silence, a calm and concentrated reflection of your own, right in front of you, as if there was a mirror in the middle of the tables. And the next day, and the next, and the next... For weeks, until it became a habit between the two of you.

You would leave class a little late, too, just because you knew it took him longer to collect his belongings, and you'd follow each other's shadows through the corridors until you reached the library. He would hold the door, a shy gentleman stopping in its tracks to let you in first, and you would smile sweetly at him. You would walk up to your designated table, and when you lent him the book you had used to find out information about a homework topic, he'd return the soft curve in your lips, showing his braces without an ounce of insecurity.

Not a word, but you didn’t need them to feel at ease in each other’s company.

You were comfortable with your dynamic because you didn't think you had any expectations. You didn't think you did. But as the days went by, you started to find him among people even when you weren't looking for him. Your friends, with whom you exchanged text messages, encouraged you to say hello, to introduce yourself, making you think that he could really be interested in you. And you'd let them, flushing at the thought of it. Then exam season had come around, and you had locked yourself in your dorm room to study—realising, in his absence, the impact he had left on your heart.

In February, you returned to your routine. And instead of facing the feelings that had been blooming even before spring, you welcomed back the habits you had implemented with Seungmin, happy to find that the time apart hadn't changed them. You hadn't really made a move, neither of you, but you were alone in your little bubble, and so you continued to meet at your library spot.

But by the second semester, the people around you had already got used to college life. The one you saw in the movies, going out half the nights of the week, hanging out in large groups of friends in the evenings, complaining about professors and gossiping in class. That comfort, you discovered, meant that there were people who would try to make more friends, or seek out a college crush that would motivate them to romanticise their lives.

One of the last days of winter—when the weather got warmer but still rainy— you realised that there was another girl waiting for Seungmin at the end of your class. A more outgoing and prettier one, the kind who always gave the right answers to the teacher and had a bunch of cool friends she hung out with. You heard her asking him if he could explain to her the latest topic discussed in class over a latte in the building’s cafeteria. And your heart sunk in your chest.

You had been waiting for him, like you had learned to do, in the edge of the door—ready to shamelessly accompany each other to the next lecture—, but staying there while the girl flirted with him made you feel uneasy, like you were intruding in the intimacy of her charming smile and casual brushes of her hand on his arm. A creep, in the corridor, witnessing what you couldn’t have. What you would never be able to be like. So you had ended up leaving. Without him.

That had been the first day you had gone to the library alone since your non-arranged meetings had taken place there, and you’d had to open the door for yourself. It had hurt, somehow. Like a dog so used to having a delicious meal when the bell rang that he started to salivate at the sound of it. You had taken the same steps every day, stopped in the same spot and waited for him to open the door for you with that silly bow he always did. 

But when you arrived at the door, your mind chose to forget how to wrap your hand around the handle. As if it wasn’t right because he was the one supposed to do it. Dragging yourself to a table that suddenly seemed emptier, you realised that you missed his smile. His steady presence, right by your side.

It hadn’t made sense, the way your heart jumped in your chest every time you noticed someone approaching your table. He was just a classmate. You hadn’t even talked that much, besides a quiet ‘Good morning’ and the usual nods of acknowledgement when you saw each other. Seungmin. The boy attending the same degree as you, another student in the faculty. But somehow you had grown accustomed to him as a constant—especially because there were so many absences in your life, it was easy to notice when he was gone.

And it had scared you. For a moment, thinking you had taken things way too far, that you had let the attachment blossom under your own watch. Wondering if it was unhealthy, the intensity, the muchness you carried with yourself. If you were somewhat broken, unable to keep normal relationships with the people around you, or it was just an illness you had no control over.

You had wished, as it usually happened, that you were braver.

Instead, the next day you skipped class.

A coward, really. You had only missed the class you knew you shared with Seungmin, and you had felt guilty enough. You'd gone to the interactive seminars without fail, your mind scattered and an emptiness in your chest, but you hadn't been able to purposely attend the same class as him. You would have felt compelled to talk to him, to greet him or ask him about the girl from the day before, and at the same time you hadn't felt able to deal with it. So you had spent the day thinking you were an absolute coward, not fully understanding why your brain worked the way it did.

But an afternoon of self-loathing and overthinking, curled up on the sofa in the common room of the dorm一all a wandering gaze and sad music playing softly in your headphones一, made you realise that you had gone numb. Stuck. For a long time, imprisoned in the confines of your own mind, shackled to what people could say about you and the overwhelming burden of failing. To avoid bothering or speaking out, to reduce yourself to a shadow of what you could be so that the people around you could shine brighter.

And it didn't seem fair at all.

So you had muttered a quiet ‘fuck it’ under your breath.

The following day, early in the morning, on the bus一on your way to class一, you had managed to gather the courage to talk to a boy. For the first time, and all by yourself. To that boy.

You had approached him before class, slipping into a seat one line forward of where he was, taking a deep breath of air and exhaling it as you had tried to keep your nerves under control, eyes tightly closed. With your pulse racing, you had turned, resting one of your hands on his desk and catching his attention by waving softly. He had looked up from the intertwined sentences of his book, closing it as soon as he saw it was you addressing him, and you enjoyed a few more seconds of your tender bubble, his brownish gaze all over you, before bursting it.

Your words had been quick and breathy, stammering over possible coffees and shared hours, your eyes anywhere in the class but on his face. Your cheeks got incredibly heated when he responded calmly, a mask of stillness in contrast to the chaos of emotions spiralling inside him, and you had only interrupted the conversation when the teacher finally began the lesson, heart pounding against your ribcage.

But you had done it! Stepping out of your comfort zone, and risking your carefully threaded silence, your convenient and easy peace, just to approach someone. In return, you got the chance to spend time with Seungmin, and the exhilaration of a new achievement.

That was the first free hour of your strict schedule you had disrupted your way to the library in favour of a trip to the cafeteria. You had felt that warmish touch in your shoulder every time his had brushed yours, and a burst of pride inside your chest when you had realised you were finally enjoying something you had worked for—even if it was as silly as hanging out with a not so new friend.

You had heard him order an iced americano with syrup, greeting the lady behind the counter with rehearsed confidence, and waiting—his gaze tracing across the profile of your face—for you to ask for what you wanted. Then he had guided you to one of the tables at the back, letting you sit on the bench with its back against the wall. Almost as if, somehow, he knew that it was what you preferred.

For a moment  you had wanted to get your hopes up, to think that he actively thought of you as much as you had thought of him, but it didn't actually make any sense. So you had sighed, setting your bag down beside you, and intertwined your own fingers in a nervous gesture.

You had been the one to propose the plan, but you realised then that you had been so sure he would say ‘no’ that you hadn't planned any further.

You had wandered your gaze in silence, steadily, slowly, trying not to meet his at any point, your shyness forcing stitches of thread on your lips, unable to utter a word. At least until the waitress had appeared with her tray and your drinks, and Seungmin's raspy ‘thank you’ broke through your bubble. You had uttered your own appreciation, no sound actually coming out of your throat, but the beginning of a smile tugged at your lips when he managed to continue a conversation that hadn't existed until then, asking you how you had adjusted to the lectures, to college, and how was life at your dorm.

And then you let loose like a torrent. The stuttering edges of your mouth had tightened, answering in few words and short sentences how your university experience had been going until then, daring even to lock your eyes with his when you returned the question, painfully eager to hear him speak. And as he told a story similar to yours, albeit with many more friends than you had, you had reached your trembling hands towards your cup, taking it and sipping a small amount of coffee.

You had tried not to let it show, but the bitterness of the drink enveloped your taste buds in a flavour you were not used to. Your eyebrows furrowed as you winced, swallowing the thick liquid in one gulp, avoiding triggering your gag reflex, and when you looked back at Seungmin, you noticed he had been watching you like a hawk. He had tilted his head, almost like a puppy would have, and picked up the cup you had just set down, wetting his lips to taste it. He had opened his eyes slightly, almost comically, and muttered what you both were thinking: “This is not what you ordered.”

Then he had gotten up to go reclaim it.

You had felt the heat rise up your neck and settle on your cheeks, unable to believe what had just happened, and watched from your warm seat as the boy spoke to the woman he had greeted earlier. She was surprised and certainly apologetic because of the confusion, and he had shared a complicit grin with you while she repeated the whole process of making from scratch what you had ordered in the first place.

It had been Seungmin's gentle words when he finally returned, treating the porcelain with extreme care so as not to spill the contents, that made you suppress the apology you had had at the tip of your tongue. Perhaps he had decided that it was his responsibility—that the barista had mistaken the order—, but he had stood up for you because he had wanted to. You could read it on his face.

“Thank you so much,” you had said, a shy smile curving your lips, brushing his knuckles with your fingers as you took the new mug. You had closed your eyes to smell the sweet, thick hot chocolate you loved so much, sighing dreamily against it. “You didn't have to.”

Spring was coming to an end, but the mornings were still tinged with a freezing air that bothered you, because you never knew what to wear to class—when you got out of the dorm it was cold, but as soon as midday struck, the sun heated more than usual. So you had told Seungmin when you had opened your eyes and realised that he had been watching you again, but you tried not to retreat into the bashfulness that had kept you from interacting with him for so long.

You had been ready to get out of your comfort bubble once and for all, and having a conversation with someone who in your thoughts was no longer a stranger seemed like the natural option.

After that moment, it had been relatively easy. The words had flowed between you, asking each other about your lives and replying with more questions, exchanging anecdotes, dropping little jokes that elicited laughter, lost in each other’s gaze. As easy as breathing, the minutes passing by on the clock without even being aware of it, learning to read a new language—a new person—, through what you told each other. Opinions and experiences, comments and compliments, engaged in a dance that only you knew, until the alarm on your phone had started ringing, and you had realised you were late.

You had apologised with hurried syllables, quickly packing up, waving goodbye, and heading hastily towards the counter to pay for your drink. You had been surprised when the woman indicated that Seungmin had already taken care of it, and you had looked back for a few seconds to give him a beaming smile. He had mirrored it, leaning against the table you had been sitting at, and waved his hand in response. It had been when you got into the bus, on the way to the restaurant where you had agreed to meet your sister for lunch, that you had realised you hadn't asked him for his phone number.

Apparently, you hadn’t been the only one to think so.

The morning after your disaster of a first conversation, you had arrived early. You had sat in the third row, the fourth seat, just like you always did. And you had begun to doodle in your notebook, deep in thought, until you heard someone clearing their throat next to you. You had looked up, startled, until Seungmin made an exaggerated gesture of asking if he could sit next to you, and you managed not to burst out laughing at his antics when the teacher had come through the door to start the class.

And it had been when you had barely been able to keep your eyes open, the teacher's voice lulling you into a light sleepy state, that you noticed the tip of Seungmin's finger brushing your arm. You had turned slightly, ignoring the shiver that ran down your spine, and instead of questioning what he wanted, you found a sheet of paper folded over the pen that had slipped from your hand. You had opened it discreetly, glancing at Seungmin out of the corner of your eye, curious, and didn’t even bother to suppress the grin that curved your lips as you read a tight “Can I have your phone number?” in his collected handwriting.

You had written it down quickly, going over each digit twice to make sure there could be no confusion, and slid it across the table for Seungmin to tuck it away. You had nodded goodbye to him as the bell rang, parting ways, him going to the opposite side of the corridor, to another class. You had grabbed your bag, and sighed, not so keen to attend your remaining lecture.

At least until twenty minutes into it your phone screen lit up, receiving a new notification.

from: unknown number: hey, is it true that mr choi’s classes are soo boring? or my contact in his classes has shamelessly lied to me?

The contact in Professor Choi's class was you, because you had complained the day before about his classes to Seungmin, and the unknown number had to be him. You put the phone under the table, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice, and typed in the answer:

from: me mmm, you shouldn’t trust your contact they wouldn’t be boring if you were here

from: seungmin 🫶🏼 naah, i bet my classes wouldn’t be boring if my contact could attend them

from: me you can't use my own sentence as an answer that's like cheating

from: seungmin 🫶🏼 would it be cheating if i bribe you with another cup of hot chocolate?

from: me whatever you say, lover boy

You had tried to imagine Seungmin’s reaction, your subconscious tricking you with images of him blushing in the middle of his class, and left the phone in your bag. That interaction had made your entire day.

From then on, you continued to develop your friendship, intertwining yourselves like a tangled vine, unable to separate from each other. You shared more hours in the library, actually talking in between classes—in between and during classes—, and even hanging out together in some afternoons, when the summertime was closer and you ignored the upcoming exams with his guitar and iced tea in the park.

You too learned to enjoy the revising period leading up to the finals season, by exchanging knowing glances and turning boring lessons into jokes. You left your quiet table for the privacy of your dorm room, and he became comfortable enough to stop acting shy and feel like in his own home. You helped each other take breaks when the stress got too much, and explained what you knew better if the other one couldn’t quite understand the subject. He was the perfect study partner, and it had reflected in your grades, none of which had dropped below a C.

At the end of finals, once you had finished your second term and the beginning of your degree at college, Seungmin had invited you to one of the pubs his friends had shown him. He wanted to properly celebrate a successful academic year, and excused himself for not inviting them—he wasn’t ashamed of you, he just hadn't wanted them to say anything stupid in front of you.

But you hadn’t missed them, and neither did he. With a glass in his hand, he had followed you to the dance floor every time you had asked, his neck flushed and his eyes shying away from your figure when he realised the alcohol had disinhibited you enough to move your hips freely, flirting non-stop. It had been a memorable night, though you hadn’t kept a lot of memories, just inebriated snippets. When three in the morning struck, he was the one who escorted you to your dorm, just to make sure you got there safely, and you had been the one who drunkenly begged him to stay with you.

He woke up in the same bed as you, limbs intertwined, and almost dizzy at the softness of your skin against his.

The following summer break had distanced you a bit, each enjoying a couple of months of relaxation back with your family, although you did text weekly to each other with updates about your lives. But September started, and when the second semester began, it did so with many hours of late arrivals to class—something you hated, but which was certainly more bearable in his company and because of him.

You would gather together as soon as you arrived at the faculty on one of the benches by the entrance—him sitting comfortably with his ankle on his thigh, you with your knees against your chest, jumping from conversation to conversation until the bell started ringing. It always startled you, the high pitched, thundering sound, and you would always run up the stairs together, to get to class before the teacher.

You had learned to cope with it because somehow the stress of being late was compensated by the way Seungmin would touch you so he wouldn't lose you in the corridors. Hovering behind you, like a guard dog, guiding you to your class with his hand resting on the small of your back, making sure you got in before he wandered off into the crowd in search of his own, in case you didn't share it.

And in the free hours you had gotten to know his friends, or at least some of them. The first time had been in a class that had been cancelled last minute, on your way to the library, when you had seen Seungmin’s silhouette in the cafeteria, his broad shoulders framing the back of the chair. You had felt a little bit awkward at first, but still greeted them both—the short boy and the narrowed-eyed one—with a bashful smile, before asking them if they would let you sit in the chair by Seungmin’s side.

You had seen the knowingly smirks, and also their suspicious gazes, but they had made you feel like a long time friend of theirs, so you had shaken the creepy feeling out of your body. You had stayed silent most of the conversation, listening to their jokes and anecdotes, smiling upon the fact that they treated Seungmin like a brother—teasing him to death. And from then on you had always found a free seat by his side in your gatherings.

Your easiness with them, with Changbin and Jeongin, had solidified at about the same time you accepted that Seungmin just saw you as one of the group, and you had tried to stop getting your hopes up. Throughout the academic year, you had begun to participate in more conversations with his friends, becoming a little bit more social around them, and even actively participating in class, interacting with classmates and getting to know some girls with whom you thought a friendship could develop.

You had noticed Seungmin had been turning somewhat distant, but with your mandatory Friday movie nights and your weekly coffee dates—hot chocolate for you, he made sure they didn't mess it up again—, you assumed he had simply decided that he had more priorities, or had found himself so comfortable in your presence he didn't feel he had to contact you every second of his day. You were fine with having any part of him he decided to share with you.

At least until the beginning of your third year, the night of Minho’s birthday celebration. That October night you arrived late to the restaurant where the group had decided to hang out in, and the place where you normally sat, to Seungmin's right, was occupied by a freckle-faced blond you had seen around the dorm on some occasion. You greeted Seungmin with a quick kiss on the cheek, giving a high five to Jeongin, and went straight to the birthday boy, to congratulate him with a tight hug.

You had spent the whole week crocheting cute fruit-shaped hats for his cats, just because of a joke you two had, and Minho’s genuine reaction to the gift was to stand up, take you in his arms and turn you around, both of you giddily giggling.

You remembered that he had told you he couldn’t wait to get home to try them on his babies, and you commented that it was a crime for him to be all alone at the end of the table on such a special day. With that excuse, you sat next to him, leaning like two old oaks so that you could hear each other over the music, your knees touching and his arm over your chair, keeping you in his embrace.

At one point, after the whole group had gathered, during the dinner, when you followed Minho’s unfocused gaze directed at Seungmin, you discovered such a hard acrimony in his usually warm coffee eyes that you thought you had done something awfully wrong.

After that weird, tense moment, he didn't approach you during what was left of the night, not even to accompany you home, like he usually did.

You tried to talk to him about what had happened the next day, texting him when you woke up in your bed and he wasn't by your side. Seungmin, who normally would have been curled up against one of your pillows, didn't even bother to answer your message.

When you asked him again in the middle of the corridor, at the faculty, before a class you two didn't even share, you got no answer. You saw him building up anger and complex emotions inside, his narrowed eyes as transparent with his emotions as he usually was, but he refused to utter a word, leaving you to attend your lecture.

The absence of that trust you had thought you shared broke your heart.

And yet, that very same night he showed up at the university party night that Jeongin had organised—Thursdays were his favourite days to go out—still frowning. He arrived at the pub without even looking at you, as if it pained him to see you, deliberately sitting at the other end of the table.

That was the second time since the two of you had met that you weren't next to each other. You thought you shouldn't have been so sickenly desperate for his attention, so instead of begging for it, you just ordered a drink.

After the first sip, they just kept on coming.

You pretended not to care. For a few hours, you managed to make it seem real. But then that boy approached you, with the soft look Seungmin always gave you, and the same wide smile he reserved just for you… So you decided that knowing that you were willing to lie to yourself, at least you should get something out of it.

He took you to the dance floor, his polite hands sticking to holding you by your waist, and swayed to the rhythm of the music, his body pressed to yours. You pretended, again, it was him, and not this boy you couldn't even remember the name of. He was nice and gentle, and you had drunk a little bit too much, so when he slid his hands to your hips, and his mouth hovered dangerously close to yours, you couldn't help but allow it.

You exhaled a laugh over his lips, beaming smile under the coloured lights of the pub, and even though his body didn't feel right pressed to yours—it wasn't Seungmin's—you opened your mouth unders his when he kissed you, messy and hungry, and you kissed him back just as eagerly.

But the spell melted on your fingers as you parted, and you found all the details in his face that made him so different from Seungmin. He really wasn’t him, even if you had tried to pretend it did, and all the suppressed feelings flooded off you, eyes drawing in unshed tears.

You had apologised to him, again and again as you escaped his embrace, wandering around the dance floor until you collided with Changbin. He gave you a bright smirk, asking you how you were doing with Wonwoo, but the tragic pout that formed on your lips made him react, taking you by your shoulders and interrogating you about the guy, Wonwoo, trying to understand if he had crossed a line with you, if you were okay.

All you had managed to do was deny, before drunkenly asking him to take you home.

It was a terrible night. For you, crying for a certainty that felt heavy in your heart, throwing up until the first lights of dawn, and for him, who stayed and nursed you to sleep. And it was also terrible to wake up, when you realised you were alone in your flat. Alone, tangled in your sheets, and the alarm clock ringing, reminding you that you had a schedule to follow, and you had to go to class.

Seungmin was not on your self proclaimed bench when you arrived, as he hadn't been since Minho's birthday, but you sat down to wait for him anyway—just in case. And when the bell rang you walked up the stairs, slowly, hungover, like a ghost wandering the corridors of the faculty, ignoring the professor's disapproving face when you interrupted his speech by opening the door of the class. You paid no attention to his words, sitting down and doodling on your notebook, enduring as best you could the hour that lasted, leaving as soon as it was over.

You skipped the next one. It wasn't responsible, you knew, but it hadn't been responsible either to go to a pub on a weekday, and you had still attended to Jeongin's invitation. If the consequences to your actions were going to be going back to your dorm to sleep some more, you were glad to comply.

The quietness of the library sounded good, too, but it held too many memories.

So you put on your headphones, drowning the background noises to nothingless. And you wandered back to your dorm, weighted steps over the pavement, gaze sliding around the landscape… Until you saw him.

With his navy blue backpack slung over his shoulder, and the brown sweatshirt you had stolen from him in some chilly afternoons. He was going to class, you supposed, when you made eye contact with him. But you forced yourself to ignore him, continuing on your way.

You couldn't face him. All you could think about was the way he had avoided you, even when you had asked him why, and how you had kissed another boy just because it looked like him. You went upstairs in your building, the necessity to get as far as possible from him bubbling in your chest, walking through the doors of the elevator.

You knew he had followed you, but you wanted to be able to ignore him too.

Until you heard him.

“I love you,” he whispered, and you stopped dead in your tracks, paralysed. He then repeated it, this time louder. “I love you, I’m so sorry but I love you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned around slowly, utterly convinced that it was your imagination.

You took your headphones out, letting them rest around your neck, and looked at him—watched his expression. But his kicked out, glassy eyes were a reflection of how you actually felt, the waterline of his pretty eyes covered by a bubble of unreleased tears, and brows pitched.

You didn't feel as hungover anymore.

‘Ding!’

You reacted before the doors of the elevator closed, pressing the button on the panel, and took a trembling step out of it, into the hallway.

He looked tortured. His cheeks were coloured red, flushed with the shame that let you know everything you could think was true. Still, he was looking at you with a devotion you doubted he could feel towards you, like you hung the stars in the sky. But you had heard him.

Had you?

“What do you mean you love me?” you asked, and you hated the way your voice quivered.

“Don't—” he said, and he paused, like he knew he could mess everything up in seconds. “I love you. I hadn't realised, or maybe I did, but I hadn't accepted it until a couple of weeks ago.”

“What—”

“I love you, and I'm sorry because I've been an asshole about it, and you didn't deserve it,” he added, interrupting you. You shut your mouth, trying to understand what he was implying. “I got so jealous… When—You spent the whole night with him, and he did it on purpose, and I couldn’t—And then you kissed him and I—I didn't know what to do with what I felt about it—About you.”

He locked his eyes with yours, and he looked so broken it was almost tragic. But you were putting together the pieces of his improvised, chaotic speech—he was talking about Minho, about you, about you two—, and you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

You nodded, taking a step towards him.

He seemed frozen in the middle of the hall, frozen as you approached him, air caught at his throat as you slid a hand over his shoulder, like you always did before hugging him. You looked up, innocent beam in you eyes, and whispered into the shell of his ear:

“I love you too.”

His breath hitched, your mouth close to the corner of his lips, and his heartbeats quickened under your hand as you rested it on his chest, mirroring yours.

And then you kissed him. Eyes closed, devouring his sweet sighs as he pressed you to his body, backpack long forgotten on the floor. You kissed him, and his relieved smile, as you grinned into his mouth, sliding your hand up until you buried it into his hair. And he took you by your waist, and he hummed into you, and you breathlessly giggled when he pushed you into the wall at your back.

“I love you too,” you repeated, kissing him again and again, and you couldn't understand his answer but his lips were over yours again, carving those three words into your mouth.

ㅤㅤwith love ,　© mars.　do not copy, translate, repost, share this work as yours on other platforms or feed it to the ai !　🔭 ˚. ⋆͏

[mieczyhale]

if you actually cared about palestinians, if you actually wanted to help people in gaza, you would donate to accredited organizations that are actually making a difference

throwing your money at every gofundme you get sent is performative, it's ignorant, it's a real 'head empty' move. something a child with no internet knowledge or common sense would do.

and to continue to defend doing that just shows that you don't actually care about helping people in gaza. you just don't want to be wrong. you don't want to admit that maybe you've been wasting your own money and the money of those who follow you and follow the links you share

you can't vet gofundme's. 'reverse image search' isn't actually vetting. and you can't trust every person on tumblr who says 'trust me!'

i can't believe any of this actually has to be pointed out in the first place, let alone driven home repeatedly because y'all refuse to even CONSIDER you JUST MIGHT be wrong. that you just might have fallen for propaganda and lies designed to hit your desire to do right, do good, and help (falling for those things btw is common. it's easy. you're not bad for getting caught up in it, but i am judging you if you refuse to consider that might be where you are.) (this actually applies to gofundme scams AND whatever heinous antisemitic alternate universe you're living in due to the non-facts you eat for every meal)

i'm not a zionist

i can't be. i'm not jewish. (the jews i've interacted with do not seem to be as against the label 'zionist' being used by non-jewish folks as initially thought. so while i'm still not jewish, "zionist" is not an incorrect label actually. okay. update over. good talk.)

i am pro-peace, pro-two state solution, pro jewish self determination, pro palestine's continued existence, anti-ANYONE dying, and beyond fucking tired of y'all's bullshit

stop being fucking stupid

stop throwing your money in the trash

stop acting like your hate isn't hate

stop acting like you're on some fucking high horse and you have all the facts despite actually knowing absolutely fucking nothing because you refuse to listen to a single real non-token jew. you're antisemitic. i don't care that you don't think you are. you are. so many of you just are. and you don't get to decide you're not. just like a racist doesn't get to decide they aren't racist. if people in a group are calling you something there just might be a fucking reason for it, kathy

re-learn your internet safety, turn your brain back on, hop off the hate bandwagon, educate yourself beyond surface level shit the internet presents you with, make informed decisions based on facts, do things that will ACTUALLY help people in gaza.

be fucking better. do fucking better.

[wormizette]

ok so… blu scout…................…….

imagine loving your family more than anything and then finding out those memories aren’t even yours. they belonged to some other guy. blu scout doesn't have to

sooo i’ve been thinking about cross-team speedingbullet stuff lately and needed to get this out, usually i TRY TO let the art speak for itself but i know barely anything gets across. this is js my take/headcanon dump don’t take it too personal lol

first off, blu mercs are clones. they got all these fake memories of their “past” and a bit of each other, but none of it actually happened. they feel like they somewhat know each other but it’s just built-in impressions. kinda uncanny. red team at least had time to bond before getting cloned, so their relationships are real. blu team got the bootleg version of that

and scout's like 20-21 when he gets the job (in the comics where he's 26-27 he said he worked for miss pauling for 7 years, i portray him some years after like 22-24 years old), still just a kid really. the og's already full of insecurity and feeling like he doesn't fit in, now imagine a clone of that. with identity issues stacked on top.

he feels weird in his own skin, like, dysphoric? pissed off most of the time. can’t remember being paler, can’t remember ever having freckles. all the blu guys notice weird stuff like how their eyes don’t shine right but they try not to mention it. they’re also not allowed to leave the base, they're told red can’t either (which is a lie. red gets to walk out. blu do it too but have no idea that red's are allowed to)

and yea blu scout gets along with blu sniper but even that feels off. they have “memories” of their first interactions but scout feels like something's wrong. blu sniper supports him and all but scout still feels like he’s losing his mind sometimes. and meanwhile blu sniper is like………. well you probably saw my art. straight up OFF not just quiet like red sniper, but uncanny (I'd say he's a shizoid with no care to his problem with socialization in contrast to red sniper's insecurity and autism??) blu snipes has no personal space, no filter, no sense of boundaries, just chill in this weird detached way. he’s fine with his team but gives everyone that “something’s wrong” vibe

and here’s the part that kinda messes them both up — blu scout and blu sniper are both lowkey obsessed with their red counterparts. they feel like those are the people they actually met first, even if they never did. blu scout doesn’t fully trust blu sniper because something in him knows it’s not the real thing but they're close and try to make it up. blu sniper’s attached to both scouts but unlike red sniper he’s got no hesitation about crossing lines. while he doesn't have to do it to reach blu scout, it gets MESSY (TO SAY AT LEAST) while getting towards red

red scout and red sniper are okay btw. even though sniper's older and way more reserved he doesn’t see scout as a burden or some annoying kid. scout needs someone older to look up to a bit, but not in a way where he’s talked down to or treated like he’s less. prob is, sniper’s kinda scared of getting too close, doesn’t wanna mess scout up by becoming something like a father figure when he already sees himself as this old tired kinda broken guy. he’s ashamed of not being better, not being what scout might need but that’s the thing, scout’s not asking for some perfect role model, just someone who respects him and stays. and he proves that over time, shows sniper he’s serious, chooses to be there and eventually they get to something real and solid

blu will never get any of that

mourning for something he never had

what’s funny is how blu scout and red sniper were the most popular version of this ship like since forever but i never really got how it would work with how i see things. but after thinking more about the clone stuff i think it goes like… blu scout’s jealous of red in general, and his want to connect with red sniper turns into this weird frustration. he's mad at himself for even wanting this, he's mad that he barely has any chance. and red sniper is kinda confused by it, he doesn’t fully get why blu scout's acting like that but he also just… can’t bring himself to fight back ig… he’s too careful with scout, even the blu one. he feels sorry for him and tries to be gentle even if it's awkward

i actually got a ton more to say abt these two both in and outside the ship but this post’s already hella long and kinda unstructured waaaaaaaaaaah i hope you got what i meant tho!!!!!!!!!! really hope i won't die from cringe and get the motivation to do more eventually phew

[dduane]

Do you have any proven IBS friendly recipes you'd care to share on The Mind Palate? It's so hard to think of new things to cook when you tolerate like 5 vegetables 🥲.

Btw did you know there's another website called "mind palate", just without the "the"?

As regards IBS: I wouldn't dare share recipes purporting to be useful for other folks with this issue, as every kind of IBS is different. And even for any single IBS-haver, a recipe that's safe for you one week might not be safe for you two weeks later... because the ingredients have varied, or the relative amounts of them have varied, or something you're having with them might differ in ways that throw off their interaction with your gut. :/ This is a pain in the butt, but (shrug) here we are.

To manage my IBS—as there is at present no known cure, no matter what some people claim—I use the well-known Monash University FODMAP-based approach. When I started using it a few years ago—on realizing that some food-related symptoms I was experiencing mapped very closely onto descriptions of IBS symptoms—the abdominal troubles I was experiencing decreased by sort of 95% almost immediately.

The message was too straightforward to ignore. I immediately started adjusting my diet along FODMAP-conscious lines in an Every-Woman-Her-Own-Test-Tube sort of way, and quickly started discovering what gave me the most trouble. (To my intense annoyance, the chief answer to this question, among various others, was "onions and garlic." Two of my absolutely favorite things, and I find it hard to express how INCREDIBLY PISSED OFF this makes me.)

I'm also lactose-intolerant, but for that all I have to do is take a pill. As regards other IBS-triggering foods, there's no known way to stop the bad effects once they start. Some medications will let you offset some of the worst effects in their very early stages... if you take the meds soon enough. But you can't usually tell for sure until six to eight hours or so after a given meal whether "you chose poorly...", and whether you're going to spend the next two to three days bedridden, in more or less constant abdominal pain, and useless for any kind of work.

(sigh) Anyway. I'm fortunately not troubled too much by vegetables as a class.* Though I find (to my intense annoyance) that when I'm lucky enough to be in the right parts of Europe around Spargelzeit, asparagus is pretty much now off my menu. Like many other IBS-managing folk, I do have to be very careful around beans, pulses in general, and some kinds of fruit; and I have to limit my serving sizes/consumption.

(shrug) It's all an ongoing challenge. I had sixty-plus years of eating any damn thing I pleased, in whatever amounts I pleased, whenever I pleased. Now I have to very closely read ingredients labels to make sure there's nothing in a given innocuous-looking bag of snacks that's going to land me on my back for days. :) If it gets no worse than this for me, I'm sure I can cope. I'm just glad I'm in the EU, where detailed ingredients labeling is mandated even for street food stalls, and is also clearer than it is in a lot of other parts of the world.

Meanwhile: I'm sorry not to be of more help to you in this regard. I wish you good fortune in your journey to find safer veggies.

As regards other people's "mind palate" branding and websites: There are five or six different versions of the domain name out there. They don't bother us. I've been a Sherlockian for more than sixty years, and I'll make my puns (from newer variants on the great Theme) where I please. Those other users of the site name or similar domains? (shrug)

*...BTW, it's been brought to my attention recently that a rumor was making the rounds that I'm a vegetarian. (Once again, and not for the first time, wondering how the hell these things get started...?!) 😄 I'm an omnivore, and have never from the beginnings of my time in public life/fandom claimed to be otherwise. (And plainly, no one who's bought into this has ever seen me getting to grips with a steak. Vide this recent steak, last October I think, at Davy Byrnes—"the Moral Pub" as James Joyce once called it—in Dublin. It was yummy. And in the middle of it I had the concept for a really unusual novel occur to me. Meanwhile, that Hollandaise was lovely.)

(...but shrugging in a helpless way about the rumor) Maybe somebody saw me pass on all the meat-ish possibilities at some convention banquet in favor of the vegetarian one? That would simply have been because it looked better than anything else on offer. But right now, because of the IBS, meat and fish are (maybe paradoxically) safest for me. Go figure.

...Meanwhile—all that aside—as a fan of the place's cuisine for many years, I direct everyone's attention to the noble and excellent restaurant Hiltl (known to its fans as Hiltl Vegi), the world's oldest continuously operating vegetarian restaurant, in Zürich: a place old enough for Sherlock Holmes to have eaten there (and where I hope to send him yet). Come for the (predominantly Indian) lunch buffet. Stay for the wine list (one of the best in the city). :)

[m4rv3l-girl]

Hi! I was wondering if you could maybe do a smut with Bucky where the reader has like a choking kink?😅😂 I got the idea based off the song "if you think I'm pretty" by Artemas. Thank you! Great writing btw!

Say please

Warnings: Choking kink. Allusions to sex. Language.

The tension between them had always been a tangible thing, a charged current crackling in the air whenever they shared the same space.

Y/N had met Bucky Barnes under less-than-friendly circumstances—both thrown together on a mission that neither had wanted. She thought he was insufferable. He thought she was reckless. Every interaction since had been a verbal sparring match, each word laced with challenge, each glance a test of dominance.

It was a game they played. A slow, infuriating, addictive game.

And now? Now she was stuck with him in a safe house, the both of them nursing the wounds of a mission gone wrong, tension thick as the smoke still clinging to their clothes.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Bucky muttered, pressing a rag to the cut on his temple.

Y/N snorted, peeling off her tactical vest. "Says the guy who threw himself in front of a grenade instead of just letting me handle it."

"Yeah? And you'd be dead if I hadn't."

"Please." She rolled her eyes, shoving past him toward the kitchen, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist just enough to halt her steps.

That was the thing about Bucky—about them. He never let her get the last word.

"You got a death wish, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice dipping low, almost thoughtful. His fingers flexed around her wrist, not painful, just… firm. Daring.

Y/N felt a slow, simmering heat curl down her spine. "And if I do?" she countered, voice just as soft, just as dangerous.

Something flickered in his blue eyes, something dark and assessing. His gaze dropped to her throat for the briefest second before snapping back to her eyes.

He let her go.

Y/N ignored the way her pulse spiked.

The hours crawled by, the safe house suffocating with its too-small walls and the charged silence between them. Y/N spent most of it patching herself up, avoiding Bucky’s gaze when she caught him watching her.

She swore she could still feel his hand on her wrist. The ghost of his grip lingered, a brand against her skin, making her pulse jump every time she thought about it. She hated it. Hated that she was still thinking about it.

Y/N wasn’t the type to get rattled, especially not over something as stupid as Bucky Barnes and his unbearable, insufferable, way-too-steady presence. But tonight, there was something different. Something brewing under the surface, coiling tighter each time their eyes met.

And he kept watching her.

Every time she moved, every time she stretched an aching muscle or adjusted the hem of her torn tactical shirt, his gaze followed. Calculated, unreadable. He wasn’t being subtle, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"You got a problem?" she snapped, finally breaking the silence, not bothering to look up as she wiped the blood off her forearm.

"Yeah," Bucky drawled from the other side of the room. "You're bad at first aid."

Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for the expert medical advice, Sergeant."

"Seriously," he continued, pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward her, those damn heavy boots making his approach feel deliberate. "You're gonna get an infection."

She scoffed, but before she could brush him off, he crouched beside her, his flesh fingers taking her arm—not rough, not soft, just assertive. He pulled her hand away from the half-cleaned gash on her forearm, inspecting it with a furrowed brow.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to him touching her this much. Hell, they were usually too busy arguing to ever be this close.

His grip was warm, solid, and it sent an unwilling shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine," she muttered, trying to pull away, but his fingers tightened—not hard, just enough to remind her that he was stronger.

"Hold still," he ordered, reaching for the antiseptic. "Or don’t. Doesn’t bother me if it stings more."

Y/N glared at him, but it didn’t have the usual bite. It was hard to be properly pissed off when his hands were on her, when his scent was all leather and sweat and something unmistakably him, wrapping around her and making it harder to breathe.

He dabbed the antiseptic over the wound with frustrating gentleness, like he wasn’t the same man who had spent the last six months infuriating her at every turn.

She clenched her jaw. Why is this so fucking tense?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She and Bucky weren’t like this. They fought. They bickered. They threw punches on the sparring mat when words weren’t enough. But this? This slow, suffocating heat curling between them—this was new.

His vibranium fingers trailed up her arm absentmindedly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

She was.

Y/N’s stomach clenched, her heart hammering against her ribs. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse, and she knew he could feel it. Knew he could tell exactly what he was doing to her.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just finished tending to her wound with that irritating smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally let go, her skin burned where his fingers had been.

"There," he murmured, voice lower now, almost teasing. "All better."

Y/N flexed her fingers, pretending like she wasn’t trying to shake off the feeling of his touch.

"Great," she deadpanned, standing too fast. "Now go be insufferable somewhere else."

Bucky chuckled, slow and knowing, but he didn’t argue. He just sat back against the wall, stretching his legs out, arms folded across his chest. Watching her again.

Y/N turned away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck.

She didn’t succeed.

By the time night fell, exhaustion weighed on her, but sleep wouldn't come—not with the heat still lingering beneath her skin, not with the ghost of his touch still burning on her wrist.

She shifted restlessly in the cot, the mattress squeaking.

A sigh sounded from the other side of the room. "You keep moving like that, you're gonna drive me insane."

Y/N turned her head, finding Bucky sitting in the shadows, arms crossed, his vibranium fingers tapping against his bicep. His stare was steady, unreadable.

"You already are insane," she shot back, but it came out breathier than she intended.

Bucky's lips quirked.

Then he stood, moving with slow, deliberate steps until he loomed over her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

"You like pushing me, don't you?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, something razor-sharp and knowing.

Y/N swallowed, pulse hammering. "You make it easy."

Bucky hummed. He reached out—not fast, not hesitant, just inevitable—and brushed his knuckles along her throat. A whisper of a touch. Testing.

Y/N's breath caught.

His smirk deepened.

"Thought so," he murmured.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She said, nothing more than a mere squeak.

He just hummed, looking at her deeply as if contemplating.

“You’re into choking. I guessed.”

And then his hand wrapped around her throat.

Not squeezing, not yet. Just holding. A tease, a promise, a warning.

Y/N's fingers curled into the sheets, heat flooding through her veins, something low and needy twisting in her stomach.

Bucky leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, his thumb tracing a slow, taunting line along her pulse.

"Say please."

But she didn’t.

Instead, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her back a silent wall that she hoped would keep him at bay. Her heart was battering at her sternum.

Bucky's hand hovered for a moment, as if surprised by her lack of response. Then it dropped away. "Sorry." he murmured quietly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the quiet room.

Y/N tensed, the word echoing through her like a gunshot. It was the last thing she expected from him.

He took a step back, his boots scraping against the floor, and she felt the space between them grow wider than the room could ever be. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," she interrupted, her voice tight. "Just don't—do that again."

He nodded, his silhouette stark against the moonlit window. "Won't."

The quiet stretched between them, thick as tar. Y/N could almost feel the thunder rolling in, could almost taste the electricity in the way his eyes never left her, even as he turned away.

The silence was a living thing, wrapping around them, tightening until she couldn't breathe.

And then she did it.

Y/N rolled onto her back, meeting his gaze with a challenge she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

"Please," she whispered, the word barely a breath, but it seemed to fill the room, to echo in the shadows.

Bucky's eyes widened, the shock in them almost comical if she wasn’t so deadly serious. He searched her face for some sign that she was joking, that this was just another round in their never-ending bout of one-upmanship. But she didn't flinch, didn't back down.

Slowly, with a gravity that made the air in the room thicken, he leaned in again, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed over her cheekbone, sending a shiver through her that she didn’t bother to hide.

Y/N’s breath stuttered as his thumb continued to trace the line of her jaw, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Her heart was racing, and she could feel the blood pulsing beneath his touch.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a silent question hanging in the air.

Then, with a soft growl, he leaned in, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. The touch was firm but gentle, a promise of what was to come.

Bucky's thumb pressed against her jaw, guiding her to tilt her head back, exposing her throat. His eyes never left hers, the blue depths filled with something that looked a lot like hunger.

Y/N's breathing grew shallow, her pulse racing as she waited for it, the moment when he'd finally close the distance, when he'd finally give in to whatever this was that had been building between them for so long.

And then it happened. His hand tightened, not painfully, but enough to make her aware of his strength. He bent closer, his breath warm against her skin, and she felt the pressure of his palm against her throat, the tips of his fingers just grazing her pulse.

He didn't squeeze. Not really. It was more of a gentle hold, a silent declaration that he could if he wanted to, but he didn't. It was a heady feeling, a mix of fear and desire that made her knees weak.

For a heartbeat, they remained that way, locked in a silent dance of power and submission.

And then, just as suddenly, he let go, his hand falling away like a lead weight.

Y/N gasped, her heart hammering, the sudden release leaving her dizzy. She reached up, her own hand trembling as she touched the spot where he'd held her, as if to reassure herself she was still in control.

Bucky stepped back, his eyes on her like he was waiting for a reaction, for her to push him away or to demand more. But she just lay there, watching him, breathless, the air around them charged.

The silence was a living, pulsing entity, wrapping them in anticipation.

Then, she sat up, her eyes never leaving his, and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. The fabric whispered against her skin, and the room grew hotter. She tossed it aside, leaving her in a bra that barely contained the fullness of her breasts.

Bucky's eyes flickered to the expanse of her exposed skin, his breath hitching slightly. The hand that had been at her throat curled into a fist at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out again.

"What are you doing?" he rasped, the question laced with a warning, with the thirst of a man who'd seen too much war and hadn't tasted peace in a very long time.

Y/N met his gaze, her own eyes dark with a challenge that mirrored his. "What does it look like?"

He took a step back, his boots echoing in the stillness of the safe house. "We can't," he said, the words coming out forced, as if he didn’t quite believe them himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. "Why not?"

Bucky's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck standing out like cables. "Because—" He paused, his voice gruff. "Because you're my teammate, and this—" He gestured between them, at the air that seemed to crackle and pop. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why?"

The word hung between them, a simple question that seemed to hold the weight of the world. Y/N could feel the tension coil tighter around her chest, a strange mix of desire and frustration.

"Because it complicates things," Bucky said finally, his voice tight. "Because we're in the middle of a war, and we can't afford distractions."

"Isn't that a little…hypocritical?" she whispered, her voice low, a siren's call in the darkness. "Given that you're the one who started this?"

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes flickering over her, lingering on the swell of her chest above the lacy black bra. "Maybe," he conceded, his voice gruff. "But it's for the best."

Y/N stood, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body, until she could almost taste the denial on his lips.

"Is it?" she murmured, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "Or are you just afraid of what might happen if we do this?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, his expression tightening, but she could see the war playing out in the depths of his gaze—desire fighting duty, need battling restraint.

"What might happen?" he echoed, his voice hoarse.

Y/N's fingertips danced over the scar that bisected his lip, the one that she happened to know was from a knife fight in some forgotten corner of the world. "We might find out we're more than just good at fighting together," she whispered, her breath a soft caress against his skin.

Bucky's eyes flared, his pupils dilating until they swallowed the blue of his irises. His hand shot up to capture hers, his grip firm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent question.

Y/N leaned into him, her breath hitching as his hand slid down her arm, his touch setting her nerves alight. She didn’t pull away, didn’t break the spell. Instead, she stepped closer, her body brushing against his.

Bucky’s breath was warm against her neck, his sighs mixing with hers. His hand found the small of her back, his fingertips pressing gently into the taut muscles. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent declaration that he wanted more.

Y/N's pulse hammered, her body leaning into his touch. "Bucky," she whimpered, his name a plea and a warning all rolled into one.

"Fuck it," Bucky murmured, his voice gravelly. "We're gonna try."

——————————————————————————————————

So. What did we think? Part 2? 🤔

[harrysgal]

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (8)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

Hello! I am very sorry for the way I vanished from tumblr, real life knocked me down for a few months and it wasn’t easy to get back on my feet. But I’m doing well now and really excited to keep telling this story. Thank you to those who sent messages checking in, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to answer those (I like to read them from time to time, tbh lol). Also, because it’s been so long I’m not doing any official taglist for part 8. If you want to be added for part 9, let me know.  Thank you, A.

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

About yn: although the character does not have a faceclaim, pictures suggest reader is white.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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

PART 7 // MASTERLIST

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 8) — CHICAGO

liked by bestfriend, annetwist, _basselin and 85,107 others 

yourinstagram CHICAGO!!! hiii!! good morning!! im back and ive missed youuu <33 honestly, cant wait to go outside and see you again. unfortunately tho im too tired to leave my room rn and also im mad at myself for waking up too late for breakfast…. so i decided to embrace the day off and be fully irresponsible. ice cream in bed at 10:30 in the morning it is. sightseeing some other day and time it is as well. hope you understand. sincerely, yn. 

view all 7,015 comments

user11 lol i mean it’s haagen dazs so i guess it’s okay harryfan17 wait, you’re here? ALREADY?? 😳

↳ harryfan21 im so glad im not the only one surprised by this lol ↳ harryfan85 omg do you think harry is in town too?? 😍 ↳ harryfan76 ＠harryfan85 they dont travel together so no

bestfriend hahahaaaa bestfriend  ice cream for breakfast is such a trigger!! THE MEMORIES! ughhh!! ily so much bestfriend i miss you btw bestfriend i need harry styles to give you back to me harryfan64 …. srsly? aren’t you a little bit too old to be doing this?  harryfan7 What’s your favorite flavor? 😍 harryfan44 ??? Who cares about this? Just say you’re desperate for attention  harryfan15 show barely ended and she’s already in chicago lmao ＠harrystyles what are you running from

↳ harryfan17 the bullets 💀 ↳ harryfan15 ＠harryfan17 HAHAHAHHAA  ↳ harryfan39 😂😂 new fav comment thread ↳ harryfan76 they dont travel together so he is not with her !

user1 ahhh, chicago is such a pretty city to visit! but you should definitely take some time to rest first ❤ ️ you deserve it, girl! harryfan96 LEAVE HARRY ALONE !!

Sep 23, 2021. •

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liked by harryfan5, harryfan10, harryfan15 and 314 others

harryupdates Harry out in Chicago today! (Sep 23)

view all 37 comments

harryfan37 stop I JUST saw him in st paul 😭 is it possible to miss him already?? harryfan21 gotta slow down on the coffee dude lmao harryfan41 was ＠yourinstagram with him????

↳ harryfan44 who cares

harryfan15 two coffees, huh? 

↳ harryfan24 why do you always have to make it about something that is not? 🙄 ↳ harryfan15 ??? im just saying there are two coffees in this picture, thats all

harryfan64 always so convenient  harryfan13 if i speak…….. harryfan28 the blue jacket! 😍 if you’re lonely in chicago you can call him 🤭 harryfan49 ＠yourinstagram I bet one of these is for you ! hope you enjoy it !  harryfan84 OMFG WHY ARE YOU ALL SO FUCKING WEIRD IT’S JUST COFFEE CAN YOU PLS STOP BRINGING UP THE STUNT ALL THE DAMN TIME

Sep 23, 2021. •

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liked by gemmastyles, annetwist, yourbrother and 97,231 others 

yourinstagram from live to love, this girl is out here living her bestest biggest dreams. couldn’t have done it without you guys. thank you. really. 

(ps: pls dont tell my boss ive been obsessed with his music since the v beginning. id like to keep his ego grounded. thank you.)

view all 9,175 comments harryfan5 stop!!! harryfan5 this is sooo cute  user1 this makes me sooo happy for you! 🥰 yourbrother 👏 user5 congratulations, yn! You deserve every moment! harryfan14 honest question, does anyone actually think this is cute and funny? 

↳ harryfan32 no. they’re just easy to manipulate ↳ harryfan14 thought so. her captions are always so immature and weird 

bestfriend i was there it was rare i remember it all too well :’) 

↳ harryfan27 were you at the live on tour with yn???  ↳ harryfan35 omg you should be there tonight too!! ↳ harryfan45 for real tho when is ＠yourinstagram taking you to a show?? ↳ harryfan72 never bc Harry banned all of her friends and family from tour

harryfan11 OMG!! this is so nice!  harryfan1 i love this for you!! <3 it’s like you’re representing all of us 

↳ harryfan22 speak for yourself please 

harryfan29 im THRIVING on this plot. it’s like the ultimate fanfic dream lollll harryfan44 you’re a joke harryfan44 to say you want to keep Harry’s ego “grounded” is not funny is disrespectful harryfan44 can’t wait for him to be done with you harryfan44 can’t wait for you to get fired  ynupdates ❤️ ynupdates Congratulations!! You deserve it so much!

Sep 24, 2021. •

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lot2021updates 

“ARE YOU FEELING GOOD CHICAGO? [...] Y’know, it’s a very important thing coming to Chicago, it’s a beautiful city and I’ve missed it very much. Also, wonderful things always happen here. I don’t know why… It’s like there’s something in the air… Or maybe because spray paint was invented here in Chicago, did you know that? No? Well, I know that! ... And I also know there are 144 dog-friendly restaurants in Chicago! Which is very, very important information… Yeah, my friends… A lot of valuable information is shared backstage!”  — Harry talking to the crowd tonight.

LOT Chicago n1, 24 September 2021

lot2021updates 

“Chicago, are you having a good time so far? [...] We still have a couple more songs left, but I really want to take a moment to… To thank each and every single one of you for being here tonight. This is only our eleventh show, but when I promise you this tour has already become one of the best experiences of my life, it’s because this tour has already become one of the best experiences of my life. And I know I wouldn’t be able to live this dream if it weren’t for you. You guys have absolutely changed my life. So thank you… Whether this is your first show, or your hundredth… Whether you just know that one annoying song that keeps playing over and over, or if you’ve been obsessed with my music since the very beginning… Thank you! You’ve changed my life, so thank you, thank you, thank you! I missed this and I missed you and I’m so happy to be back. This is Canyon Moon!” — Harry thanking the crowd tonight.

LOT Chicago n1, 24 September 2021

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liked by user3, loveynrry and 31 others

ynupdates Harry Styles first show in Chicago ended around half an hour ago, and Yn already posted all these stories on instagram! It’s the first time she shares these many glimpses from a show, and so quickly 🤗 

view all 55 comments user9 ahhh!! so many great shots! harryfan5 omg she’s really feeding us 😭 user15 either yn hasn’t been online at all today and she’s posting unaware of what’s been said, or she’s seen everything and it’s posting BECAUSE of what’s been said lol  harryfan11 STOPPPP that’s me holding the tbsl sign lol

↳ user6 Really? That’s so cool! Did you see her taking the picture? ↳ harryfan11 yesssss! I think she was filming tho, bc after that she recorded me and my friend begging harry to sing tbsl in la (it’s our next show lol) and also recorded some people from the crowd dancing and singing to a few songs  ↳ harryfan19 WHAT? girl you’re so lucky!! asdjbajb what if harry sees the video??? omg i’d die! ↳ ynupdates Heyyy, that’s so cool! Did you talk to her, then? Can we dm you? ↳ harryfan ＠ynupdates yesssss, of course you can! we talked to her really briefly bc she was working, but she’s the sweetest and i’m absolutely in love now lol

Sep 24, 2021. •

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liked by harryfan18, harryfan22 and 875 others

harryupdates Harry just posted a story on instagram! 

Earlier tonight, Yn (youtuber/member of the LOT crew) had shared a picture from tonight’s show of fans holding signs that said “Justice for TBSL”. She tagged Harry with the caption “hope you get the message xoxo”. 

Now Harry has reposted the story and added “loud and clear x” to her caption. We hope it means good news for the fan project 🤞

view all 251 comments harryfan11 😭😭😭😭😭  harryfan11 SHUT UP THATS ME harryfan11 HARRY POSTED THE BACK OF MY HEAD MY LIFE IS MADE 😭 I CANT harryfan15 👀  harryfan23 istg if he sings tbsl and i’m not there…………… harryfan20 i cant do this anymore she’s fucking everywhere  harryfan17 thank you ＠yourinstagram this fandom don’t deserve you x harryfan30 management must be really desperate they’ve never worked this hard in one day 

↳ harryfan40 right? i wonder why… like what are they afraid of or what are they preparing us for…  ↳ harryfan30 they are preparing me for nothing lmao i see right through their tactics and lies they wont fool me with this ↳ harryfan40 oh of course. we’ve been through these stunts for years now. i just mean there’s probably a reason why this is all happening and i cant wait to find out! 

harryfan60 he just finished a show let the man get some rest fgs harryfan50 🥱 harryfan37 jeez. tour has barely started guys… if you keep hating everything and everyone this much you’re not gonna make it till the end yknow. just saying. 

Sep 24, 2021. •

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liked by user1, harryfan5 and 45 others

ynupdates Yn has just shared these two stories from the venue/backstage at the LOT. 

Harry Styles’ second show in Chicago starts anytime now. ☺️

view all 7 comments

user10 ahh, there she is!! it’s been 20 hours since the last ones she posted i was starting to worry lol harryfan5 the fact that yesterday we could reply to her stories and today we can’t anymore makes me wonder what kind of dms she got :(

↳ harryfan19 shit i hadn’t noticed that ↳ ynrryfan :((( the fandom really went insane yesterday tho. istg they’ve been in chicago for what, three days? well i feel like it’s been three months lol ↳ harryfan31 omg i really hope she doesn’t stop posting for good. i know it’s selfish but she’s been feeding us so well with harry content 😭 

harryfan64 far away from him. as she should be. 

Sep 25, 2021. •

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— — — — — 

PART 9 — BEFORE NASHVILLE

— — — — —

[goldenclover-16]

TPOT19 SPOILERS

Alright full analysis and opinions on the emotional gut punch that was TPOT 19.

Getting into action right off the bat it seems, One is clearly not happy and oh god the crack is going insane hang in there Black Hole.

This is not as surprising as I thought it would be, I mean Four had to be sending contestants to Two's elimination place somehow. The fact they are so depressed they're just lying these is sad to watch tho.

Oh they can just absorb the power like that? Okay makes sense I guess.

Look at everyone working together this is kinda cute and will definitely last (foreshadowing)

More post splitters? Alright I wont complain. Poor souls are so confused they have no idea. Look at X tho they know something the way they tried to scurry off, either that or they're worried about Four.

MORE FIREY AND 8 BALL YES. He's so worried about his wife. Honestly wish I had more to say about these two but the scene is pretty short.

Confirmed location of another E.X.I.T member, Braclety ended up in Roboty's waterfall I think? Unless he can TP to other locations. That also brings up how she got there and also what the hell is even happening. Roboty seems almost concerned by the frantic beeping, perhaps they became friends between episodes?

Snowball and TV are eliminated.

Wow eliminations going exactly as I predicted is a first. Sad to see Grassy lose the one person who stuck by him, that elimination struck harder then I expected. Snowball repeating the NOOO was some good comedy relief, god knows we need it.

NOW ONTO THE CHALLANGE, his ass knew exactly what he was doing when proposing a battle royal. Maybe not exactly but you get my drift. He wanted conflict. Honestly expected DPYA to have a slight stronger reaction to a challenge based on killing everyone else but I guess they all had bigger priorities.

Liy going on a psychotic murder spree was not on my bingo card of people I expected to go insane this episode. I ended up going back to re watch her elimination and it didn't seem all that bad, or is that just me? I'm putting it on the years in the E.X.I.T letting emotions fester and distort and shit. Poor Price Tag tho.

Pencil's murder spree was a lot more expected, kook at that face she is so mad with power. It makes sense, after being powerless in the E.X.I.T for so long she's scraping for any bit of power she can hold over the situation and the other contestants. I guess Pen's talk did jack shit no redemption arc here. Also I feel the need to point out Pencil's overwhelming beef with Fanny, the abuse she puts Fanny through was something to say the least. Now if I had a nickel you get the joke right? This is the second time Black Hole's gravity has been used to rip apart a teammate in this way.

YES MORE OF PURPLE FACE THE QUEEN. He's so full of whimsy I love him every moment he's on screen. Since when was the door to E.X.I.T classroom re locked though? Also Bell being so distraught like 'OH GOD THERES MORE PLEASE NO'. Can't blame her at all. So that was definitely Three in the jail cell I mean we already knew but now we got it confirmed in an episode. Love this group (do we have a confirmed name for these guys btw or are they just kidnapped by One gang cause I have not seen a name given to the group)

That face of 'oh god fuck shit no not again god please' Donut makes as he realises what's happening is priceless. He does not want to deal with this again.

OH GOD THEY WERE ACTUALLY ERASED FROM THE TIMELINE.

I'd heard the theory that Gatey had been erased but hadn't fully believed it until now. This hit me right in the feels. All that to get the small smidgen of Two's power Donut had, yeah One isn't getting redeemed that much is for certain.

ALSO LEAFY MENTION. She definitely whooped One's ass or something did you see the way she said 'that annoying Leaf'. Good on her for not signing, does make me wonder what exactly she was offered.

ALRIGHT DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A BLACK HOLE / ONE INTERACTION? FAR TO LONG THIS SCENE HAD ME FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. His ass was so pissed learning One was the one behind the crack that has caused him so much stress and anxiety.

Also can I talk about this for a moment like look at the imagery and sound in this scene. Like I deadass though he was about to be hypnotised or brainwashed or something for a hot minute. You cannot tell me it wouldn't fit like the swirl with the slow, slightly distorted music? Please tell me I'm not the only one who sees this.

But no he was just banished to One's room, at least he's kinda okay for now.

Now this final scene, Pencils crash out here I find to be pretty justified here. She's been trapped and tortured within Four for years and lost pretty much everything. She's had this building anger and fear of him since joining TPOT and now has the power over him for once and is able to just let her emotions loose without fear of consequence. She also doesn't know One is present yet so I'm letting her off the hook for not listening to Four since she'd probably think he was trying to justify what he did or something.

Also I found it really emotional that in his final moments before being poofed, completely powerless he call out to X. His best buddy he trusts completely to save him and there is just a certain amount of fear in his voice that can be easily missed I wanted to point out.

Now the final chat between One and Pencil I think serves as a good reminder to just how good of a manipulator One is. She knows how desperate Pencil is for her old friends and Freesmart back and uses that to her advantage. She sympathises with Pencil, using her own experience being trapped by Four to relate. She gains trust by telling Pencil they are one in the same, both victims of a similar circumstance by the same person.

And it works.

Pencil, lonely, desperate and in a deteriorated mental state accepts. And once sending her to the redone timeline One immediately goes insane, switching between childlike whimsy and malevolent psychopath destroying everything around her.

Really gotta feel for Grassy here, alone and afraid with nobody around to comfort him. Gotta admit this made me start crying. And the transition into the voting screen. Brutal.

THEY REUNITED oh god we needed some good news after all the shit that just happened OH THEY LOOK SO HAPPY TO SEE EACHOTHER!!!!

Overall, amazing episode 10/10 I was sobbing by the end. I don't want to have to wait for another episode I am creating time travel just to see more.

Also did you know there was a picture limit on posts? Cause I didn't until now. Had to re screenshot multiple pics together to fit them all.

[oimitocat]

TSWCP — CHAP 3

lee minho x m!reader

chapter summary; you just can’t live with the silence. you can’t bear it. this time, you prove minho you really will risk it all for him. will he take it or leave you with your heart bleeding in your hands?

content warning; subtle internalized homophobia + subtle insecurity + tension + constant change of pov (mainly minho’s) + crying + makeout session

content genre; idol au + actor au + fluff + angst + 9th member! reader

word count — 6.4k | m.list | a/n; this sucks btw ;(

it’s cold. frozen and heavy. 

that’s how you could describe your heart after what had happened days ago. your mind? static. looking for signal. waiting on connection. 

concert tours are coming up. your management had managed to sort something out with the executive directors of the drama so that once you come back from tour with the group, shooting wouldn’t be delayed or a hassle. the thought of it is dreadful. you still have to pull off a few conferences and amidst your tour dates some photo shootings have been crushed into your schedule. 

as much as it pisses you off, it also can’t be helped. 

“what’s your favorite scene?” an interviewer asks. 

you blink, having zoned out. gayoung’s soft touch on your knee brings you back to your current position. 

“me personally,” gayoung says with her fluent english. “i really loved the scene where i had to ride a horse.”

you stare at her before smiling. the other actor, another close friend of yours on set is minwoo, he laughs. 

“i had to help her five times to climb on that thing because she kept slipping.”

“ah, the cons of being a gnome,” you tease automatically.

everyone busts laughing while gayoung gives you an offended expression. she starts an argument, you feed it. 

minho clutches his phone as he watches the interaction from his screen. the video had been posted not so long ago now. he can’t help it, seeing you from a screen and aching. why had he been so stupid? kissing you? confessing? 

you two could never be as perfect as you and gayoung are. your chemistry is absolutely beautiful. it’s so natural. how could he ever compare to something like that. much less now? he ruined what he had with you. was a kiss really worth it? absolutely not. not after the rift he created with you became unmendable. 

“y/n, since the drama is based on a book, it has been said that the first few episodes on the next season you’ll have to portray heartbreak, betrayal and desperation. will that be hard for you?”

he watches how you shake your head immediately, that joyful expression you had dropped “i have to display a raw emotion, most of the time we as actors have to study how to display something we’ve never experienced but in this case, i’ve actually experienced heartbreak and desperation.”

minho’s eyes widened a bit. are you insane? how could you say that with your girlfriend right next to you? 

“could you maybe give us some insight on that?”

“well,” you look up at the ceiling for a moment. then you look back at the screen but for some reason it feels like you’re looking at him. as if you knew he was watching. “as an idol and actor you need to let go of many things you end up carrying, i think everyone does and everyone has someone to seek out and trust enough to simply rant and be yourself with. yet, things kind of change when you grow in the industry… maybe the fans don’t know this about me but i cherish those who i’m close with and will always find a way to keep our bonds, despite how i seem like i’ll let people come and go- it’s nothing like that. filming this drama took a lot out of me…”

“it not only took away my sleep but it took something else away. i loved shooting it, but if i had to do everything all over again…” you pause, sighing, “i think i would… but i’d change a lot of things and work hard not just to keep my career going but to keep those around me too. yeah, maybe we can’t stop people from leaving when they decided they will no matter what but it doesn’t change how horrible that feeling is.’

“you have gayoung though, as a couple i’m sure you share your burdens with her now, right?”

bitterness flashes across your features for a moment. no one has caught that, no one will. only minho.

because as much as it hurts… he’s the only one that knows you more than you know yourself. 

“of couse,” you smile. bitter. “just shows that when someone won’t be there for you, someone else will.” you pause, “and be better.”

ouch. minho turns off his phone, he covers his face into his hands and breathes wetly. he really is the worst, isn’t he?

fans have started to notice the distance between the two of you. bubble messages flood in every now and then saying they hope you and he are doing okay. he sees the comments questioning the silence that has been built between you two. the members know. 

well, they don’t know you two had kissed or that he is inevitably in love with you. 

but they know you two are not in good terms. 

chan had questioned you about it and when you didn’t give him a believable answer he had seeked minho out. all minho said was — “y/n is just too busy to keep what we have, i made sure he focuses on his career.” which in turns absolutely outed the fact minho caused all of this. the look of disappointment chan gave him is the same one he gives himself after crying and looking in the mirror.

even crying feels illegal. 

the worst part is you and jisung share the dorm with him. he hears jisung question you about your distance. he hears you talk to people— to gayoung — over the phone. he bumps into you on the way to the laundry, to the bathroom, in the kitchen. 

he works with you.

he lives with you.

he misses you. 

yet, you’re not his to seek out anymore. you’re his coworker now. 

nothing more… 

“where’s y/n? we’re about to board the plane,” jeongin says with a pout. 

minho unconsciously looks around, equally wondering where you are. they had driven to the airport at around 10 and you weren’t in the dorms. through check ins, you still hadn’t popped up. 

later, however, the video of you running through the airport with your bodyguard and manager blows up. minho finds that out in the van after landing in tokyo. he had wondered why you were so disheveled when you entered the plane. 

“we have four concerts here in japan,” seungmin mumbles to himself, “we have one day to roam around, one morning left and then we’re off to the states.”

“doesn’t y/n hyung have a private conference in the states?” jisung asks.

“what?” minho frowns.

chan sighs, “he really needs to take a break. this whole year is going to be packed.” he rests his head back on the seat, “he barely managed to pull off the concerts in korea.”

“well we do have a few free days in between our concerts,” seungmin offers, “he’ll have some sort of rest.”

minho swallows. are you really that busy? 

he still doesn’t get to see much of you. he’s had to hear hyunjin recap how you have 2 interviews a day before flying with them to japan. how you had to pull an all nighter to review a script for a morning commercial schedule. it’s crazy, he thinks. how are you alive. 

when all of you come to the venue to rehearse, he sees you thrudge in after chan, who seemingly had to drag you here. your hair is everywhere, your face puffy from sleep, your large hoodie and baggy joggers make you look small. minho forces himself to look away, his heart clenching at your adorable sight. 

practice goes alright, minho thinks. sound check goes well, jisung and changbin goofed off with the autotune. they had tried to pull you into their fun scheme but minho noticed how you grimly looked at them. it didn’t change how you still went along with it, always willing to entertain the guys. they’re your family just as much as they’re his. still, everyone is tense around you two.

because they know.

they know their favorite hyungs are in weird terms. they don’t ask, they don’t have to. it’s visibly written in the air. 

“minho can you go check on y/n,” chan asks him the morning of the official concert. 

everyone went through the same checks and passed. everything is ready. minho hadn’t really seen you today regardless, despite dancing and singing beside you. he truly does not recall you being around other than on stage, not even during lunch break. 

“why me?” he asks without thinking, it even comes out bitterly. 

chan stares at him for a moment. no one is around, just him and minho. “are you really going to drag this out?” he asks, tone evidently showing how angry he is, “everyone else is checking up on him except you. what are you two doing?”

minho looks away, fists clenching at his sides. “we’re just… not in a good spot-“

“and how long will that last? huh? y/n isn’t prideful like you are, so who is dragging it out?”

that was like a slap in the face. 

“minho, don’t shut me out.”

yet minho closed the door and never dared get near it. you never begged again. verbally. he took notice of your sad eyes after the fight. he felt your presence begging to call for him. yet you didn’t. because you knew the door that was slammed in your face would never open again. 

“i’ll check up on him before we get on stage,” he says softly. 

chan sighs, “i’ll take it.”

backstage, as he’s getting in his outfit, he sees you thrudge around. on your phone. clearly you’re talking to gayoung. he sees you smile for a second before walking out. he can’t help but follow you out discreetly. you step behind a wall, he stays around the corner. 

“i’m screwed,” you whisper. “so fucking screwed, you have no idea.”

minho steps back. well you’re alive and that’s all that matters. why would he check up on you? you don’t need him. you have the guys. you have gayoung. that’s clearly who you’re talking to.

he doesn’t need to overstep. your life isn’t something he’s involved in. 

“minho! y/n!” 

minho whips his head around, his heart pounding. does hyunjin have to be so fucking loud!? outing him like this!? he should leave before you realize he was right behind you- he makes the mistake of turning around again and coming face to face with you. 

he’s caught. 

he swallows and stares up at you. your dark eyes boring into him. you’re all ready to get on stage. he couldn’t even speak if he wanted to. there’s nothing to say. 

the way you walk past him makes his heart drop. 

the act was unfamiliar until 2 months ago. that’s how long he’s been dragging it out. that’s how long it’s been when he hurt your feelings and smashed his along. it felt like so little time but it felt like an eternity ago.

an eternity that is burned into his skull and haunts him. 

not even the roar of the fans when they come on stage silences the thousands of thoughts in his head. 

he’s on the stage feeling like a puppet. except his strings tangle with yours. the amount of times you bumped into him from stumbling were too many to count. he hates it. 

and he hates how much he worries. 

above all, he hates that he can’t near you. 

and it’s his fault. 

it’s probably the fourth concert day, the last concert in japan. they’ll be here for a day or so before flying back to korea. 

your chest feels tight. 

you get nauseous a lot. you can’t really stomach much. at most a soup you get at the hotel you’re all staying at but even that leaves you with an upset stomach. 

you had filmed a commercial in japan, gayoung had been flown out here. it frustrated you, didn’t matter where you went, gayoung had to be involved somehow. the girl isn’t at fault, it’s the company, you know that. 

“oppa are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

you raise your head and look at your phone. the video call started thirty minutes ago when she finally landed and finished going through security. you don’t hate her, she’s a good friend. you haven’t kissed her, both of you strictly left that for the scenes only. you hug her, you cuddle her, you carry her but she’s not who you love. maybe as a friend. not as a lover. 

“you look like shit ever since we finished the drama, i didn’t want to point it out,” she says, there’s a bit of a teasing tone but she’s also dead serious. 

“a pretty girl like you shouldn’t curse,” you say with a sigh.

she stares at you before starting a string pf curses. you chuckle softly, shaking your head. you groan, your migraine returning. she immediately pauses. 

“oppa, i’m worried for you. joking aside, you really do look like shit.”

you grunt, looking around the room, “i think i’ll feel better when i’m back in korea…”

she puts the phone close to her face, as if she could see you more clearly that way. “i hope so or we’ll have to shoot a ‘taking care of my boyfriend’ blog.”

“ugh no,” you whine.

she laughs, “just kidding, the company is going to make me show my concern though if something happens.”

you give her a face, “nothing is gonna happen gayoung, i’m fine. just not a hundred percent.”

“well as long as you get back home safely,” she says softly, “i care for you y/n.”

all formality is out the window. it always has been with her, you see her as a little sibling from how long you two have worked together for. almost a whole year and a half. you had known her before the drama but contact wasn’t fully established until then. 

“i have to get going to the venue,” you finalize, dread expressed on your features.

“okay~,” she sing songs as she gets inside her van, “don’t push yourself, okay? see ya!”

“bye,” you throw a peace sign and she quickly mimics you before hanging up. 

you drop your phone on your bed before scrubbing your face with your hands. sometimes you’re thankful that you’re dating a friend instead of someone you don’t know, you’ve heard companies do that so this isn’t bad. yet, it isn’t good either. 

you’ve been like a zombie these last few weeks. taking all sorts of pills and gummies that would give you energy and help you get through concerts with a smile. you know the guys are worried about you, but you’re not the only one feeling overworked. still, you’re the one with the worst of it. 

“let’s put on our best show,” chan says as he pats everyone’s backs. he pauses when he comes to you, “let me know if you need a break-“

“hyung, seriously,” you grimace. “you make me feel like i don’t belong sometimes.”

he frowns, realizing he overstepped. “shit, no. y/n that’s not what i meant- i just- you know that i know.”

you stare at him, almost mortified. “uh-“

“please get to the stage quickly!” a staff member says. 

chan gives you a once over before heading out, you follow suit. your migraine hasn’t stopped. the roaring of the fans feels like a hammer being pounded on your skull from the inside. you genuinely contemplate taking up chan’s offer, especially when you zone out and step on minho’s shoe accidentally. 

“my bad,” you say automatically, stepping away like you had been burned.

and maybe you were, with the way he looks at you annoyingly. when did you feel so left out like this? 

you execute the choreography perfectly, smiling at hyunjin whenever he comes across you on a part. fans fawn over each and every one of you. yet, when your part comes during the bridge, you stop mid verse when something oozes out of your nose onto your upper lip. immediately, you look away from the camera and wipe it with your sleeve. the worst part is minho was behind you for the formation, his brows furrowed when you immediately stumbled when walking to the next formation. 

“are you bleeding?” jisung asks ushered as jeongin sings. 

you walk past all of them, jogging to the backstage. the bleeding won’t stop, normally you can just wipe it away and it’s unnoticeable but you knew this isn’t as easy. you’re hyper aware of your physical status. 

“oh, here let me,” a staff member says as they guide you to a chair. 

the fans are worried, chan clarifying that you’ll be fine makes it worse. how weak could you be?

“the bleeding stopped,” you say as you look at the clean tissue you pull away from your nose. 

“ah, are you sure you want to go-“

“thank you for your care, if anything comes up i’ll let you know,” you bow low before heading back out after the second song. 

there’s a moment where the members speak and chat, you anxiously return to the stage as jisung speaks to stay. you could stand beside anyone, they’re all dear to you and have been with you during tough times. yet, you unconsciously went to minho’s side, awkwardly standing there when you realize you shouldn’t have chosen him. 

even now, does he really give you comfort? why are you lying to yourself like this? 

“oh! hyung! are you okay?” hyunjin asks out loud on the mic. 

you swallow before looking down at your mic, “minho hit me with his mic when i went to formation.”

what. 

minho spins and looks at you. you clearly lost your mind. 

“i’m good though hyung, no need to apologize.”

everyone on stage is looking at you like you really have lost it. minho’s eyes are like saucers. he hesitates before bringing his mic up to speak, looking away and nervously fidgeting with his inear. 

“uh, my mistake, i didn’t realize you were that close when we turned.”

“hyung doesn’t realize his strength either,” hyunjin jokes nervously. 

there’s no way to verify or deny that fact. in the formation you and minho are pretty hidden, so in the end, it’s a possibility no matter how slim. 

“the fuck was that,” minho grits when all of you are backstage for an outfit change.

“hey, don’t fight,” changbin huffs. 

you stand there stiffly, changbin between the two of you. everyone has run off, not wanting to get caught up in it. chan comes up to you two. minho glares at you before stepping back. 

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, like he really did hurt you on the stage.

“but you did.” you say automatically. 

“hey, hey, what matters is that you’re okay,” chan says, believing the words that came out of your mouths. 

neither chan or changbin know that minho’s apology and your accusations are not from what happened minutes ago, but from what happened two months ago. you look away, turning to change. 

now, things are worse. the anger you had from what minho did dwindled down into your suppressed sadness. you meant everything you said- you’d leave anything and everything to keep him. yet, why didn’t he want you? 

you cover your face before your stylist fixes your makeup, you ask for a few moments and she goes on standby. your head is killing you, you want to cry from frustration, you absolutely want minho. 

he always knew how to make you feel better. 

how come the last time you fought him he kissed you? isn’t he hurting too? why is this so difficult? 

by the time you’re back on stage with the other members, you can’t really stay focused. you trail behind anyone and everyone down the stage when some of the songs are free reign across the stage. you stick to jisung, the second closest member to you… well, maybe the first one now that minho wants nothing to do with you. 

you watch him across the stage. 

during the song there’s a beat pause. everyone looks at each other playfully, but minho’s eyes latch onto your gaze. 

you smile at him, painful but yearning. 

he at least has the decency to wave back. 

and the flame of hope ignites in your heart again. 

your life feels suffocating. 

you can’t remember how many times you’ve been seen only as gayoung’s boyfriend. the idol with an outed relationship that bloomed from a drama. you get back to korea. you fly out for concerts. you fly out for interviews. 

it’s constant movement. 

everyone found out your nosebleeds come from stress and your lack of sleep. chan knows the most of it, he does lack sleep too. still, your life is busy even with not scenes to shoot. 

minho isn’t handling that well. he hasn’t exactly stepped up to confront you about the situation between the two of you. nor has he approached you on terms outside of fan service. it’s not even as often as before, it’s crumbs of what the two of you used to do. ever since you started a relationship there’s constant war between fans when a member is too touchy with you. 

you’re not an object, you don’t belong to gayoung. if only they knew the relationship was strictly a job on top of all your jobs. you were called in for modeling, for drink commercials, a cafe wanted to have a theme with the drama and you and gayoung had to sponsor their promotions for a week. the drinks were okay. 

the food was okay.

nothing could beat minho’s cooking. sadly, you don’t think you’ll ever get the chance to eat it ever again. you and minho’s situation hasn’t gotten better nor worse. it’s just.. still. 

you often stare at your ceiling at night when you have the luxury to be home early to rest. it’s not often but when you do… your mind drifts. 

to how soft minho’s lips are. to the hunger you two had demonstrated. the way his soft breathes ignited a fire in your stomach. he took that chance and built a wall between the two of you. 

“yah,” a voice calls out.

you jump, sitting up and whipping around to face your door. 

“i made dinner.” 

you look at the door as if minho opened it and stared at you. he’s behind the wooden pallet. he’s talking to you. your body twitches before you stiffen. 

no.

you can’t. 

you’ve waited all these months for this but you just can’t. something won’t let you. is it your self restraint? you don’t want to fight again. if you tried to bring up the topic he’d run away. he’ll somehow blame you. he’ll do everything possible to keep you at a miles distance. 

he’s just being a coworker. 

he’s obligated to show interest and care. 

“i know you’re awake,” minho says.

is his voice trembling? 

“i’m good.” you say softly, staring at the bottom of the door to see his shadow. it’s loud enough for him to hear. 

if you accepted, two things could happen. you argue and make things worse. or you lose all control and take the riskiest bet of them all. 

neither is good. 

you don’t particularly care for your fame. you have enough in your bank to survive if you get fired or blacklisted. you have backup plans. yet, you’re not ready for it yet. you’re just waiting on minho to accept that he’s the one at fault, even if it’s indirectly.

when that will happen? you don’t know. maybe him wanting to eat a cooked meal was it. yet, your instincts tell you not now. 

so you lay back down, hearing minho huff and stomp away. 

he definitely thinks you hate him. you love him, but you want him to feel a little sting. it’s nothing compared to the scalding he gave you months ago, but giving him a little taste of his medicine won’t hurt.

at least you don’t hope so. 

he has to reach out the right way. 

and… you close your eyes and toss and turns…. and if he doesn’t do it before you finally decide, then you’ll have no choice to make the move. 

just a little longer…

you hope your heart handles it. 

he doesn’t near you. you’re used to it now, despite how much it hurts you. 

it’s the end of the year and all of you are preparing for the award shows. you have many to attend— mma , mama, the baeksang arts awards. probably some more. 

the biggest is mama. it’s one of the ones at the end of the year. the acting award is in may, or so you heard. thing is you’re a nominee and they’ll announce that further on, right now your main focus is the award shows of the month of december. it’s a stressful time, but not as stressful as when you were fresh of the drama. 

since last month, you’ve had more time to breathe. to sleep too. 

you do have the obligation to keep going on dates with gayoung. instead of being home alone with minho when jisung is stuck in the studio you choose to hang out with her. unknown to you- that hurts minho. well, maybe you do know. 

“sound check done, thank you!” 

all of you bow. 

“hyung!” changbin runs to you, “i’m hungry!”

“yeah! me too!” seungmin yells. 

you smile, adoring how cute changbin looks as he clings to your side. “and what do you want to eat? we have to start getting ready for our performance tonight.”

“crab!” changbin pouts. 

“i want something else,” hyunjin argues. 

you laugh, “just order what you want… you know where my card is…” everyone screams happily, “and remember to watch your intake, i don’t need anyone with an upset stomach during or after performance. also!” you point at them, “just buy food, i don’t want to recieve a bill of some video game purchase.” you eye felix who whistles.

minho simply watches you from afar. these past few months weren’t easy. still, he can’t bring himself to face you yet. why would he? your life is as perfect as it gets— you have a successful acting and idol career. you have a beautiful girlfriend. you have millions of doting fans. what would he speak to you for? his feelings? those are worth nothing for you, it’s destroy your image. 

assuming you really did mean what you said all those months ago, what benefit would you get? he can’t do that to you. he can’t bear to think that you’d leave everything you worked so hard to build just for him… if he had ever said yes. 

but he knows better. 

and he knows his spot is exactly where he’s in- watching you from afar. seeing you work as an idol beside him. 

“alright guys, let’s go show them what we’re made of,” chan says with a whoop. 

minho simply won’t intervene. 

despite how much rest you’ve had compared to a few months back, you still don’t feel your best. still, your performance is full of energy and charisma. the whole performance is full of crazy moves and entrances. the acts hyunjin and you pulled were the highlights of the whole stage. 

by the second act, your place was to do a flip between two dancers, so that they would soon do a dance break with you. you’d have to wait for a few moments until felix finishes his line and everyone files to the side for you to do your part. 

you’ve rehearsed this plenty of times, you know when to enter and when to wait. you know how many steps to take and when to turn. when to breathe and when to blink.

yet, you take the wrong step and fall six feet off the platform stage. bodyguards run to you as you groan, your trembling arms helping you push yourself off the ground. jeongin’s worried eyes are on you, he’s hidden from the amount of dancers before him. 

“are you okay!?” a staff asks as they help you get to your feet. 

you had fallen on your hands and knees. the impact was rough but the adrenaline makes it feel like you’re fine. your hand hurts bad though, or is it your wrist? you just stare down at your shaking hands, scratched and getting red. you wobble, your knees almost giving out. you need to get back on stage-

the dance break starts. 

“help me get up!” you yell, panting. 

“if you’re injured we have to-“

“you have to walk all the way around-“

“y/n-ssi you need to get checked-“

everyone is talking but not moving. you growl, grabbing a bodyguard and your stare was enough for everyone to get the gist. they hunch over and hook their hands to give you leverage, your foot wobbles from weak balance as you boost yourself up with their help. clearly everyone is confused and worried, yet you crawl onto the stage and quickly get on your feet. 

the impact is starting to reveal where you’re hurt. your ankle is probably sprained, each step is killing you. your shoulder aches, your elbows sting. 

still, you run and when your backup dancer catch you on their peripheral vision, they immediately step back to sync with you when you backflip and spin to the floor in a breakdance pattern. it’s the final steps of the formation you were supposed to perform, yet it still blew everyone away and regained the attention of everyone. 

going through the rest of the choreography was killing you. it took everything in you to not wobble as you did your lines and performed with the rest of the members. 

the worst part? was that after forcing yourself to stand still for approximately one minute as the performance comes to an end for the cameras to stop rolling, you lose your balance when going down the stairs and once more, you fall from the three foot high staircase that lead to the backstage. 

“hyung!” jeongin cries out, catching everyone’s attention. 

medical staff already surround you as you lay on the floor, groaning and grunting. 

“what’s going on?” minho asks, eyes wide and his heart pounding. 

“hyung fell off the stairs!” changbin exclaims.

“he also fell off the stage,” jeongin sobs, “and he still hopped on and kept going-“

“hey, hey, let’s let them work,” chan says, gathering the kids away despite his anxiety skyrocketing. 

minho doesn’t budge at first, his glassy eyes fixated on your body as the medics put you on a stretcher when you say how much it hurts to move. he’s worried sick, you really pushed yourself that bad? he can’t wonder if you’re insane or passionate. no one really enjoys the rest of the ceremony. during the speech chan mentions how passionate they are for their dream, even mentioning how y/n pushed himself to give the best performance even when he shouldn’t have. 

back in the dorms chan texts the chat, saying you had dislocated your left shoulder and wrist. you’re bruised on your elbows and knees, the height would have fractured them but you had placed all your weight in the impact in your hands, causing one wrist to suffer more. two to three months until you’re fully recovered. 

they still have to perform. minho can’t help but cry, he knows very well the company will make you keep going through promotions and schedules no matter how hurt you are. 

and he’s nervous. how will he put aside his actions in order to care for you? you live right next to his room, how could he feign interest when you’ll be in need of assistance for a while? hyunjin was the same, so how could he not intervene? 

his biggest fear is this— what if you don’t let him? 

he’d deserve it of course. you have every right to refuse his help and care. 

it gnaws at him for the three days straight that you’re in the hospital. it was per your request to stay for a little longer. how will he face you? is now the right time? no. yes? 

he isn’t sure if he’s crying from guilt, self hatred or anxiety anymore. so when he hears your familiar footsteps inside the dorm he freezes. jisung is with chan and changbin again, coincidentally saying he’ll be home extremely late, he enters a frenzy. 

he hears your gruttal sigh as you walk inside your room, your door closes. 

well. it’s now or never. 

you either reject him all together — reject what? he doesn’t know. he has no idea what he’s going to say, no idea if he’ll ask to console you or to apologize for what happened or what. something has to be done, though, and if you never let him get close to you again then he’ll understand that it’s the consequences of his actions. 

he takes a deep breath as he heads out of his room. he swallows the knot in his throat when he stands before your door. 

“leave me alone, minho,” you say before his fist even makes contact with your door to knock. 

he stares at the door as if it was it that spoke to you that way. “y/n… i-“

“just leave me alone they way you said you would. you don’t need me so i don’t need you either.”

minho breathes shallow, “y-you don’t mean that-“

“the fuck do you want?” you groan, “what? i get hurt and now you decide to speak to me?”

your voice cracks at the end of your grievance. it breaks minho. 

“i’m sorry,” he sobs, “i shouldn’t have been selfish! i shouldn’t have hurt you like that!  shouldn’t have shut you out!”

he hiccups and takes a step back when you open the door. through blurry sight, he looks at you. you stare down at him, why are your eyes so tender? 

“but you did…”

“i just knew if i didn’t i’d have no restraint,” he sniffles, “i love you.” he whispers, looking down at the floor, “seeing you with her hurt so much. knowing you smell like her made me nauseous. knowing she was your new focus made me feel like i didn’t belong in your life anymore-“

“minho,” you grab his chin with your free hand, tilting his face up. “why does it take me getting hurt for you to speak to me again?” 

minho shakes his head, “i just can’t come between you and gayoung-“

“me and gayoung are dating by contract, not because i love her.” you confess, finally letting that out. “you think i want to be with her?” 

minho pushes your hand away, hot tears streaming down his face again. “what will the company think? we won’t work! you have so much to lose and-“

“you think i give a damn about all of this!?” you push him forward until he’s trapped between you and the wall. “i love you, lee minho.” you stare at his mortified expression, “i stand by what i said. for you, and only you, i’d give up everything.” 

“your career-“

“none of this means nothing if you’re not in it!” you grab his chin again, “you don’t have to love me back, you don’t have to accept my feelings! just, just talk to me again, please,” you beg, your own eyes glassing over, “don’t just be my coworker, be my friend again. be my safe place again. i-i’ll put away my feelings for you, we can forget that i love you but don’t shut me out again.” 

“y/n…” he stares at you, realizing how truly broken you’ve been since that day. 

“that’s what i meant that day… none of this is worth it if the one person that made me feel like i belonged isn’t with me.” 

“oh, y/n…” his bottom lip trembles, “have we really been that blind?”

you close your eyes and sigh, “i understand you’re scared of the public eye…”

“i am…” he whimpers. 

“but i’d walk through fire if it meant i’d have you as mine for the rest of my life.” 

he locks eyes with you, drowning in the warmth of your orbs. his heart hammers in his chest again, would he do the same? what is he really scared of? loving you and risking his career? 

no, he concludes. 

“y/n….” he says shallowly before leaning in to kiss you. 

he’s scared of losing you and realizing everything he has isn’t worth that. 

you kiss him with passion. his soft lips syncing with yours, saliva mixing with yours as your tongue grazes his. your hands grab his waist and pull him flush against you.

“ngh- y-your wrist-“ he tries to say as you eat his mouth. 

“don’t care,” you grumble as you attack his lips without remorse. 

the pesty sting in your bone doesn’t matter when he’s finally in your arms. his whimpers and moans make you want more. you know he’ll sound even more beautiful beneath you in the sheets, taking all you have to offer. 

just the thought accelerates your heart rate. the beautiful man you’ve always wanted is finaly before you. the kiss means more than a confession. you place your hands behind his thighs, he makes a noise when you lift him up. 

“ah- your shoulder-!”

“it’s okay baby, what you make me feel is bigger than the pain,” you tease as you carry him to your bed. 

he can’t scold you or complain because you attack his mouth again. you grin into the kiss as you sit on the edge of the bed with him on your lap. it’s probably the hottest thing minho will ever experience. he straddles your waist for more comfort in this position, hands running through your hair as you kiss along his jawline. when you kiss a certain spot, he twitches and whines. 

with a lazy smile, you pull away and look at him. 

“let me take you,” you beg softly, panting.

he swallows, looking down at the tent in your shorts. “but gayoung-“

“can you stop mentioning her?” you growl, pulling him down by the hips so that your boner pokes him through his joggers. “she will never have me the way you can.” you kiss his ear, making him shiver, “the way you will.”

“i’m scared,” he voices out. he wraps his arms around your neck, “i-i want to say yes but… there will be no going back, y/n…”

“it was never a choice,” you say.

and he lets you push him down onto the bed. 

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