#this is what I've been doing all afternoon

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk. 

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love. 

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together. 

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound. 

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror. 

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off. 

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head. 

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you." 

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way. 

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it. 

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him. 

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now. 

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk. 

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?" 

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises. 

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim." 

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will. 

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue. 

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night. 

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you. 

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him. 

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his. 

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—read 13.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[pbjloverucon]

tittle:We’re tied

wc: abt 1k

summary: during and after the uconn vs st. john’s game. (in honor of Azzi’s 34 point game)

paring: Azzi & paige

authors note: I’m a baby writer, so i’m open to any suggestions (tips) & ideas.

—————————————————-

“let’s put belt to ass tonight”, Paige joked as she tied her shoes, looking around at all her teammates getting warmed up.

“you know we will, girl boo” kk added, followed by multiple chuckles and laughter from the other girls.

It was 7:10 pm, 20 minutes before the game. After warmups, the players headed back to the locker rooms to prepare themselves against St. John’s.

There, the blonde-haired girl, met a disassociated azzi fudd.

“az, what’s wrong?”, Paige asked concerned, as she sat next to Azzi on the bench, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Why do you always assume something’s wrong with me, Paige?” azzi replied instantly, but calmly. “no reason, just wanted to make sure you're not in your head”, Paige said, still huddled over Azzi, with one arm over the younger girls shoulder.

Before Paige could form another sentence, it was game time. All the girls lined up in height order, from the shortest (kk) to the tallest (El alfey), and ran out into the arena, touching the fans' hands as they spread across the floor. After both teams' players settled into their positions, the game clock started and everybody locked in.

The crowd roared as UConn picked up the pace against St. john, notably Azzi who started aggressively, and ended the half by outscoring St John’s entire team with 17 points.

“fudd for three” Sarah teased in the locker room during halftime. Though everybody was visibly happy for Azzi, the team knew Geno wouldn’t be pleased unless they kept the momentum going. So after the fudd hype died down, the team went over plays and rested until the second half.

The quarter started slow, but eventually, both teams got in rhythm. Though st. John’s started banking shots, it wasn’t enough to stop UConn.

Paige was a defensive beast tonight, blocking shots as if she were a center. Sarah and Jana in the paint were an undeniable duo, demanding the fans applause. Respectively Kaitlyn Chen followed suit with her impressive shot-making, and then there was Azzi..

Azzi had the crowd's attention,—proving why she was the nation's #1 ranked high school player(wb)in 2021. Aware that she was on the brink of beating her career high, she shot the ball with every opportunity she got.

Now at 28 points, the crowd went nuts, everybody was anticipating Fudd to drop a 30-piece. And that she did, in transition she caught an open look from kk and drained the 3 from behind the line. The crowd grew louder, and before they knew it, azzi fudd banked another 3, creating a new career high of 34.

No longer bearing the overwhelmed look Paige questioned earlier, azzi smiled. She embraced the crowd and headed to the bench to sit with Paige for the remainder of the 4th quarter . “that’s my shooter” " Paige said as she shook the younger girl's shoulder.

_______

After a long evening of press, the team finally made it on campus. Following behind ice as she opened the door, the girls flooded into the living room area. All expect fudd, who went to her room to live down the hype of the afternoon.

“Nika!!! Twin, I've missed you”, Paige said as she sat next to her on the couch. “I missed you too twin, she replied. The two caught up for a few minutes before Paige got distracted by a Twitter notification.

“Paige Bueckers jealous, of azzi fudd’s 34-point game?”, Paige read the highlight in disbelief.

Nika looked at the phone and shook her head, “the media will make anything a headline.”

Paige was irritated by the tweet, but it made her realize that Azzi had been m.i.a the entire night.

Without an explanation, Paige got up from the couch and left the living room. Despite the blonde not mentioning anything, the team had an idea of where she was headed.

“Baby.”, Paige whined as she knocked on azzi's door. “I miss you”.

In a matter of seconds, azzi unlocked her door and let the blonde in.

Before words were exchanged, Paige put her hands on Azzi's waist and passionately kissed her, gradually slipping tongue into her mouth.

“wow, baby I missed you too”, azzi said wrapped in Paige’s arms, in shock at the older girl's sudden desperation.

“Azzi you know I love you, right?”, Paige asked, not giving the younger girl a chance to respond. “You know I'm proud of you no matter how you perform on and off the court, right?”

This time azzi interjected before she could continue “Paige your eyes are watering, where’s all this coming from?”

“Well, l saw a tweet, and people think that I was jealous of your game today, and I don’t want you to believe that. Yes, I wish I could’ve shot the ball better and I was mad with myself, but I couldn’t be more proud of you tonight. Your my-”

Azzi cut the older girl off before she continued to ramble. “Paige, I love you too, and I’ve never doubted your support for me “

“so why did you rush into your room”, the blonde questioned.

“I just needed time to take it all in. Seeing my shots fall like that reminded me of my love for the game”

For a moment, comfortable silence filled the dimly lit room.

Azzi inched into her bed and sat up, resting on the headboard. Paige followed the younger girl into bed and put her head on azzis stomach.

Still in silence, azzi ran her hands through Paige’s hair, studying how clingy her gf was being (which she found super hot)

Breaking the stillness in the room, Paige held onto Azzi's stomach, and blurted out, “34 points, huh?” “sounds like a very familiar career high, don’t you think?”

“nope, doesn’t ring a bell”, azzi teased knowing her gfs career high was also 34.

“Right, right.” Paige replied jokingly, looking up at the girl she was going to please later that night.

“Just think of it like this, we’re tied”, Azzi said still stroking her gfs hair and admiring her girl.

[andhumanslovedstories]

There's so many horrible things happening in America right now that it has been interesting to see what individual horrors hurt me personally the most. I grew up going to the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Musicals, plays, concerts, that weird bust of JFK, playing around on terrace during intermissions, putting on a velvet dress that you're going to ruin dropping a milk dud in your lap and not noticing until it's fully melted, wearing the pinchy shiny shoes that are the training bras of women's formal footwear, operas I didn't like but did love, jazz I didn't understand but still fascinated me, red carpet, big stairs, the absolute nightmare amount of experiences I had as a new driver as I repeatedly got trapped in the Kennedy Center's fucking private DC island or whatever the hell is going on traffic-wise, free performances on small side stages, getting to see an enormous production on the Center's most enormous stage, all of which was accessed by walking through that a long, tall hallway lined with flags of the world that made you feel like a dignitary attending the most important even in the world.

And now Trump's taken it over. He fired its board. He appointed one of his loyalists to run it. I want to throw up.

Sometimes I miss DC so much. I love the Pacific Northwest and expect I'll live here for the rest of my life, but this isn't my hometown. I grew up the edge of the District. I've lost cumulative years of my life stuck in traffic on the inner loop and outer loop. Because of the Smithsonian, it used to be so baffling to me that anyone ever had to pay to get into a museum. I've used the Washington DC zoo as a shortcut to a different part of the city because it's free to enter. You couldn't count the amount of knockoff Spider-man popsicles that I've eaten sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. My reading tastes were molded by Kramer Books in Dupont Circle. I spent afternoons walking around the National Mall, normally just a big empty field until there's an event--book fair, country music program, international cuisine, whatever--at which point for a day or a weekend or a week it becomes a sea of tents and stages. I went to protests outside the Capital and the White House about the war in Iraq. I froze my toes off watching Obama's 2008 presidential inauguration.

It seemed like everyone's family touched the federal government in some way. Everyone's family had moved here because they were military or state department or a political consultant or worked with an NGO or some other reason that meant you had to be here, in the nation's capital. Plenty of people had connections to the federal government that we more hush-hush. Like kids in class straight up going, "I have no idea what my parents do for a living. They're not allowed to tell me." High schoolers regularly, accidentally drove into the CIA parking lot and got escorted out because the premises were that accessible. My family moved here because my dad is a reporter who ended up covering international trade. (Imagine how much his job sucks right now.) He switched beats one summer to cover the White House instead. He got to fly on Air Force One. He got official Air Force One M&Ms. I was SO disappointment my dad didn't work there for Bush to call on him by nickname.

Every day my family got The Washington Post. I read the comics and the kid's page, then the rest of the Style section, then Metro, then news. I learned to read from it. We wrapped our delicate Christmas ornaments with its pages. We used yesterday's papers to clean our windows because they didn't leave streaks. I took journalism in high school. You can't IMAGINE how much and how frequently we talked about Watergate. When Post changed its motto to "Democracy Dies in Darkness" after Trump's election in 2016 that meant something to me. I knew Bezos owned the paper now, but that was still my paper, and the motto spoke to something I fervently believed: if people just knew what was happening, they wouldn't allow it to happen. If you expose a problem, people will naturally agree that it is a problem and that we should do something to fix it. Flash forward to Trump's third fucking campaign, and the newspaper wouldn't endorse a presidential candidate. Chickenshit cowardice. Then they change the motto. "Riveting Storytelling for All of America." Eat shit. You're nothing now.

Politics in America is just telling everyone how much you hate Washington, DC so that they'll elect you so you can move to DC. Well, guys, the city fucking hates you too. Republicans will never give the District actually meaningful political representation because no one in that city would vote for them. It's not just the policies; it's the contempt. No one in the new administration loves the city they schemed and lied and stooped to take over. It's just iconography to them, and all they care about is taking that iconography for themselves. Trump doesn't give a shit about the summer program for the Kennedy Center. He has never seen a show at the Kennedy Center. When he was president, he never attended the annual awards. He's trying to destroy one of the most significant places of my life and I'm genuinely unsure if he has ever stepped for inside of it.

[floofyroro]

A Blooming Ruse

Pairing: Crosshair/f!reader

Words: 7533 

Tags/warnings: fake dating, forced proximity, island life on Pabu, gardener!reader, gardener!crosshair, grandparent OCs, Pabuan OCs, narcissism (reader's relative), slight NSFW (making out)

Summary: When Crosshair surprises you with an enticing proposition, your world turns upside down. Despite the uncharted waters, you accept. If it means avoiding your grandmother's incessant meddling, you'll do anything.

A/N: My entry for Pabu's Festival of Love celebration by @tbb-appreciation-week. I've had this drafted since last Spring so I'm happy to dust it off for this lovely event.

Read on AO3

If a higher being exists, Crosshair wouldn’t know.

Having witnessed firsthand the horrors of war and carrying out the Empire’s will on top of that, he errs on the side of agnostic. He does know, however, that something, whether it be the Force or the Maker or whatever, has it out for him because he’s a magnet for awkward, anxiety-inducing social situations. 

Right now, he wishes he could leave the vicinity and sleep for ten rotations straight.

As it is, the universe has other plans for him.

“Well?”

The older lady continues to peer down at him as she stands across the plot of tomatoes. Her expression reads as expectant, mingled with curiosity and… Something else.

Crosshair has never been good with civilians. He once preferred his solidarity up in the rafters, keeping a close eye on every movement, every variation through a narrow scope. Hunter was primarily responsible with handling the civvies if the mission ever required it anyway.

But lately the need for high ground is no longer pressing nor relevant. He hasn’t had a reason to dust off Firepuncher in months. It currently sits in its case, untouched in the corner of his bedroom. 

So now, he rolls the toothpick to a corner of his mouth before sighing through the nose. The afternoon sun beats down on his back as he swiftly plucks one last weed from the vegetable bed. Crosshair attempts to remain cordial when he responds:

“No. I’m not… seeing anyone at the moment.”

It feels asinine, this conversation with Eira. He’s aware she has an affinity for digging into other people’s business but he’s never been on the receiving end of it before. He’d seen it with you, her granddaughter, but he’d never thought twice that her penchant for gossip would soon be directed towards him.

It must be his lucky day.

As he slips off his gardening gloves, Eira’s eyes dip down once to his mechanical prosthetic before locking back onto his gaze. 

“Are all of your brothers single?”

Crosshair wants to inhale the toothpick into his mouth and swallow it. He wonders what would happen if he did. 

Would he choke? 

“No,” he replies, grabbing his gloves and weeding tool before coming to a stand. They’re shoved into his belted caddy as he surveys the freshly turned dirt mounding around the staked plants before him. It took most of the afternoon to weed every bed, which is something he surprisingly doesn’t mind, given how meditative the task is itself when he’s alone. 

He had felt your absence this afternoon, unused to not having someone who’d delegate other projects onto him. This prompted Crosshair to imagine a smaller frame, acting as a constant shadow who would point out which plots needed to be watered, which stalks were ready for harvest, or which insects were considered pests or allies. 

A weird development for him but whatever.

When Eira clears her throat, he realizes he’s gone silent again. He mulls over his words as he reaches a hand to massage his right forearm.

“My brother Tech has Phee.” 

“Ah,” she says with a nod, understanding plain in her features. He figured she’d be familiar with Phee. Daily life on Pabu isn’t exactly conducive to privacy, as everyone seems to know everyone, and if they don’t, they’ll make a point to invite the newcomers over in attempts to dig their dirty little paws into other people’s business.

The Batch would know. When they had permanently become residents, it seemed like the island wouldn’t stop celebrating with picnics and evening barbecues. This is apparently paramount to the inhabitants, a tradition that’s grown over the last few months whenever new residents settle in. 

Which is often. The intentions are always kind, of course, despite how uncomfortable it makes Crosshair feel. At this point, he thinks he’s met the entire population but can only recall a handful of names, if at that.

“A good man. He must have his priorities straight.” 

The toothpick swivels as he chews on it.

Are Tech’s priorities straight because he’s with Phee? Or is it merely because he is pursuing someone romantically which then makes him superior in Eira’s eyes? 

Her wrinkled hands are no longer resting on her hips, a positive sign that Crosshair has come to know as appeasement.

She shifts from one leg to the other and says, “I know a young lady who lives just down the street. She’s the carpenter’s daughter. Maker, what was her name? Mildred? Millie? I can’t recall but she’s sprightly girl who always smiles when we cross paths—”

He tunes her out. Crosshair doesn’t know if he’s interested in… whatever it is that Eira’s so adamant about all the time. 

He’s heard her rant to you on many occasions about potential… partners? Boyfriends? He isn’t exactly sure. It’s not his business to begin with, but he’s often within earshot when Eira drills you about your previous dates. 

It was fine. But I don’t want any commitments right now, is what you tell her time and time again.

Presently, Crosshair lets Eira continue her stream of consciousness as she toddles behind him on the dirt path leading into the old equipment shed. The air is humid, an aspect of island life for which Crosshair feels nothing but apathy.

Sweating means he’s outside. Being outside means he’s not inside, isolating himself in his room from his siblings. Can’t have that happening anymore.

His kelpcotton shirt clings to his torso as he unbuckles his caddy and deposits it onto his designated shelf space. His hands rearrange the tools into a neat and orderly pile and then dusts off his gloves before discarding them on top of everything else.

“—so what do you think?” 

His prosthetic hand halts midair as he reaches to take off his bucket hat. 

Kriff. What was she saying? 

Fragments of her monologue float around in his head but it isn’t much. Something about dinner and a girl…

Messy, short curls fall across his forehead as he removes his hat. He runs a hand through them out of habit, making a mental note to ask Omega for a trim when he returns home. The hat, courtesy of you when you realized he didn’t own any sort of sun protection, is plopped on top of his other work essentials. It’s a worn article, something he uses daily, but part of Crosshair secretly relishes in the fact that it used to smell nice. 

Maybe he should take it home and wash it.

When he looks over, Eira’s features are twisted into an expression reminiscent of Wrecker’s shit-eating grin after winning a game of sabacc.

“Uh,” he says, because he’s unable to muster anything coherent at the moment. He curses the Kaminoans for the umpteenth time, wondering why, out of all of the genetically engineered qualities within him, words fail him more often than not lately. 

This could also be due to the fact that he’s attempting to cut back on the snark for Omega’s sake. Less snark equals more awkward silences.

“Perfect! I’ll ask her tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll say yes, she’s a sharp one—”

A flare of panic flickers in his chest. How did this old woman interpret his lack of response as an affirmative? It’s a bit of a reach, even for her. He tries to come up with an excuse but every reply would garner an earful from Omega, if she were to hear him.

How should he handle this?

He lets himself imagine for a moment that he did say ‘yes’ to Eira. 

A faceless woman appears in his mind. She’s sitting at a table, the surroundings similar to his preferred caf shop in the upper levels of the island. Having never been on a date before, he isn’t certain how he would feel. More likely than not, he assumes he would feel scrutinized, as if this lady is trying to gauge whether he’s worthy of her time and attention. 

But that’s not what gives him pause. 

No, it’s the fact that as he tries to imagine this woman and give her more prominent characteristics, she starts resembling…

Hmm.

He chews harder on the toothpick.

On second thought, Crosshair decides he doesn't like the idea of going on a date with a stranger.

Before he’s able to muster a polite ‘no,’ the old woman cuts him off with a surprised croak.

“Ah, there she is!”

Eira is already out of the shed and waddling over to the gate entrance when Crosshair hears your voice before he sees you. Some of the tension coiling in his chest starts to unwind. 

You’re beaming, hauling a basket of overflowing floral bouquets as you swing the garden center gates open and approach, excitement palpable with each of your steps. The color of the day is green, judging by your bandana. The small fabric somehow manages to tame the wild locks of hair that he’s only ever seen pulled back by whatever weaving techniques you’ve mastered.

Crosshair doesn’t consider himself overly perceptive to such benign things like appearance but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t noticed your apparent collection of colorful head scarves and hats. They suit you, in a way. Maybe they’re endearing because it reminds him of Hunter and Omega. 

“Shep said yes to featuring our flowers!”

Eira grabs the basket from you and places it down before wrapping you into a fierce hug. “I had no doubt that he would, dear. That was a brilliant idea,” she coos, loosening her hold to pat the sides of your arms, “you suggesting we offer our blooms for the Festival of Love event.”

Your bright eyes turn shy, the corners of your mouth pulling into a small grin as you peer away from your grandmother to Crosshair, who stands outside the shed with his hands in his pockets. 

He doesn’t recall your eyes ever dulling. If anything, they seem to sparkle whenever your attention is on him.

Not that he’s noticed, of course. 

“Well, I can’t take all of the credit. Crosshair is sick of tending to the dahlias. And can we blame him? Those tubers are rather cumbersome as you well know.”

Crosshair sighs once for dramatic effect, the corners of his mouth betraying his mirth. “One can only pick so many snails off the stocks, Eira. Not to mention the staking… and the constant watering.”

You shoot your grandmother a grin. “To translate; he’s ready to lay the blooms to rest.” 

Eira rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Yes, well, those tubers are older than the both of you combined. I’d rather pass a painful and slow death than let them go to waste.”

She softens marginally. “I suppose you’ll both have your work cut out for you, arranging all of those bouquets together. The Festival is in less than a week so time is of the essence! But for now, I think we ought to call it a day. Crosshair,” she suddenly interjects his name like it’s almost a curse, “don’t you forget to grab a bucket or two of those bloomberries. We’re overflowing in the storage room as it is and we shouldn’t let them waste.”

Crosshair mutters something along the lines of ‘no need to tell me twice,’ and nods to both you and your grandmother before heading back to the Center to bring what he’ll suspect will make Omega’s day. No doubt will her eyes grow big when she sees the fruit. He’s sure it’ll be another puzzle for Wrecker to solve in the kitchen as they figure out ways to preserve the fruit or make the most use out of baking with it.

The tart-sweetness of the fruit coats his tongue as he pops one between his lips. The cobblestones that lead him home are brimming with other islanders, the top of the hour prime time for early evening commutes back to their families. After tomorrow, it’ll be a market day for the Center. He technically has the day off, but he’ll probably show up to the greenhouse and find you among cut flowers and messy foliage as you attempt to meet the demands of Shep’s requests for the Festival. 

After that, he supposes he could help Tech out in the workshop by being his brother’s lackey for the latest technological pursuit for the sake of the island. It’s not like Crosshair has anything else planned—

It dawns on him suddenly; he forgot to tell Eira ‘no’ about the carpenter’s daughter.

Kriff.

He peers up at the cloudless sky and sighs.

Shoving Crosshair into the supply closet was not on the afternoon agenda.

While it may not be your best idea, you’re running on a volatile mix of adrenaline and horror, all because you saw your grandmother hobbling towards the gardens with a familiar short man in tow. 

Bronson. 

Thirty-five and divorced with two kids, he runs the fish shop by the docks. While everyone regards him as the happy-go-lucky fisherman, you get the heebie jeebies whenever you look at his bearded face. He normally sports a jacket that reeks of alcohol as well. It’s a low blow to your pride for Eira to even suggest him as a potential romantic partner.

The first time she’d mentioned him, you had no qualms in giving her an earful. However, your efforts proved fruitless. Trying to reason with her is like trying to convince an Imperial officer that they’re a terrorist. She usually proceeds to scold you and in Bronson’s case, she retorted that ‘it’s bad luck to judge others by their past and appearance.’

“I don’t give a tooka’s ass about bad luck, especially considering how his wife left him because he prioritizes fishing above everything else.”

“Stability, granddaughter. What he offers is stability.” 

You’d been furious at her insinuation. It’s not like you haven’t fought tooth and nail to get the Garden Center running at full efficiency. Writing grant proposals, dedicating your weekends to the farmers markets, having to be your own hiring manager on top of it all. Stability is your middle name, for crying out loud.

But It’s grown to be a lot of responsibility. It’s nearly time to consolidate your workload, having recently added more hands to the team and buying new harvest droids. All of this is in the name of streamlining the process so that you can separate all of the work from your personal life. 

Which, coincidentally, hardly exists. You can blame your poor work-life balance on your grandma. She’s proving to grow trickier as the years pass.

Bronson still hasn’t spotted you yet. You drop the watering hose into the garden bed, discard your gloves, all of which prompts Crosshair to pause his pruning of the plume shrubs. 

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t hear him. You stare ahead and map out all possible exits, trying to figure out how you could escape without being seen or causing a scene. They’re nearly to the gate, and you think that if you can sneak off to the—

“Hey,” Crosshair’s tone is firmer now. Suddenly, the flight kicks in. 

You’ve never run into the Garden Center like your life depended on it before but there’s a first for everything. Heart pounding, you survey the main room and debate hiding behind the old leather couch. Unreliable, considering Grandma will probably give Bronson a full-fledged Center tour, which should only be for employees or volunteers. 

Not that she cares.

The door behind slings open and the rational part of you knows it has to be Crosshair but you still startle and make for the first logical solution to your predicament; hiding in the supply closet. 

“What,” he says from behind you, “are you doing?” 

You swing open the closet and quickly shoot a furtive glance through the entrance windows to see that the emerging figures are still far away enough for you to pull this off.

Crosshair follows your line of sight, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares. Not a moment later, his scrutiny relaxes.

“Another one of Eira’s ploys?”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to explain just how embarrassed and frustrated you truly feel. You run a hand across the back of your neck, slick skin coating your palm with sweat. Your chest tightens and it’s enough to encourage you to pull the door closed, yearning for privacy.

Except that Crosshair wraps a hand around the frame of it and pries it back open.

“Cross—”

“Do I need to talk to him?”

HIs words are abrupt. He peers back over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. The lines of his tattoo shifts as his expression darkens.

“I said,” he directs his gaze back to you, “do I need to talk to him? Or do I tell your grandma that you’re feeling ill—”

The prospect of Crosshair speaking on your behalf sounds downright mortifying. You should be able to confront her yourself. In a perfect world, you’d have the gall to do it. But alas, here you are, fleeing like a coward. 

“No! Noo, no, no, just—”

Your hands act on their own accord, reaching out to grasp Crosshair by the neckline of his shirt and pulling hard. He releases a surprised grunt before stumbling into the cramped space next to you. As you reach for the doorknob behind him, he’s pushed against the shelving in order to make room for your efforts.

The door slams closed with a forceful tug and then it’s pitch black. 

Which is Makersent, because you’re practically embracing Crosshair in this position.

“Hit the light,” he says, his voice betraying no indication of what he’s feeling.

You pull back before his words register but then you have to press into him once again to find purchase for the switch—

“For Force sake,” he mutters and okay, his mouth is right next to your ear. Has he always sounded like that? He’s unmoving against you but you can feel, based off the way his torso presses against your chest, just how built he actually is—

He turns abruptly in an attempt to give you more leeway but it proves to be the wrong move. Your balance is thrown off kilter and with no sight to aid you in regaining any semblance of equilibrium, you’re about to faceplant because… why not? 

Let’s add to your piling mortification.

An arm snakes around your midsection, catching you mid-plummet, and you think you hear him grunt as he rights your balance with surprising precision.

(You shouldn’t kid yourself. This man has been precise since day one. You’ve seen the way he stakes the tomatoes.) 

A cold metal palm presses against the skin of your exposed lower back, your shirt evidently deciding to ride up without your consent. It’s his mechanical hand, holding you up. You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

Which is another mistake because a waft of tilled earth, sweat, and something distinctly minty hits your nose, reminding you of the herb beds situated at the front of the center. You risk another deep inhale, daring to inch closer. The light still isn’t on and you will yourself to relax, despite being hyper aware of the close proximity and of every point of contact where you both touch.

Each of your breaths brushes against his own. Which, you aren’t complaining since his scent is a welcome reprieve against the damp smell that is signature to this old closet.

At this point, maybe confronting Bronson would be less daunting than whatever this is. Sharing close quarters with your favorite employee (you’d never admit as much to him) isn’t exactly ideal.

But then that slippery, bearded smile flashes once in your mind and that’s enough to tell you otherwise.

You also really don’t want to see Crosshair’s expression right now. 

“That bad, huh?”

Maybe it’s just because his face must be inches away from yours but his voice seems to reverberate through you, trailing all the way to your toes. You’re struck with the odd thought that despite how gravelly it sounds, it’s… nice.

“Yeah,” you croak, a bead of sweat trailing down the back of your neck. “She’s relentless. I’m… starting to get sick of it.”

You feel a huff of air across your face. 

“I don’t blame you.”

Definitely mint. He must’ve eaten a few leaves from the herb garden. Now that you think about it, he’s almost always chewing on something.

After a moment, he releases his hold on you and a silence blankets you both. The air feels stuffy against your exposed skin, mingling with the humidity of outside. This building could really use a functional cooling system. Soon enough, that’ll change; you’d spent the last week pouring over crude plans and trying to figure which upgrade to take first. Grandma certainly made her two credits clear on what she would do, but not without making you feel guilty.

“Update that sign first. You should consider changing the Center name to honor your grandpa.”

“I think aesthetics are the last thing on my mind, grandma. I’d rather focus on functionality first.”

She didn’t take it well. You apologized over coffee the next morning. You’re trying to take the reins on this and view it as your passion project but to no avail. Though you’ve yet to establish that boundary, it can wait, given what other things are currently taking precedence. 

“I’m… about to pry.”

He takes a deep breath.

“With this… ‘seeing people’ thing,” he says and you wonder if he’s gesturing because you hear his arms drop to his sides, “have you told her to just… stop?”

You pick at your nails. 

Telling Eira ‘no’ is like driving a boat headfirst into a summer thunderstorm. You’ve dropped hints here and there. You had mentioned many times that you aren’t looking to commit to anyone. Dating isn’t a priority right now, especially with the promise of what’s to come for the island gardens. But Eira, stubborn as she is, dismisses each attempt you’ve made, waving a hand in your face or clicking with her tongue before saying that you’re well into your twenties and that it’s time to consider your options. 

“Which are limited,” she always reminds you. One of the many quirks of living on a small island is that she’s right; there aren’t many eligible bachelors to choose from, so in her eyes, ‘one should pick soon before it’s too late.’

“I have,” you finally tell Crosshair, keeping your head down. “She’s not very good at listening.” 

Another huff. He probably detects the euphemism. 

Oddly enough, you feel yourself getting defensive on her behalf because despite how troublesome she is, she’s still family. At the end of the day, her opinion holds weight. Probably more weight than it should, to be honest.

Regardless, this translates as a bite in your tone when you ask, “Why?” 

He stills. Now that you think about it, this is probably the first time he’s ever inquired about your personal life. In the past, he’s taken your rambling in stride but it’s all usually work-related. He never pries and instead listens intently or offers advice when prompted. It’s the exact opposite of how Eira functions. 

That’s probably why you’ve inadvertently started to gravitate towards him. 

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for him to answer. It’s not like you asked for his advice this time. But then again, Crosshair doesn’t talk unless it’s warranted, usually opting to stay quiet as you assign new projects to him or rant to him about the dangers of felucian stag-beetles infesting the crops. 

A humorous part of you thinks that maybe this is his round-about way of trying to make you feel better.

“I—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the Center entrance swinging open with a light chime of a bell.

Your fidgeting hands drop to clenched fists.

“—she must’ve ran home for a midday meal. Sorry ‘bout that, Bronson.”

“It’s no problem. I see her at the marketstands on occasion so perhaps I’ll chat with her next time she’s around. You said she’s interested?”

You blanch. 

You said she’s interested?

A flicker of heat floods your cheeks at the prospect of Grandma lying. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; you’ve witnessed her half-truths before but had opted to brush them off, not giving them too much stock. This, however, stings more than you care to admit. 

Your eyes start to smart as you conjure a scenario where Bronson makes a move. You could give him the cold shoulder. Make up a lie that you’re already seeing someone. The latter thought makes you pause because he’d ask who it is and you can’t really make up a person in a tight-knit community.

Maybe you could even scream in his face. That would get your point across, right? But then everyone would witness it and if there’s anything you’ve learned about living on Pabu over the last four years, it’s that the island's affinity for gossip spreads like wildfire. 

No thanks. You send a silent prayer to the universe that Bronson forgets. Or finds someone else to focus his sleazy energy on.

Actually, no, you wouldn’t wish his advances upon anyone.

Eira’s giving him a tour around the facility, veering from the breakroom to the greenroom where the new seedlings are sowed. Another door clicks closed.

“You’re trembling,” comes that familiar drawl. 

Large palms jar you out of your thoughts, resting on the sides of your shoulders. His fingers wrap gently around your exposed skin and it causes your spine to straighten. One palm is cold, while the other is warm. You’ve wondered about his prosthetic before. On occasion, you’ll catch him massaging the muscle of his forearm attached to the mechanical workings. 

Eira’s voice echoes through the building again, though it’s more distant as you release your breath.

“I don’t know how to tell her off. How to make her stop.” You don’t appreciate how feeble your voice sounds. 

“She and Grandpa… are my only family. The war was tough on us all. I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”  

His thumbs begin to brush in an up and down motion. It’s oddly… gentle of him. Your shoulders gradually sink down with each second that passes, his touch easing away the tension.

Crosshair considers for a moment before asking, “What if… you already had someone?” 

You squint up at Crosshair but the darkness serves to be disappointing. You suddenly yearn for bright, clinical lights to shine directly onto him so you could see exactly which emotion is present across that profile of his. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “You’re gonna need to, uh, spell that one out for me. I’m not following.” 

His thumbs still. 

What if you already had someone?

You turn the words over and over in your mind, trying to parse his meaning until his touch leaves you.

“We pretend,” he says, as if this proposition is as easy as commenting on the weather. 

We?

A million questions swirl in your head as you gauge the possibilities; pretending to what, exactly? 

Be a couple? You and him? 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t considered Crosshair before. He and his brothers stick out like sore thumbs whenever they’re in public and that’s primarily due to the fact that they’re extremely popular with everyone, including introverted Crosshair. You could chalk it up to their efforts to keep Pabu safe, or their military training, or something else. But the reality is that they’re not only talented individuals, but they’re also all very attractive. 

What would pretending with Crosshair even entail? Holding hands while you walk alongside the garden beds? A kiss on the cheek in front of Grandma to appease her desires?

Despite the absurdity of the situation, your gut isn’t lurching. It’s… a solid idea, one that could grant you a momentary break from Eira’s nagging so that you can allocate more time with the Center expansion. Knowing Crosshair, he wouldn’t nag. You’re certain there would be no expectations from him.

But It would have to be temporary. That’s the only stipulation; it can’t last forever, because first of all, you don’t want to put Crosshair through that and second of all…

Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

To make matters simpler, Crosshair is easy on the eyes. That’s not something you’ve entertained for long because again, you have other things to worry about. But you’ve watched him haul overgrown squash to the market plaza with no signs of physical strain. He once fended off a garden viper, sparing you a slightly amused smirk after seeing how it made you jump out of your own skin. 

That was the first time he made your face flush.

His gruff demeanor aside, you trust that he means well because he’s never led you astray before, his work ethic proof enough since he always shows up day after day and carries out each task without complaint. Never once has he indicated that he minds working alongside you.

That particular thought alone makes your stomach flip.

Presently, you don’t see him shift from one foot to the other as much as feel him do so. 

“We pretend,” you echo. In the distant background, Bronson releases a dry laugh and it causes you to tense up.

“Yes,” he whispers, keeping his voice low. “It would… help us both catch a break. From Eira.”

It dawns on you then. A familiar blonde flashes in your mind. 

“What about Millie?” 

“Who?”

This isn’t lining up. Grandma said Crosshair agreed to a date with Millie—

Ah.

“You actually didn’t agree to meet with her, did you? The carpenter’s daughter?”

Irritation taints his sigh. “No, I never did. Eira mistook my silence as confirmation.”

By the Maker.

Hot emotion washes over you again because this time, someone else is suffering at the brunt of her agenda. “I’m sorry,” you say, not realizing how loud your voice is growing, “but Grandma needs to get a kriffing grip—”

A hand clamps over your mouth. You startle against the firmness of his skin against your lips, pressing a gasp into his palm when he leans in and murmurs, “Quiet.”

His hand isn’t bruising. It slots over your mouth, bringing a waft of dirt to your nose. The stillness of your body contrasts against the turmoil rolling in your mind like night and day. As you're held against Crosshair, that telltale honeyed-voice hits your ears, loud and too close for comfort. You must’ve been too focused on what Crosshair proposed to notice that they’d left the greenroom.

“—that was probably a moon-yo nearby. You’ve heard that they can parrot human words back occasionally, right? Odd little creatures but bright nonetheless. I’ll walk you out to the door, Bronson, I appreciate you coming—”

The bell chimes as the door closes with thud and the relief is overwhelming enough that you momentarily forget the hand cupping your lips. You sigh, unthinking as you practically slink against Crosshair’s palm, the exhale from your nose trickling against his skin. He withdraws his touch and suddenly the embarrassment of his actions to quiet you is now at the forefront of your mind.

If you felt weird earlier, it’s incomparable to how you feel now. ‘We pretend ‘ is an internal echo that will inevitably nestle its way into your head for the next foreseeable future and you aren’t sure what to make of it. He’s made his own motivations clear for proposing the idea but it still strikes you as odd. The anomaly that is Crosshair and his reserved nature around you doesn’t quite fit this proposition.

And yet, a quiet part of you is growing fond of the idea. 

“Okay,” you break the silence, gripping tightly for the remaining stores of courage that are somehow responsible for what you’re about to say, “I think we should give it a shot. Let’s… Pretend. I’ll do anything at this point to get her off my ass.” 

You try to keep your tone light. This isn’t a terribly serious matter anyway, right? It’s good to keep in mind that Crosshair has been a soldier all of his life and you can only imagine how many covert missions he’s carried out so it would make sense that he would handle this in a similar manner. 

Yes, because you’re so infamous for being stealthy. Said no one ever.

Your own faults aside, you pray that you can pull this off. 

“Fine by me,” he finally says. Silence lapses between you both again. You take a moment to listen outwards. The Center is seemingly empty with the lack of toddling old ladies and  middle-aged men. The constant hum from the energy generator is the only noise. Now would be the opportune time to leave before Grandma returns, but…

It suddenly feels daunting, leaving this closet. You’d be stepping out into reality again, but this time with a fake boyfriend in tow. 

You’re wondering if he feels as uncomfortable as you are when he adds, “Just… Don’t take anything I say personally, alright?”

Before you’re able to discern his meaning, the bell rings again and you let out an inaudible curse. 

Her gait is uneven and purposeful. As each of her steps draws closer, so does your mounting anxiety. She knows, you worry. She knows about the lie already and she’s about to draw the proverbial curtain away to expose you and strip away any shred of dignity that remains.

Crosshair hisses your name, the sound foreign against your ears. Despite how gentle his hand is, the cold metal stings against your hot cheek, your head jerking away before he firmly slides up his durasteel hand across your skin to cradle the side of your head. 

“You’ll have to follow me,” he says, the words too fast for you to process.

“Follow you?” Your mouth is suddenly dry, the words sticking like cotton.

“My lead,” he stresses.

Before you’re able to divine his meaning, his other hand wraps around your waist to pull your body against him. 

Time slows as his mouth slots against yours. 

It’s nonsensical, the way your lips part in surprise. Your heart is hammering loud enough to drown out everything else. All you feel is him; his looming figure that seems to wrap around you with ease, his legs tangling with your own, his hand on your face, his mouth against yours. A chill runs down your spine when his grip tightens but then his lips, warm and surprisingly supple, begin to move.

He tastes like mint leaves, you think deliriously. What’s more is how you respond in a split second of impulsivity, meeting his movements with brushes of your own, pressing firmly against him. A low sound reverberates from his chest, making your skin bloom with gooseflesh as you reach to wrap your arms around his shoulders, coming up to your toes. He meets you halfway, lowering himself to ease your efforts. A fog settles over you, your fingers tangling into the mess of curls at the nape of his neck. It prompts him to do the same, except instead of only grasping at your hair, he gently tugs, inadvertently coaxing your mouth open to moan.

His tongue brushes across your lower lip once and when you tilt your head back more to grant him better access, Crosshair seizes the opportunity; his soft, hot muscle licks and twists, but he welcomes your own advances against him with unpracticed, eager effort. You feel as though you’ve dissolved completely into a puddle, your belly simmering with dizzying want.

But it’s fleeting, as all good things are, because the door slams open.

The sound alone makes your eyes fly open as you straighten in Crosshair’s embrace, breaking the kiss. If you weren’t so close to his face, you would’ve completely missed his startled expression. Despite the onslaught of blinding light, he gently continues to hold you, and to your surprise, he closes his eyes and bends down to rest his forehead against yours.

“We’re a bit busy here,” he says, his words lacking any real bite with how his chest heaves lightly. He lifts away from you and casts a glare towards Eira. You risk a glance, uncertain as to what you’ll find, but judging by the hanging mouth and wide eyes… 

She’s beside herself.

“Clearly,” Eira finally says, the word nearly as airy as you are. She clears her throat, her movements awkward as she coughs once into a closed fist. “Well. I was right then.”

You scrunch your nose slightly in confusion. “You knew?”

If she notices the patchiness in your voice, Eira doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she crosses her arms and purses those thin lips with a hum. “Saved you the embarrassment, I did. Could’ve walked straight up to the door and gave Bronson a run for his money.”

Uh huh, sure. More like you saved yourself from the embarrassment, you thought sourly. You detect her behavior for what it is, an out for her mistake, but you nod despite yourself.

She waves a dismissive hand, closing her eyes as she says, “Whatever you two were doing is between you and the Maker. My question is,” she shoots a disapproving look at Crosshair, who meets her with a cool, indifferent stare, “why didn’t you act on this sooner, mister?”

Curious, you raise your gaze back to Crosshair and the gravity of what you just exchanged with him presses against you with unprecedented force. The nerves reemerge, making your palms clammy as you steal a glance at his lips. You… kissed him. 

To be fair, he kissed you. But you’d reciprocated, almost eager as you explored this new dynamic with him. How will this change things between you both? What happens when you call the ruse off? Most likely he’d want to find work somewhere else, which makes perfect sense.

But it doesn’t explain the pang in your sternum at the thought of him leaving. It’s only because he’s valuable to the Center; his dedication to show up early and leave late has you worrying more often than not, but he claims to have nothing better to do and enjoys the hands-on labor. There’s a handful of other volunteers who show up occasionally but they’re not nearly as driven as Crosshair is.

Regardless, you decide then and there that you don’t want things to change between you both when this all ends. You’d hate to lose him. 

“Who says I didn’t?”

He still has an arm loosely wrapped around your back, but his touch trails down until finding the curve of your waist. His hand stills, resting casually against your hip as if it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made.

Eira coughs again. “Well then.” She continues to stare, her eyes flickering between you both in some sort of silent contemplation. It’s alarming then, when she breaks into a wide grin.

“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Maybe I should’ve brought Bronson sooner. All you two needed was a small push—”

“Grandma,” you interrupt, not hiding the exasperation in your voice because of course she would try to take credit for this. Of all the conclusions, she thought Bronson was the catalyst for you ending up in a supply closet with Crosshair.

…Technically she’s not wrong. 

She raises her hands in mock defense, bowing her head slightly. “Alright, alright. Enough from me. Believe it or not, I’ve had enough excitement for one day so I think I’ll head home.” 

You take a deep, steadying breath, nodding encouragingly despite how dizzy you still feel. “Yeah, that’s… That’s a good idea.”

Eira stares at you for a moment longer, almost calculatingly before her eyes dip down to the Crosshair’s hand on your waist. She turns, muttering something about ‘under the Center roof too’ and makes her way towards the entryway to grab her bag and leave.

It’s agonizing to wait. Every second spent within the confines of the closet with Crosshair proves to be a test of patience, but Eira seems to be in no rush, slowly shifting through her bag for her shawl. Once it’s wrapped around her hunched shoulders, she reaches for the door handle but then pauses.

“You best be walking her home every night. You hear?”

It’s cold when Crosshair finally lets go of you. He shifts from one foot to the other, bringing a hand to rub across his five o’clock shadow. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, his voice tired but confident. 

She leaves without another word. You feel as though you can finally breathe, like the sky has cleared and the wind has died. But then… 

It’s just you and Crosshair again.

The moment stretches. Uncertainty prods at you, a fickle thing that makes you sheepishly tuck a strand of hair behind one ear before peering up at the former soldier.

His gaze is downward with brows drawn into contemplation, as if his boots are the most interesting spectacle to behold. You quietly study him amidst the thickening tension, noticing for the first time that his exposed arms are speckled with patches of dirt. Along the expanse of his arms, you spy veins that cord around the lean muscle of his forearms, trailing all the way up to the lower half of his biceps until fabric meets flesh. 

Crosshair is normally pragmatic with his clothing; variety doesn’t seem to be a priority with how he cycles between the same set of tops and pants every week. The normal jacket he sports is absent, you realize for the first time. He must’ve shed it outside before following you. You figure it’s his military background that’s kept him routine and content with simple clothing, a factor still very much prevalent despite being retired. 

When your eyes slink from his shoulders to his neck, you catch a subtle change in your peripherals, causing you to meet his gaze.

Half of his mouth is upturned into a small smirk. He remains silent, however, and reaches a hand behind to slink something out of his back trouser pocket.

A small box is procured. With practised movements, it’s already lodged back into his pants before you realize that he’s placed a toothpick into his mouth.

Your mind seems to short circuit when you realize that his lips have reddened ever so slightly.

You aren’t sure how to breach the obvious bantha in the room. Do you talk about what just happened? Is that… fine? It might make him uncomfortable. Maybe this is part of the ‘pretending’ agreement; there’s no use in discussing what happened because what’s done is done and reminding him of what he had to endure to save your ass would surely leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Unless he liked it just as much as you did. The thought seems far-fetched; it’s unlikely that he’s interested in pursuing a romantic partner, given how much he works and how he spends any of his free time with his own brothers and sister.

“So, um… Back to it, then?” 

It’s definitely not your best work, you’ll admit. But being out in the gardens seems far less suffocating than whatever this is. In fact, you’re certain one of the beds is overflowing with water because you forgot to turn the spigot off during your frenzy to evade the confrontation from earlier. 

It makes sense then that you don’t wait for his response and make for the door. 

He clears throat. “Was that… fine?”

You halt, halfway across the breakroom. He must be asking if he had accidentally crossed a line already.

The thought is oddly considerate and makes your cheeks warm. Part of yourself thinks that it was a solid strategic move on his part. It certainly did the job of convincing Eira. And deep down, you didn’t mind the spontaneity of it all.

It was more than fine. But instead of saying as much, you flounder. “Uh, yeah!” Your voice is a bit more high-pitched than you’d like so you cough once and play it off. “I mean, yeah, that was fine.”

It’s mortifying, feeling this vulnerable in front of him. You need fresh air now.

“Yeah,” you say again, waving a hand at him, “don’t worry about it. I’d say we did our future selves a favor. Now there won’t be any more meddling on grandma’s part. So… this is a win. I think.”

He starts to approach with his usual purposeful steps, which makes you turn towards the door. His long legs make it easy to catch up and before you even have a hand on the handle, the door swings open.

Crosshair is… holding it open for you. 

You mutter your thanks, hoping the warmth in your cheeks isn’t as blatant to him as it feels to you. You duck under his arm and step back into the thrush of the outdoor beds. The fresh air clears your head as you trod to the watering system near the shed.

It’ll be a long afternoon, you think. A droid is activated with its tell-tale beeps and whirring, indicating that Crosshair has turned on a harvesting droid.

But at least he won’t have to go on a date with the carpenter’s daughter anymore.

I'm not entirely happy with this :') But I might write more parts in the future if I get around to it. I have 8 chapters outlined so far. If I decide to follow through with a longfic, I'll be needing a beta reader. Please reach out if this would interest you!

Masterlist

[channiesunshinx]

𝒯𝑒𝒶𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑒𝒻

Pairing: Seungmin x F!reader Genre: Romance, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pinning Warning: None

Masterlist

Teasing Mischief

It was a chilly February afternoon in Seoul, and the buzz of Valentine's Day was all around. Couples walked hand in hand through the streets, and the soft glow of heart-shaped decorations hung from every shop window. Seungmin found himself staring at his phone, biting his lip in thought. He had always found Valentine's Day to be a bit... cheesy, but this year was different. This year, Y/N had been on his mind constantly.

Seungmin and Y/N weren't officially anything. There was no label for what they were—just two people who enjoyed each other's company a bit too much. They spent hours texting, grabbing coffee together after classes, and teasing each other with jokes. But something about their dynamic was complicated. They were in a situation—somewhere between friends and something more—but neither had crossed the line.

Today, though, Seungmin decided to push it. He had teased her before, playfully sending her flowers with cheesy notes, but today he had something else in mind. He knew it would get a rise out of her, and honestly, he kind of liked seeing her flustered.

As he walked to the café where they usually met, he checked his phone again. Y/N had sent him a simple, “See you soon ;).” He grinned to himself. She had no idea what he had planned.

When he entered the café, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and pastries hit him. Y/N was sitting by the window, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes scanning her phone. She was wearing a soft sweater and a smile that always made Seungmin's heart skip a beat. His teasing would have to wait, but only for a moment.

"Hey, Y/N," Seungmin said, his voice light as he slid into the chair across from her.

"Hey, you," she responded, looking up with a playful glint in her eyes. "What’s with the smug smile? I can tell you're up to something."

"Me? Up to something?" Seungmin shrugged innocently, but his eyes sparkled mischievously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. "You've been texting me all day, and now you're acting suspicious. Just spill it."

Before Seungmin could say anything, a barista approached their table with a small box wrapped in pink ribbon. He handed it to Y/N, who raised an eyebrow at Seungmin.

She took the box and untied the ribbon, revealing a heart-shaped chocolate inside. “You got me chocolates?” 

Y/N smirked, holding it up with a teasing expression. “How cliché. You really are cheesy, huh?”

Seungmin couldn’t help but laugh. “Cliché? No way. It's a classic. And honestly, I thought you’d be more excited about it."

"Oh, I'm thrilled," Y/N said sarcastically, "but tell me, Seungmin... What's the catch?"

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze softening for a moment. "No catch, Y/N. Just a little something to remind you that I care."

She tilted her head, trying to read his expression. Seungmin had always been playful, but there was something different today. Something deeper behind his teasing smile.

“Do you really?” Y/N asked, her voice quieter now.

His heart skipped a beat at her words. He had been joking, sure, but when she asked him like that, it made him stop and think.

“I do,” Seungmin said, his tone more serious. “I really do.”

There was a silence between them for a moment as Y/N stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, but finding none. Seungmin could feel the tension building, the air between them thick with unspoken feelings. He had always been good at hiding his emotions, but today, something inside him snapped.

"Y/N," he said, his voice a little quieter now. "I've been teasing you because... well, I don't know how to say this, but it’s not just about the chocolates or the jokes. I've been thinking about you a lot lately. And it's more than just a situationship or whatever you want to call it. It’s... it's something real. I like you."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something witty in response, but her expression softened as she processed his words.

"You like me?" she repeated, her lips curling into a small smile. "Well, that's a relief. Because I’ve kind of been hoping you'd say that for a while now."

Seungmin's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait... you have?"

Y/N nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "Yeah. I was just waiting for you to admit it."

Seungmin chuckled, feeling a mix of relief and disbelief. He had been worried about making things awkward, but instead, Y/N was smiling—her eyes filled with something warm. Something more than just friendship.

"So..." he said, leaning forward slightly, "does this mean you're saying yes?"

Y/N grinned, her voice soft but firm. "Yes, Seungmin. I'll be your Valentine. And maybe... something more."

The tension between them dissolved, replaced by something lighter. Something that felt just right. Seungmin grinned back, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He had finally said it—finally confessed to the one person who had been occupying his thoughts for far too long.

“I'm glad,” Seungmin said, his heart racing, but this time with excitement, not nerves. "Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Seungmin," she replied, her smile wider now, as if the promise of something new was just beginning.

And for the first time in a long time, both of them knew that maybe, just maybe, this Valentine's Day was the start of something beautiful.

[xylatox]

Criminal Conscience Tape 05 - Bloody Bodies!! An exciting day for annoying people (me) :))

Past Time!!

Back again to being downbad for criminal!beomgyu, he will always drive me insane. Idk, something about Gyu being so nonchalant here like — It’s not until you move closer to him, your arm brushing against his that he tilts his head your way, one of his brows tugging upward. “Is something supposed to happen?” He echoes in an almost monotone voice. — ?????? like what if I jump your bones (again, and respectfully). — But Beomgyu merely shrugs as he pushes himself off the cold wall. “I am my own boss, dollface.” His lips curl into the ghost of a smirk when he leans over to kiss your forehead. — the dollface nickname will always make me so sweet oh my god.

Present Time!!

“Do you know what kind of freelance?” Your senior then wonders as he flips a page. You did. Though Beomgyu rarely, if ever, discussed work matters with you, you had still caught on to enough where you knew what kind of connections he held, what kind of person he was. — For some reason your lips betray you, “I don’t.”  — This entire thing omg???? okay, like I absolutely get reader not wanting to betray Gyu in some sort of way, but it's driving me so insane, like girl you work for the Police😭 you're stressing me out. Like even as we see reader's thoughts I would also love to know why you defended him (like absolutely love him to death), but that kind of loyalty after everything is insane.

The moment in the interrogation room?? I could legitimately feel the tension woah, Serene, you set the scene so well here. Who's the him in particular?? I'm dying to know.

Past Time!!

In the everlasting darkness it was impossible to make out his expression, but you hear him heave a sigh. “No it’s fine, I… Fuck I’m sorry, dollface.” — I feel like this is the only moment I've seen CC Gyu falter (for a lack of words, idk how to explain it) thus far. Like, I don't see him as a person to apologize and he seemed genuinely caught off guard and even going as far as to explain, that's insane.

And you knew that he was lying to you right now. Beomgyu lied a lot. What you didn’t know was if his lies were good or bad intentions. — I so desperately want to believe that Gyu isn't inherently a bad person, like, I think he's just been given shitty life choices and had to make things work like, my heart :(

On the fourth day you think he might stop, that he might grow tired of your persistent no-shows and move over to the next woman waiting on his call. But as you sit in class that very afternoon, your phone vibrates with the indication of yet another text. You felt your stomach twist.— like I know it's a purely sexual transaction, but I can't help but hope that some part of him really likes/ wants her, like it's definitely the delulu talking but it's okay😞

Serene, you are evil (positively with all the love in the world) the fact that reader asked Taehyun to go clubbing and they in fact do scares me, especially considering what the conversation with Gyu was in the present time, is the hum she referred to Taehyun?? like I hope no because I'll fucking sob but idk who else it could be rn😭😭😭 also, the absolute audacity to go to the location Beomgyu sent, like I get you want to see him but please without Taehyun's life at risk especially considering you don't want to consider Gyu a murderer🧍(I'm crashing out so bad)

Taehyun grabs ahold of your arm when you make a move to approach the bouncer. “Why don’t we just go back?” He murmurs, the words coming out hushed. You shrug him off, shaking your head as you march toward the large man. — there was an opening to go back😭😭😭😭 noooo. Taehyun my precious baby freaking out, he's so right, I'm so scared for his life rn (I refuse to comment to seeing Duri again, I dislike him, he's stinky and his name is the shortened version of Durian so it fits hmph). Reader being jealous after Gyu has a lady on his arm after she's a no show girl😭😭😭 what kind of jealousy.

THE END????? TAEHYUN DOEDNT DIE (I REJOICE, SCARED) BUT READER ASKING HIM YO KISS HER?????? HELLO????????I now understand the red-flag reader warning omg. Like she's either dense to not realize he likes her and then om top of thst her jealousy??? I'm, Serene, this was absolutely amazing, I fear I'm going to crash out because reader it going to drive me insane.

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 TAPE 05

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. Though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder. ⸝⸝

𝓹airings criminal!beomgyu x detective!reader 𝔀arnings references to sexual encounters, blood, mentions of injuries, drinking, red-flag reader (?), no warnings just vibes idk man leave me alone im going to cry.

📼 THE TAPE RECORDINGS

𝓣𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝓢𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 contains dark themes portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships and substance abuse. reader discretion is advised ! — this story is partly told in flashbacks, beware of timestamps as past/present are mixed throughout the story.

#serene adds ✎.. the last scene was so god awful hard for me to write for some unknown reason... oh well! I got it out, I'm alive, all is well :3

[ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။| TAPE 05 ] — Bloody Bodies recording legnth; 6.4k + PLAYLIST

⸝⸝

📼 — April 29th 2022

“So… What happens now?” Your hushed question feels loud when it passes your swollen lips. Gingerly pulling your panties back on, you cringe at the sticky feeling of the damp fabric against your skin. Beomgyu remains silent next to you as he leans back against the brick wall. For a moment, you wonder if your question had been a stupid one to ask. 

It’s not until you move closer to him, your arm brushing against his that he tilts his head your way, one of his brows tugging upward. “Is something supposed to happen?” He echoes in an almost monotone voice. — Confused, you glance between him and the door only a few steps away. “Are you not going back inside?” 

For the past ten minutes you had been trying to come up with an excuse, rather an explanation to deliver in front of Kayla once you walked back inside the club with Beomgyu. She would be mad, undoubtedly so and your mind raked with different scenarios and outcomes. What would you tell her? Would you even get the chance to introduce him, would he even want you to? Maybe he would just take off as soon as you stepped inside. 

“No.” 

His sigh is like a stone brick thrown right at you, hitting you across the face and leaving an ugly bruise. You blink, in complete disbelief as your gaze darts back toward him. But you had just spent ten whole minutes worrying about what to say. And he wasn’t even going back in? — “You’re not?” It was impossible to hide the disappointment in your voice and you’re almost certain he picked up on it. 

Beomgyu shakes his head before letting it tilt back against the wall behind him. You knew that he was waiting for you to leave, and perhaps you should. Any other day you probably would have, but today it wasn’t enough. The sex only gave you a temporary fix, you needed more. 

“Where are you going?” You straighten out your back, hands falling to your sides as they clenched into fists. You were determined to draw at least a half-assed answer out of him. Beomgyu doesn’t look at you when he replies, “Work.” 

Ah right, work. It was an easy excuse, given that you knew little to nothing about what he did for a living, or anything else regarding him for that matter. That was bound to change. 

“You work nights?” 

He hadn’t expected that question, you could tell by the way his jaw subtly clenched, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. He nods, but his eyes are fixated on something far away, something you couldn’t see. “I do sometimes”, he hums. 

Sometimes? He must work quite odd hours, for night shifts were usually on a tight and regular schedule. “Is it okay for you to drink before work?” You ask with a small frown, silently questioning his move to come here if he knew he had somewhere important to be shortly after. — But Beomgyu merely shrugs as he pushes himself off the cold wall. “I am my own boss, dollface.” His lips curl into the ghost of a smirk when he leans over to kiss your forehead. 

And just like that, he was gone again, and you were left with what seemed even more questions than you’d started with. 

⸝⸝

📼 — PRESENT TIME ; February 22th 2024

“He was a freelancer… Of sorts..” You quietly state and Yeonjun glances up from the files in front of him. “Freelance?” He repeats and you nod as your gaze returns to the photos of the crime scene before you. Your finger drags across the image of the bloodstained cough, cringing as you imagine Beomgyu, covered from head to toe in blood as he lunges at the poor victim. 

“Do you know what kind of freelance?” Your senior then wonders as he flips a page. You did. Though Beomgyu rarely, if ever, discussed work matters with you, you had still caught on to enough where you knew what kind of connections he held, what kind of person he was. — For some reason your lips betray you, “I don’t.” 

You then hastily continue, “He was gone a lot, worked odd hours, came and went.” You shrug, trying your best to divert from the topic you had brought up yourself. You don’t know why you defended him, why you felt the need to take his side. You want to be honest with Yeonjun, hell you want to be honest with yourself. Why did he have to make it so hard? 

Your last conversation a mere two days ago was still fresh in your mind. You wondered if his words actually held any weight. Was it true? Were you still loyal to him, after everything that had happened… Maybe you always will be. The thought was a scary one and you quickly pushed it away. 

Choi Beomgyu was going to prison. He had no alibi, no witnesses, and all evidence pointed at him. All you lacked now was his confession, but that proved to be more than difficult. 

“Why did you do it?” 

Your question is left hanging in the open air, and your fingers curl around the pencil in your hand as you grip it tightly. The all too familiar metal table in front of you gleams under the bright lamp hanging above, the sterile lights reflecting off of its surface. — Beomgyu sighs, sounding tired as his gaze shifts from the wall behind you and over to meet your own. But when his eyes fall on you, they seem to regain their almost mischievous glint. “You’ve got to be a little more specific than that, dollface.” 

Feeling your jaw clench as you fight to stay composed, your gaze flickers to the window on your left. As much as you wanted answers, you couldn’t risk anything with Yeonjun on the other side, listening intently to the conversation taking place. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you watch your reflection through the dark glass, you looked as scared as you felt. 

Following your hesitant glance, Beomgyu smirks. It was like he fed on your uncertainty. Every step you faltered allowed him to take at least three forward. You swallow, and then your attention returns to him. “Why did you kill him?” — “Hm?” He attempts to run a hand through his hair, cringing slightly when he realizes that they’re both tied together by the metal cuffs around his wrists. With the small roll of his eyes he continues, “Thought I already told you, I was cleaning up a mes-” 

“No.” 

He pauses, cocking an eyebrow as he watches you with an impassive expression. You draw in a sharp breath. Never had you interrupted him before, never had you dared to. His brows pull together, his vision narrowing if only slightly. “No?” He huffs, the disbelief in his tone evident. — You shake your head softly, the movement small, so minimal that only he could pick up on it. 

“Why did you kill him?” 

Within the four confined walls the already thick air suddenly shifted. You recognized the smirk that tugged across his lips, the way his eyes glimmered with recognition. Beomgyu leans back, his hands clasped neatly together as his thumbs roll over one another. And even though it felt as if the two of you spoke completely different languages, where words were all but an endless game of cat and mouse.. — Sometimes… It was like he could understand you perfectly, as long as you gave him reason to. 

His tongue prods against the inside of his cheek, his lip twitching and for a second it looked like he was holding back laughter. “Dollface”, he drawls, metal cuffs rattling against the metal table when he leans forward. “Why?” He echoes, “Is that what you’re dying to know?” 

Yes. But you never say it out loud. You swallow, your grip on the pencil so tight that it might just snap in half. Beomgyu picks up on it, his eyes flitting down for a second before snapping back up to yours. — You knew that Beomgyu had killed people, you knew that he had blood on his hands. You have seen it yourself. 

⸝⸝

📼 — May 11th 2022

The hotel room is dark. The expensive silk beneath you is cool to the touch and the large bed is cold, for it misses the warmth of another body next to your own. You try to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it won’t budge. It’s quiet, eerily so, and your stomach doesn’t tingle with butterflies as it usually would on a night like this. Instead it twists with dread. 

You reach for your discarded phone, its bright light stings your eyes when you re-read his message. The address was correct, the room number too. But the time… 11:45 pm. Your heart drops when your gaze flickers toward the time indicator on your screen. 

2:31 am. 

He was nearly three hours late. But Beomgyu was never late, in fact, he was always there before you. Often you had wondered how he managed to get from one location to the next, how he never seemed out of place, no matter when and where you met. But tonight things are different. — Had he changed his mind? Did he not want to see you after all? Maybe something had come up… 

Your attention fixates on the shut door. You imagine him walking through it, his dark hair falling across his even darker eyes, the everlasting smirk plastered on his lips. You imagine his voice, the nickname he had for you rolling off his tongue when his arms wrap around your waist. You imagine him kissing you, with a longing that perfectly matched your own. 

But Beomgyu never comes. 

You bite your lip, the idea of going home crossing your mind. It would be rather pathetic to wait here all alone, no? But then he would have spent money on a room left unused. Perhaps you should stay the night.. You could order room service in the morning before leaving. 

The bed frame rattles under your weight when your back reaches the mattress with a thud. Exhausted and anxious, you let your eyes fall shut as you beg for sleep to take you. Even if you worried that he would continue to haunt your nightmares. — Beomgyu always left you clueless, he kept you in the dark. But naive as you were, you thought you would one day get answers to all of your questions. If only you stayed long enough.. 

You don’t know how many hours had passed, perhaps it had been mere minutes. But it was still dark outside when the small click of the door lock startled you awake. Quickly shooting up from the bed, your back presses against the headboard as you grab onto a pillow, not that it would aid in any defense. 

The thick darkness prevents you from making out who the person lingering within the shadows was. Your heart thumps against your ribcage and your free hand blindly searches for your phone, only to freeze in your tracks when his voice cuts through the silence. — “Fuck, are you still here?” Beomgyu’s short breath instantly makes you relax and you slump back against the bed. 

Lowering the pillow from your chest, you swallow. “Sorry, should I have gone home?” You quietly wonder as you shift awkwardly on the mattress. In the everlasting darkness it was impossible to make out his expression, but you hear him heave a sigh. “No it’s fine, I… Fuck I’m sorry, dollface.” 

He takes a couple of steps forward, finally emerging from the shadows and becoming engulfed in the pale light of the moon. You find your gaze lingering by his dark figure, regarding him like it was your last chance, you never knew if it was. — The cold metal of his rings send sparks down your spine when his fingers wrap around your chin. He tilts your face back, his other hand finding a place atop your head as he studies you with a small frown. 

“I got held up at work”, he explains and your eyes widen. It was unusual of him to share as much as a word about his life outside of your encounters, even if it was just a simple apology for his tardiness.

You find yourself leaning into his touch. “It's alright”, you murmur, your eyes half lidded when you peer up at him, “You can always make it up to me.” 

Beomgyu chuckles, his hands sliding down your sides as he guides you back onto the mattress. The kisses he places to the side of your neck and down your collarbone are warm and familiar. That very warmth seeps into the cold vines that have tightened around your chest, gradually loosening them up.

You don’t question where he had been or what had made him take so long, you knew that you would never receive an answer. Instead you clung onto this fragile moment of intimacy, for you never knew if it were to be your last. 

Letting your hands trail along his still clothed chest, your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, tugging on it as you pull him closer. Just as you’re about to push the garment up above his torso, do you freeze. There was an undeniable wet patch on the soft cotton. But when your lips part in an unspoken question, Beomgyu’s sudden kiss to your open mouth makes you lose your sense of direction. 

Allowing him to kiss you for a moment, your hands halt as your fingers nervously fiddle with his shirt. But when you find that the damp spot only grows, you can’t ignore it anymore. — “What’s that?” You half-hearted whisper against his lips, torn between satiating your burning curiosity and saving this sacred moment. 

“Hm?” Beomgyu hums against you, his kisses becoming all the more persistent in an attempt to sway your curious mind elsewhere. He ignores it when your hands brace themselves on his chest, and it’s not until you speak that he finally pulls back an inch. “Beomgyu, there’s something on your shirt..” 

With an outstretched arm you flick on the small light on the bedside table. Given a second to adjust to the warm glow, your eyes widen as soon as they fall on the dark crimson stain covering his grey shirt. — Was that… blood? 

Immediately you jerk back, your gaze flitting down to your now stained fingers. It was fresh. “Oh my god”, is all you can muster and before he has the chance to object your hands are insistently bunching his shirt up above his chest. — “Dollface”, Beomgyu tries, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrists but you merely shrug him off, all too focused on the blood smeared across his skin. 

“What happened- Are you hurt? Why didn’t you say something?” The words all come bubbling to the surface, passing your lips without crossing your mind twice. It’s not until your trembling fingers swipe across his very much untainted chest that a brief silence falls over the two of you. He doesn’t wince or draw back at your finger’s probing, because he wasn’t hurt in the first place. 

Beomgyu sighs, his hands brushing along your forearms. “It’s not mine”, he says, his voice is low, calm, as if trying to reassure you that everything was fine when it quite clearly wasn’t. How could he say something like that so casually? And what did he mean by not his? Who else if not him… 

You swallow, the sound near deafening in the otherwise quiet room. All previous desire and longing has now washed off, the heat of his kisses and his touch no longer linger. You felt cold, left with an uncanny feeling in the deepest pits of your stomach. — You refuse to look him in the eyes, “What happened?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Was he thinking of an excuse? Was he conjuring yet another lie? Maybe he was debating on telling the truth for once. His thumbs rub soothing circles across your wrists, the small action however, had an opposite effect. You couldn’t tear your gaze from the blood, there was so much of it. 

“Told you I got held up at work didn’t I?” He finally says, pulling you close in order to press a kiss to your forehead. His words didn’t matter, they couldn’t erase the uneasiness that had begun to build inside of you. Instead you draw in a deep breath, shifting on the bed as you lean back to peer up at him. “What exactly do you do for work?” 

Beomgyu lets go of your wrists as he bites the inside of his cheek. He runs a hand through his dark hair and you intently follow the action. Whilst studying him under the faint glow of the bedside lamp, you notice just how rough he was looking, and that didn’t have to do with the blood tainting his chest. His hair was disheveled, his eyes sunken in, his skin was pale and there was a small cut on his upper lip. 

He looked exhausted. 

“It’s a business”, he begins in a low tone, drawing his words out as he talks slowly. His gaze flickers over the deep frown etched across your face and he presses the palm of his hand to your cheek. “I merely make sure that deals go through”, he says as his thumb slides between your furrowed brows, as if trying to ease your expression. 

You shake your head, unconvinced by his vague response. “What kind of business ends in you looking like that?” There’s an underlying sense of accusation to your question and despite the subtle clench of his jaw, Beomgyu continues his soft caress to your face. “Our client hurt himself, pure accident. — Had to get him help, it took longer than I expected.” 

He sends you a small smile, and you want to believe him, you really do. You want to believe that Beomgyu was just your average person, living an average life. But you knew that he wasn’t And you knew that he was lying to you right now. Beomgyu lied a lot. What you didn’t know was if his lies were good or bad intentions. 

It scared you. 

⸝⸝

📼 — May 11th 2022

You didn’t think Beomgyu was a murderer. No, that would be extreme. Yet you found yourself ignoring his messages. He’d sent two. Just like usual they had contained two separate addresses, two separate times. You’d officially stood him up twice. He told you that he was okay with it, that he didn’t mind, so you took his word for it. — On the fourth day you think he might stop, that he might grow tired of your persistent no-shows and move over to the next woman waiting on his call. But as you sit in class that very afternoon, your phone vibrates with the indication of yet another text. You felt your stomach twist. 

Of course, you were right. The second your eyes fall on the short message you completely lose track of your surroundings. He was insistent, you’d give him that. But surely this would be the last time he’d ask for you. You had spent weeks, almost two months chasing after him. Suppose a small part of you thought of this as payback. 

Perhaps that was what caused you to act without reasoning as you turned in your seat. A light tap to Taehyun’s shoulder makes his eyes divert from the board ahead and over to you. “Hm?” He asks as he taps his pencil against the pages of his notebook. You feel your lips tug into a smirk that’s familiar yet most uncharacteristic on you. 

“Do you want to go clubbing tonight?” 

Taehyun sputters at your words, his jaw slacking as he glances around like you’d just asked him to go down on you. “T-Tonight? Me and you? Clubbing?” He seems almost baffled at the proposal, even more so when you quickly nod. — “Sure why not?” You drawl as the smirk on your lips only grows. You trusted your classmate enough to share a drink or two with him. Besides, Taehyun was a good guy, there was no harm in getting to know him better was there?

He hesitates for a moment, gaze flitting between your professor by the front of the classroom and back to you. “But what about class tomorrow?” He wonders and you shake your head. “Class is canceled, didn’t you hear? Mrs Yang is ill.” — His mouth forms into a small ‘o’ shape as he hums. 

“Sure I guess… Do you have a place in mind?” 

“Are you sure you know where we are?” Taehyun sounds wary as he trails behind you, he’s like a skittish animal, ready to jump at the tiniest of sounds. He briefly stops to inspect an old street sign, only to jog after you like somewhat of a lost puppy. You, on the other hand, walk with long and determined strides, your feet carrying you through the narrow alleyway with a confidence you couldn’t quite recognize. — “Don’t worry, I’ve been here before.” 

Sure enough, the familiar entrance soon floats into vision. The same cold purple hues dance across the dark brick walls, casting the street in an eerie glow. You don’t know why you had picked this place, why it had seemed like a good idea, but now there was no going back. — You swallow the lump in your throat as images of you, walking down this very path not long ago, flashes before your eyes. 

You recognize the bouncer, the one who’d refused your entry last time. Part of your worries that he might do so again, this time you had no Beomgyu to rely on. The concept was both terrifying and freeing. This was the very first address he’d ever sent you, perhaps that was why the memory was still so vivid in your mind. Something about this place was different, special.

The sharp light of your phone screen illuminates your face as you check the message one final time. ‘Address, room number, 11:00 pm.’ You glance toward the clock on top of your screen, indicating a menacing 2:37 am. He would’ve left by now, surely pissed off with being stood up a third time, which means… Your gaze drifts toward the entrance mere feet away, the thumping rhythm of bass already drumming through your chest. 

You wanted to see Beomgyu, that was the truth. You just didn’t want to see him. The chances of catching a glimpse of him were slim, but if there was anywhere you’d be able to find him, it would be here. Why? — Well because your gut told you so. 

Taehyun grabs ahold of your arm when you make a move to approach the bouncer. “Why don’t we just go back?” He murmurs, the words coming out hushed. You shrug him off, shaking your head as you march toward the large man. This was it, you would give it your best shot. — Straightening your back, you push out your shoulders as far as they would go, your gaze narrowed when you glance up at him. 

The bouncer peers down at you through his dark sunglasses, then he frowns, lifting a finger as he pushes them down on his nose. His eyes meet yours and there’s a flash of recognition. “Miss”, he drawls, a small grin splayed across his otherwise stern face. “How delightful of you to join us tonight.” — He steps aside, allowing you both inside, though not without sending Taehyun a harsh glare. 

“Do you know him?” Your classmate asks as he stays close to you. — The smirk on your lips grows and you shrug, “Sort of.” 

The interior of the place was just like you had remembered it. The large dancefloor, the purple lights, the booths shoved against the walls, not to mention the lack of a bar as drinks were being passed around by the many waiters. — Somewhere behind you Taehyun lets out a short breath, gawking as he takes in his surroundings. But your eyes were only in search of one thing, of one person. And when you don't find him, you pull your friend along as you scour the outskirts of the crowded floor. 

Upon passing a waiter on bystand, you snag two glasses off of his plate, handing one of them to Taehyun. He seems skeptical as he peers down at his drink, “Do you even know what’s in these?” — You shake your head, “Nope.” That was the least of your concerns. 

Your eyes fall on the grand staircase when you bring the cool glass to your lips. The steps looked much different tonight than they had back then. Tonight they felt untouchable. There was no way you would be getting up there… At least now without a little help. 

“Where are you going?” Taehyun calls for you, and you hear him rushing after you as he pushes past the people in his way. You know that you should stop and give him at least a half-assed explanation, maybe even ask him to wait somewhere else. But your mind is entirely preoccupied with the sight before you. — “I’m serious, what are you-” He cuts himself off when he crashes into your shoulder, stumbling backward as he grips his drink tightly. 

You’ve stopped in front of one of the many booths lining the walls, and Taehyun peers over your shoulder as he tries to make sense of the situation. The unfamiliar faces to him are ones you recognize with fright. 

“No way”, a deep voice drawls, “Dollface, is that you?” 

Duri leans forward, his hand, previously on the thigh of the girl next to him, withdrawing as he runs it through his short hair. You feel your stomach draw into knots at the persistent use of that nickname, the one that sounded so sickeningly wrong coming from his lips. — Duri chuckles as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“We seem to bump into one another quite a lot”, he muses, even though he knew that tonight had been no coincidence. You had come with clear intentions in mind, you were certain he could tell. — “Yes.” You send him a tight lipped smile, “So it seems.” 

You could practically feel the confusion radiate off of Taehyun as he shifts awkwardly behind you, his eyes darting between Duri and the men surrounding him. You try not to pay his presence any mind as you focus your attention on the target before you. 

“Say”, Duri leans forward as he grabs one of the drinks set aside on the table between you, “What can I do for you tonight?” 

Your lips part, the grip on your glass tightening significantly as you throw a glance over your shoulder, your eyes automatically landing on the staircase. The steps seemed to shimmer under the purple lights. Duri hums behind you, snapping your attention right back to where it should have remained all along. 

He brings his drink to his lips, taking a long sip as he peers at you over the rim of his glass. “Pray tell, what business do you have there?” He wonders as he busies himself with another sip. You shake your head, your gaze unwavering as you say, “That’s none of your concern.” 

Duri chuckles, the sound rough and raspy as it builds in his chest. His friends all join in, their laughter echoing off of the booth’s walls. You ignore them, patiently waiting them out as you twist the foot of your glass between your fingers. — After a long minute Duri finally nods, “He’s rubbing off on you.” 

The comment makes your face burn and you resist the urge to avert your gaze. Painfully, you watch as he leans over to share a kiss with the woman next to him, parting for a moment to whisper something in her ear. Then he sits back, slamming his drink down on the table with a little too much force. “Fair”, he agrees as he rises to his feet. 

Bewildered, you watch as he makes his way around the table, giving your shoulder a harsh pat before making his way toward the staircase. — “Come on”, you urge Taehyun as you hurriedly follow Duri’s tall frame through the ocean of people. Your classmate’s complaints are audible as he whines behind you. “Have you really thought this through?” He questions, his breath warm against the back of your neck, “I mean, look at the guy! We should not be following someone like him to-” 

He’s cut short when Duri suddenly stops by the first step. “Ah”, he exhales as he turns on his heel, his piercing gaze falling on Taehyun. “Seems I have yet to introduce myself, pardon me.” — He extends a rough hand and you watch as Taehyun gingerly takes it in his. “Duri”, he says, the menacing smirk on his lips making your friend cower as he mumbles out a quiet, “Taehyun..” 

It looked as though Duri was holding back laughter when he turned back to you. “Shall we?” He glances in the direction of the grand doors atop the stairs and you nod. 

When you had first climbed these steps, with Beomgyu’s hand on your lower back, the world had been spinning. Each step had felt like one closer to the edge of a misty cliff, where the fog was so thick that it had been impossible to deem the trauma of the fall you might take. — Tonight it felt different. The cliff was no longer enveloped in mist, you saw things clearly now. You saw him clearly. That’s what you had told yourself. 

Each step you take feels both empowering and deafening. The moment lasts forever yet it’s somehow over in a second. And before you know it, you’re faced with the grand doors leading into the VIP section. — Duri stops, his hand on the door handle as he sends the guards a small look of acknowledgement. 

“I think you’ll be fine from here”, he states, the finalization in his tone evident. Wordlessly he pushes the large doors open, motioning for you to step inside. You do so without hesitation, not sparing Duri as much as a second glance when you pass him. 

It’s quiet here, the air is lighter, cleaner. Just like you’d remembered it. Taehyun’s presence is hard to ignore as he clings to your side, the heat radiating off of him as his skittish eyes dart around the room. Almost all booths are occupied already, but you manage to find an empty one by the very edge. 

“Did you know him?” Taehyun whispers when you sit back against the soft cushions. You nod, your gaze still roaming the open space as you absentmindedly bring your drink to your lips, “Sort of.” — Your classmate frowns, and you knew all too well from the look on his face that he was far from satisfied with your answer. 

Your eyes jump from booth to booth, quickly skimming the people populating them as you fervently search for your target. But it’s not even been a full minute when Taehyun interrupts you again. — “Why are we here?” His voice is even quieter now, as if hesitant to even ask the question out loud. “Are you looking for someone?” He then adds when he notices your distant gaze. 

You hum, shaking your head as you lean back against the velvety cushion. “No.” But that was a lie, your first of many. And just as the simple word leaves your lips do you finally find him. All the way across the room, shielded by the man standing before him, yet you could clearly make out his dark hair amongst the rest. 

Suddenly your throat feels dry, and you gulp down another mouthful of your beverage. He’d come here after all. A small, naive part of you had hoped and wished that he would stay, that he would linger within the empty hotel room as he waited for your arrival. But it seems he’d moved quickly. 

It doesn’t take long for you to notice the unfamiliar woman draped on his arm. The sight shouldn’t surprise you anymore, but your heart still skips a beat. She was your replacement. And though she was far from anything you represented, he’d still turned to her when you were a no-show rather than wallowing his sorrows alone at night. — You shouldn’t have expected anything less of him. He was Choi Beomgyu after all. 

He hasn’t noticed you and appears preoccupied with whatever conversation he was currently indulged in. You wish he would notice you. You crave his eyes on you. You long for the way a simple glance from him could make you feel. 

You’d stood him up a third time tonight, and it had made you feel in control. For once you were deciding, and not him. So why was it that you felt so utterly powerless at this very moment? Why was it that your eyes searched his when he couldn’t be bothered to even gaze your way? 

You turn to Taehyun, he was watching you with a small frown. “You don’t like it here?” You ask, the tension falling from your face as you regard his awkward frame. Taehyun shrugs, his warm eyes flitting to the drink in his hand. “It’s alright”, he says, but you catch the hesitation in his voice. 

He chokes on the liquor when your hand brushes along his thigh. “Don’t worry”, you hum as you settle against the booth wall, “We can leave again if you’d like.” Taehyun swallows as he glances between the smile on your lips and to your fingers splayed across his leg. An unfamiliar tint spreads across his cheek when he clears his throat and you find yourself enjoying the sight. 

“It’s fine, really.” He assures you as he takes another small sip of his drink. Though he makes no attempt at shrugging you off. You could still sense his confusion, and you didn’t blame him. You were acting far too uncharacteristically even for your own liking. You had barely recognized yourself when you’d approached Duri. The sudden surge of confidence was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and the rush it had left behind still tingled in the depths of your stomach. 

It was the length you were willing to go in order to see him, to see Beomgyu. 

Your gaze drifts toward him on its own, and it’s not until his dark eyes fall on yours that you realize just how long and intently you’d been staring at him. He pauses mid sentence, his expression being struck with something you couldn’t quite decipher from this far away. Any other instance you would’ve probably looked away, hid behind nervous laughter or pretended like you hadn’t noticed him in the first place. 

But tonight you don’t feel like yourself. — So you hold his gaze. You want him to see you, all of you. You want him to know that you were here, that you had come without him and that you weren’t planning on changing said fact. 

Beomgyu shifts where he stands on the other side of the room. His fingers, that had previously been drawing small circles on the waist of the woman next to him, stopped. She’s talking to him, her lips move but you can’t make out what she’s saying, and you’re certain that he’s not listening either. 

You can’t tell if he’s angry, you hope he is. Was it selfish? You wanted to pull any other emotion besides lust out of him. You wanted him to feel what you felt every single moment spent in his absence, was that so wrong? — You think you might have succeeded when his hand falls from her waist. 

“I want to go home.” 

The words escape before you can stop them and you lean forward to place your now empty glass on the table before you. Taehyun’s frown returns, and you feel him shift under your hand. “But we just got here? I thought you wanted to-” — “I changed my mind.” You firmly state, not tearing your gaze from Beomgyu as you watch his jaw clench. 

You had gotten what you came here for. A small, but noticeable reaction, one that you’d created. Now all that remained was to safely evacuate before he had the chance to approach you. — With that you rise to your feet, blinking as blood rushes to your head. Taehyun is quick to follow as he gulps down the last of his drink. 

“Hey, wait are you-” His protests are lost on you as you head for the door. Through the corner of your eye you catch Beomgyu’s dark figure moving, coming closer. You quicken your pace, desperate to get away from a situation you had caused yourself. And you were so close, the door handle almost within reach when suddenly, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

You freeze. Their grip is firm, unwavering and demanding as they tug you backward. This was it, this had been a mistake. One temporary rush of confidence had led you to believe that you were actually in control. And now you were about to pay the price for your foolish actions. With your heart in your throat, you turn. 

It’s Taehyun. 

His expression is tense and guarded. It seemed he finally reached his peak. The warmth in his eyes feels distant as he regards you with a narrowed gaze. “What’s going on with you?” He spits the words out, and though you can tell that he’s trying his hardest to appear stoic, you can see the concern swirling in his irises. 

“You want one thing then the next, you’re making no sense and I…” You stop listening, his rambling becomes background noise when you catch Beomgyu not far behind him. Dark strands falling across his face, the rings on his fingers glimmering under the lights as he runs them through his hair. He’s stopped, and you wonder why. 

Your gaze shifts between Taehyun’s worried expression and his motionless one. In that moment, you realize just how much power Beomgyu holds over you, the extreme lengths he makes you go to just to end up hurt in the end. — You didn’t want to feel like that anymore. 

“Taehyun.” His endless rambling is cut short when his name leaves your lips. His eyes, despite the conflict buried within them, are nothing like Beomgyu’s. No, his eyes are gentle, even like this, even when they shouldn’t be. Even when you didn’t deserve it. Your gaze flickers over to Beomgyu one last time before they return to him. 

“Can you kiss me?” 

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[inkmo]

drive carefully there's no heaven

top speed of this thing atm. it's a danger to itself and others. will hit 260mph on the freeway.

[lyxchen]

I feel like I'm digging myself deep into a hole and finding nothing, trying to figure out more about In-ho's family

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[thevioletcaptain]

.

[klanced]

also this is such a random aside but when i think back on the fallout after season 8, i mostly remember the vitriol being aimed primarily at LM. while JDS was able to squeak by mostly unscathed. was there a genuine reason that people focused more of their ire towards LM? because i’m ngl over the last couple of years i’ve been thinking that if LM bore the brunt of the internet’s hatred over season 8, even though both she and JDS were both executive producers & most likely equally responsible for the show’s downturn, then LM might’ve been a victim of targeted misogyny 

[horsemage]

just took some delightful midnight adderall so I can finish my finals week shit before it's due in. uh. 11 hours, 1 minute. and I'm thinking about how my advisor keeps shit talking theoreticians and computational astrophysicists but in the politest, most british ways possible

[ashtcnirwin]

💫

[thestrangestwatermelonofall]

i will never forget the time I was hanging out with two other people who were new friends and they were like "let's do a sonic fandub" and one of them started looking up sonic game footage on youtube for us to dub while we discussed who would speak for who and we decided I'd voice tails. But also I knew nothing about sonic at the time, i'd only seen the snapcube fandubs because I'd heard they were good and funny, I didn't know the plot or characters very well. I couldn't remember what they sounded like so while the other two started to say silly things in sonic and amy's voices I asked "what does tails sound like again?" And I was laughing because I was embarrassed and also shocked by how quickly they had started commiting to the bit of trying to do some voice acting and my friend just said "he sounds like a twink" and I could not stop laughing and I could not take the idea seriously and I just told them that I couldn't do the voice oops. And so we moved onto a different topic pretty quickly and just enjoyed the pizza we had while we waited for our other three friends to get back from the store

anyways all of this is to say that Tails is NOT a twink, he is an 8 year old little boy and my friend was misguided.

[stcries]

welp, just found out my dad is back in the hospital for the 3rd time in like five days.

[girlcrushau]