#already commented on ao3 but. chews on this again

[vieoeil-riae]

must be dreamin'

steb/fem!reader

warnings: missionary sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, soft/vanilla sex, sexual fantasies, coming inside, minor cockwarming (kinda just mentioned), steb has frills on his cock, 18+ MDNI, 3.6k words

synopsis: despite having a strong sense of duty, steb is still as easily distracted by you as he was years ago

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection | masterlist

It was your day off, one you preserved for yourself when you hurried around the house last night ticking mundane chores off of your list. That meant that come morning, you could laze in bed watching your beautiful boyfriend pad about your shared bedroom as he got ready for the day.

Even now, as the evening set in, casting long shadows of your blinds over you and your bed, you could clearly remember the sight. Familiar, yes, but no less enticing was his lean body; firm, flexing muscles and a softness that was present even when the low light of dawn left his skin. You had no shame ogling Steb, or throwing salacious compliments his way as he tugged on his civvies.

You’d giggled at the sight of his fluttering face-frills and flushed cheeks, though. Years deep into your relationship and you still got a high from flirting with one another.

Still, the alluring sight of Steb’s partially dressed figure had stuck with you all day — remaining with you as a simmering heat between your legs. It bothered you mildly, but you were engrossed enough in your book that you could push the need aside and settle in for a long day of laying in bed.

Out in Piltover, combing through the streets with a, currently crafted, impartial stare — a similar feeling stuck with your boyfriend.

It wasn’t his fault you looked like temptation itself that morning; sleep-ruffled hair; a thin shirt that liked to ride up; how inviting you looked, tangled in the bedsheets you shared. All the comments, teases and flirts you’d thrown his way that morning had seriously tested his self-control.

Making you moan softly into the morning air, warm with sleep and sex; watching the way you unravelled at his touch; feeling you consume him completely, a much preferable alternative to clocking in at half past six in the morning.

What-ifs and vivid flashes of him pulling your shirt off and burying his face in your chest made work even more intolerable, stoking a less familiar, antsy feeling deep in his chest that found itself as a low buzzing in his hands. It was an itch to call in sick and go home early, to drown in you until the sun went down and came back up again.

No celestial decided to answer Steb’s silent prayers for a quick, easy day. In fact, they seemed to do the opposite; throwing every conceivable minor and major inconvenience at him.

There was a robbery; a carriage accident; several fights he had to break up; and worst of all, having to deal with mouthy, uncooperative people as politely as he was legally obliged to the entire time. The thought of your pliant body and the way you worked with him in understanding started to feel like the promise of water in a desert, and lord was he parched.

The reprieve of paperwork, various forms and reports written in near excruciating detail, had lasted not even five minutes before visions of your soft curves and the way you’d writhe and ruck-up the sheets under his touch infiltrated his train of thought again.

Steb’s ears were pinned back by now, he could just tell, and he sorely hoped no one noticed the flush on his cheeks or the tent in his pants. He could only thank the stars that his coworkers had long since figured out he never talked more than necessary for his job, he was already biting the inside of his lips with a near bruising force.

After hours of sitting with his legs crossed, his problem had nowhere near abated. Chewing his cheek, he shuffled to the locker room once his shift was up.

Opening his locker, Steb eyed the small duffle bag inside; his regular clothes and the remains of a lunch kindly packed by you. Your hands, the image struck him with immense clarity — a slew of imaginings poured behind his eyes. Your hands on him, running over his stomach; carding through his hair; your pretty fingers down his throat. It was almost enough to draw a whimper from him.

He stripped his out layers quickly. One hand almost slipped under the hem of his pants, but out of a lewd sense of shame it was pulled quickly away. You’d do that for him, slip your hands in and fondle his heavy cock, and you’d do it with that loving, knowing smile of yours.

In half-blues, no impulse control to keep himself around long enough to change clothes properly, Steb snuck out the back door. There was a thrill in the minor infraction against the force’s policy, as well as his duty-born sense of guilt that made his neediness feel stickier.

Speed-walking through twisting side streets and alleys in an attempt to get to you, your warmth — hot, wet warmth (he stumbled on a cobblestone) — just a few moments quicker.

He saw you last night, domestic and homey as you flitted around clearing up what would get in the way of your day off, and he’d stared for a long time before you noticed he was there. Steb was lost in the image of you in his home again, something that struck him every now and again but always left him breathless, not dressed up; comfortably un-put-together.

It was an image that sparked a fire in his gut every time he saw it. Maybe getting so turned on by the thought of you sharing the rest of your life together like that was odd but, to Steb who had always been a fan of the simpler joys in life, it meant the world.

You’d probably stayed in bed today, a thought that made him purr inside, the thought of you feeling so at home in the space you shared. The image of you half covered in sheets, bare breasts exposed; nipples pebbled at the peak of your supple skin waiting to be touched, invaded the space behind his eyes and he was forced to blink it away.

God, his limbs felt heavy. Want and need pooled together with the leaden aftermath of a busy day. Climbing into bed with you would save him.

One thought kept Steb in motion however; you splayed out on the bed, legs spread as your fingers plunged into your cunt, mewling under your own touch as your hips bucked up to take your fingers deeper. A blaze took over his chest, maybe you’d be moaning his name. A shiver rolled through his shoulders, his name always sounded so much better on your lips.

Steb dropped the bag the second he shut the door, his breathing laboured as he gulped in the scented air from the humidifier in the entranceway. It had been the same scent as your shampoo since the week he met you. It only served to make his need worse.

You were sprawled out, half tangled in sheets and the same pesky, night shirt as this morning — in the dusk light you looked to be glowing. You noticed him quickly, taking in his tired eyes and flushed cheeks as well as the fact he hadn’t abandoned either of his jacket or shoes by the door.

“Hey, what’s up?” You questioned sweetly, pulling yourself up to sit. The drag of the bedsheets across you, the tantalising curl of them around your legs, made your boyfriend swallow hard.

With shaky fingers, Steb’s jacket was discarded on the bedroom floor followed by his shirt. You bit your lip at the flex of his stomach muscles and the now-ruffled look of his hair. Your eyebrows pinched at the heavy way he sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the clasps of his boots.

Slipping off the bed, you knelt down before him, undoing the (rather complicated) fastenings with steadier hands. You looked up through your lashes at him, eyes widening a fraction at the almost hungry look in his eyes. The usual cool, observant look in his eyes was still there but felt entirely underpinned by something hotter. The frills on his cheekbones shivered out of time, though.

You slid one boot off, cupping just above his ankle with care. Treating Steb gently was a reward in and of itself. In your peripherals, you saw his fingers dig into the edge of the mattress. The other boot was removed similarly, all under a smoldering gaze.

The second you were finished, one of his hands darted to your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes. You searched them, feeling more and more confident you understood what he was wanting. You cocked your head, a small smile gracing your lips, letting your tired boyfriend do as he pleased.

You were pulled up and onto the bed, tangling with Steb as he buried his face in the crook of your neck — pushing you back towards the centre where you were laying minutes ago. You scrambled to move against his built body, falling into the pillows you’d messed up for the sake of a better reading perch.

Lifting the bottom hem of your shirt, Steb stuffed his head up it, nuzzling his face into the valley between your tits. The arm free to move slipped under your shirt too, sliding up your back to grip at your shoulder. Only mildly surprised, you brought your hand to his hair, running your fingers through it gently — nails pleasantly scraping at his scalp.

You saw the shiver that ran through him at that, felt the hot puff of breath against your skin. Steb wedged a leg between your thighs, knocking against the place you’ve been wanting him all day. He placed a kiss on your breast bone, before his lips began to travel your curves — the feeling of the outline of his lips, so recognisably his in the way his bottom lip felt plumper than his top.

You sucked in a harsh breath as Steb’s lips found your nipple, kissing it fondly before taking it in his mouth. His teeth found it soon after, lightly worrying it enough for you to arch into his thigh with a breathy sigh. 

Soft and needy and wanting, he makes out with your chest — tongue dragging over each arch and dip with goading care. You grind against his thigh, pressing his face into your chest as your swollen cunt, covered only by panties rubs against the thick material of Steb’s uniform. 

He bites the flesh of your other tit, licking fat stripes up the soft mound, relishing your nipple in a way that makes you gasp. His hand, once holding onto your shoulder slithers down your back to trace up the sensitive skin over your ribs, cupping your neglected tits gently before palming it in earnest — fat molding itself to the shape of his large palm.

Your head lolled back, leaving your collarbones open. Steb couldn’t reach them, however, as the loose neckline of your shirt didn’t allow him the room to pepper kisses there.

Shuffling out of your shirt that now felt a little emptier without him in it, his hot breath was replaced by his fixated eyes and warm palms feeling up your sides. Dragging them sensually down, his fingers toyed at the hem of your shirt.

You rolled onto your back and he followed, eager hands still attached to your shirt. You stared into his eyes, undeniably warm with adoration and pure need. He motioned for you to lift your arms up, and you did with a helping arch of your back. You heard a choked whine in his throat when your breasts spilled out into the warm light of the room as he pulled the fabric from your body.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in a kiss, slow and lusty, hoisting your leg by your knee to hook around his hip. Steb let his whole body relax into yours, trapping you between the soft bed and his warm body. You felt his hard cock rub against your thigh, and heard his soft panting in your ear.

“You gonna take those off, or are you happy to ruin your work clothes?” You teased, a sultry tone seeping into your words through the kiss. You smiled greedily at the furious blush that overcame him, feeling the heat on your own cheeks before he pulled away to strip himself of the garment.

You eyed his deft hands undo his belt buckle, dexterous fingers you knew felt orgasmic inside of you. He was left in underwear, a wet patch forming where his hard cock strained at the fabric, the last of his uniform discarded as your lover met your lips again.

Steb’s fingers skimmed down your front, caressing your skin with all the romance in his soul. They dipped into the waistband of your panties, parting your lips to gather your wetness, gathering your slick before coming to lazily circle your clit. You whined at the feeling, his rougher fingertips creating delicious friction over your sensitive nerves.

Smoothing the heel of his palm against you, his fingers sank into your wet pussy. You moaned at the stretch, Steb was a tall man with fingers proportional to that — two fingers curling inside you felt like more than it sounded, still overwhelmingly pleasurable.

His tired mind was enraptured with the way you squirmed beneath him, with the way your tits moved with your sharp gasps when his long fingers pressed into the right spot, with the flutter of your eyelashes when your face fell with pleasure. His cock twitched with each lewd squelch of his fingers, and he shivered with a low groan when he felt you clench around his digits.

Medically trained hands, strong and precise, brought you to a tumbling orgasm. You arched hard into Steb’s hand, humping it as you rode out your high. Sex-dazed, you couldn’t look away from him.

“I want you.” You whispered into the space between you, being quiet was never an issue around Steb. His other hand, that had ended up pressed into the mattress by your head, brushed away stray hairs from your face. His eyes darkened, yet the blue of his eyes seemed to shine brighter at the same time.

You flicked the band of his underwear, giggling softly when his trance was partially broken. Steb huffed a quiet laugh with you, brushing your hand with his own as he reached to pull the briefs down. 

You eyed the way his cock sprung from the fabric, and not for the first time do you admire it. Long, bent slightly to the left, decorated with frills similar to his face but shorter and less delicate. Drool-worthy, in your opinion, but maybe you're biased from experience.

Cheekily, he returned the favour; pinching at the most sensitive fat of your thigh, right by the junction of your leg and torso. You squirmed at the feeling, gasping half-playfully and half-honestly. Still, Steb slid your panties off with care, thumbs brushing your hip bones as you arched upwards to help him remove them.

He leaned in close to your face, lips ghosting over yours in a brush of a kiss, lining his throbbing cock with your weepy cunt. The head of his cock brushed down your wet slit, drawing a whine from deep in your throat — no matter how many times you moan, it’s a sound Steb can’t find himself any less addicted to.

His cockhead presses against your entrance, pushing in at a slow, relishing pace. You let obscene noises fall from your lips as he inches his cock into you, his head buried in the junction of your neck — fluttering face frills tickling the skin there — where you could hear all the little noises he made much better.

You spread your legs further apart, inviting him further in as you watched his body curl over yours. Knowing the feel of his dick only made the satisfaction of your expectation taste sweeter, familiar veins and ridges and frills scratching the itch inside you just how you liked.

Steb groaned into your ear when you enveloped him to the base, the barest whispers of incoherent words floating to your ears. Having you around his cock was sweet relief all by itself.

You took a moment to bathe in the closeness between you, his cock nestled deep in your gummy walls, before he gave a shallow thrust — rutting into you. You mewled at the sensation, enough to make your body sing with heat but not enough to build your orgasm.

His hips twitched at the sound, rutting into you again but harder, a groan of his own sinking into the skin of your neck. Slowly, enticingly, Steb thrusted into your cunt harder, letting you greedily suck him back in with every motion of pulling out. 

You slung your other leg over his hip, winding your legs around him to bring him closer, deeper. Your arms reached for his shoulders, nails bluntly teasing at the skin, scratching enough to feel but not enough to hurt and he shivered under your touch. Steb pulled back to watch your face.

You looked so lovingly ruined beneath him, an expression of utter bliss stretching across your face, the smell of your sweat so close to his nose. Your face twisted in pleasure as he thrusted ever so slightly faster, your head falling to one side as you arched against his cock. 

He took full advantage of it, pressing soft kisses down your neck, interrupting them with an occasional nip — soothed with a practiced tongue. Your skin tasted like devotion under his tongue, the frills on his face fluttered happily at the eagerness with which you took him. 

Your hand tangled through Steb’s hair, running across his scalp until it met with the delicate shell of his ear. He whimpered against your skin, a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss licked against the column of your throat.

Needily, he picked up the pace of his thrusts, whispering the most mesmeric words of adoration against you like prayers. You responded to them in kind, loving affirmations spoken with truth through a haze of desire, fucking back onto his cock hungrily.

The feeling of the frills on his cock dragging against your walls made you keen, digging your nails into his shoulder as you hissed in pleasure, whining as Steb slowed down for you to feel every single ridge. You protested the change of pace, bucking up into him, muttering ‘please’s making his ears twitch against your gentle fingers.

His hips met yours, you clenched around him but didn’t peak, a sound of abject need slipping through your lips. You took your hand from his shoulder and found his forearm pressed into the mattress above your head, you caressed down the strained muscles towards his hand. He let you trail his hand down your body, shifting to accommodate his weight above you — though if you were being honest, being completely trapped under him sounded wonderful.

You brought Steb’s hand to your aching clit, letting him feel how wet the sensitive nub had become, moaning at his light touch. Chasing his own high, flushed with your pleasure, he rutted into your cunt faster, fingers diligently working at your clit in tight circles. 

You writhed against him, moaning and whining and clenching around his cock in a way that never failed to stroke his much hidden ego. It shot a bolt of white-hot pleasure up his spine, to see you come apart from his touch.

“Steb…” You moaned, a drunk slur in your tone that made his hips jerk harshly into your plush cunt. The begging tone wiping reason from his head, he fucked you harder, watching your tits bounce with each thrust. His dick twitched inside of you, sending him back to meshing his lips with yours.

Your cock-drunk obscenities were swallowed by the enveloping kiss Steb had you in, drinking up the noises of your fast approaching peak. The noise and feel of you winded up the coil in his own gut, the world falling away from him completely, lost in you.

“Steb!” You came hard around his cock, a strangled cry of his name clawing out of your throat. Your body shook with satisfaction, mesmerising your lover with the way you twitched and whined in overstimulation as he fucked you through your orgasm — legs locked tightly around his waist.

The flutter of your walls around him had him grinding against your cunt, lost in the soaking, post-orgasm feel of you — desperate in the rut of hips that smacked against yours.

“Inside.” You mumbled breathlessly through the overstimulation. “Want you… inside.”

He groaned against your neck, taking a shuddering breath as your words took him over the edge — fucking his cum into you with jerking hips. 

Coming down from the bliss, he peppered all the skin he could find with sweet kisses, before trying to pull out from you. Your legs wound around his waist, not allowing Steb to do anything but sink fully into your warm, soft body with his whole weight.

The leaden feeling sunk into his limbs again, keeping him trapped against you like a pillow. It felt like all the mounting pressure in his body had dissipated into thin air and he huffed against your skin, satisfied.

“I love you.” You murmured into his ear through a smile, hands carding through his now very messy hair. You craned your neck to kiss his temple, basking in the satisfied, contented feeling of having Steb bare in your arms.

You felt his lips trace the same words into your skin, the slight nuzzle he gave you, and the way his arms snaked around you to hold you. You shut your eyes in delight, letting the rest of the world fall away until it was just you and Steb. He squeezed you tighter in his arms.

A/N: thank you to everyone who's dropped their thoughts into my inbox!!! I'm so happy about that 😭😭 u guys wanna interact ilysm 💕💕 I'll get to you when I can, but even if it takes a moment know I haven't forgotten!

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.8 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・���.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・ ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18+ explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits ❥chapter warnings/tags: flashback stuff, cute college JK, he's very charming, college y/n (she's chilled out), y/n gets a little hurt in this chapter (nothing major I swear, bothering Yoongi (my favorite thing to do in this fic), Vic has some legitimate advice, some more classic y/n and Jk back and forth, tae being a menace and meddling, swearing, fighting, angst, misunderstandings, y/n jumping to conclusions (again) heavy sigh, we are back in the god damn house (face palm), you will understand this once you finish the chapter but - JUST TRUST THE PROCESS I PROMISE I WILL FIX THIS ❥word-count: 7.3k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the taglist! a/n: this chapter is mostly edited, if there are any mistakes pretend you didn't see them .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Five Years Ago

"Okay, how did that sound?"

You let out a breath, setting your notecards down on the table. Your brain was fried from running through your section of the presentation for what felt like the hundredth time. Across from you, Jungkook leaned back in his chair, absently spinning a pen between his fingers. His eyes, slightly glazed over, snapped back to you when he realized you were waiting for an answer.

"It was good," He said with a nod.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I don’t believe you."

Jungkook cracked a sheepish grin and ran a hand through his already-messy hair, "Okay, fine. I barely listened," He admitted, letting out an exaggerated groan as he slumped forward, resting his forehead against the table for dramatic effect. "But! It wasn’t because it was bad. My brain just isn’t functioning anymore."

You sighed in relief, sinking back into your chair. "Thank god. I felt like I was just spewing out random words."

“Maybe we need a break. I need food or something.” Jungkook ran his hand through his hair. Standing up front he looked around the room like the answer was written on the wall or something.

"I have a power bar." You reached into your bag, rummaging through the mess of notes and pens until you pulled out. Tossing it on the table in Jungkook's direction.

Jungkook barely hesitated before tearing it open. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, "Or we could just call it a night. No offense, but I think we’re both way too dead to get anything productive done."

"None taken," You said immediately, already shoving your things into your bag. You didn’t need to be told twice. This project had drained the last bit of life out of you, and if Jungkook was giving you an excuse to stop, you were taking it.

Jungkook also begins to pack his things up, “You have any plans?” 

You paused mid-zip, looking up briefly before going back to shoving things into your bag. “Other than crawling into my bed and dying? No.”

“Wanna hang out?”

You froze. “Uh… really?”

Jungkook shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. Why not?” He grinned. “We’re sort of friends now, right?”

“Well, me telling you about my shitty ex who happens to be your shitty friend doesn’t really count as  friendship.” You fiddle with the end of your sleeves on your jacket.

“Ex-friend and we should hang out and we can become actual friends. We can go to the student union and just get some food or whatever,” He offered so casually it actually threw you off. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever hung out in the student union other than to get some books or a new ID card.” 

Before you can get in another word, Jungkook threw his backpack over his shoulder. Then without a second thought scooped up yours as well. Leaving the meeting room, you following close in toe trying to grab your backpack back. 

“Hey!” You rushed after him, reaching to claw your bag back. “Give that back!”

“Just follow my lead. It’ll be fun.”

“I was told to never go places with strangers.”

“Well, good thing I won’t be a stranger by the end of the night.” He looked back at you, grinning cheekily.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t trust that.”

“Just trust me,” He corrected, his tone teasing.

You exhaled, eyeing your poor backpack that he held hostage. You had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to give it back without a fight. “…Fine.” 

The student union wasn’t far, and the walk there was surprisingly nice. The tension of schoolwork melted away as you made casual conversation, Jungkook making dumb jokes that you tried very hard not to laugh at. You were slowly starting to get a real sense of his personality; the one you’d spent the last month and a half trying not to care about.

Unfortunately, what you learned was that he was kind of an idiot.

A nice idiot. But still an idiot.

When you arrived, you assumed he’d take you to one of the food places.  Instead, he walked you straight past them, leading you toward a small bowling alley tucked into the corner of the building.

You immediately stopped in your tracks. “Oh no.” Shaking your head taking a few instinctual steps back. 

Jungkook turned back, amused. “Oh yes.” 

“No, Jungkook you don’t understand,” You embarrassingly laugh at the thought, “I’m really really bad.”

“Oh come on. It’ll be fun.” He set down both of your backpacks on the closest available seats. “Plus I can promise you, no one is as bad as my friend Tae.”

Taehyung, who you had no choice in meeting and had a feeling he would be around more often if you explored any friendship with Jungkook. 

“You seriously don’t know what you’re signing up for,” You sigh. 

“Come on.” Jungkook meanders away to find a bowling ball. “Let’s get a ball first and we’ll go from there.” 

“Is there some trick to it?” 

“Sort of, you want one that is decently heavy but not too heavy that you can’t hold it comfortably.” Jungkook picks up a ball and gives it to you, it’s marked with a six. “Try this. Hold it with one hand and see how it feels.” 

You slot your fingers into the holes. Holding the ball in your hand and letting your arm go slack to feel the weight. “Seems a little light.” 

“Alright so now we go up a weight.” Jungkook hands you a ball with a seven marked on it. You trade him for the new one. Testing this one out the same way. “Okay that feels good. Eight might be too heavy.”

“Look, you're already learning!”

“Just get yours.” 

Jungook picks himself a ball and you both go back and he sets up the lane for the two of you. Once it is all good to go, Jungkook goes first. Effortlessly sending his bowling ball down the center of the lane, getting a strike on the first try. 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” You say with an exaggerated groan. Jungkook seems fully amused by your reaction. “I can’t follow that up.”

“Oh come on. I just know how to bowl! I’m not expecting anything from your first throw.” Jungkook comes over pulling you out of your seat by your wrist. You try to resist but it doesn’t work.

“You promised me a fun time.” You drag your feet under you.

“It will be once you give it a shot!” Jungkook held his arms like he was presenting the bowling lane to you. 

You grab your bowling ball, having absolutely zero clue as to what you were supposed to be doing. “Don’t laugh.” 

“I won’t laugh.”

“Swear.” You look back at him, daggers flying from your eyes. 

“I won’t! Just go!” Jungkook Just stands back waiting for you to go. 

You suddenly felt like the pressure was really on now. With a swift swing you throw your ball, it goes straight for about one second before veering hard to the right. Wobbling and then falling into the gutter. 

Jungook doesn’t say anything, just steps up behind you as you both watch the ball roll down the gutter. 

“You missed.” 

“I told you I was bad.” 

“You’re not without promise, you just lack technique.” He clapped a hand on your back in what was probably supposed to be encouragement, but it felt more like a pity pat. “And guess what? You get to go again! Get your ball, and I’ll show you.”

Dragging your feet, you retrieved your ball again, sighing dramatically as you returned to the lane. Jungkook, apparently unfazed by your theatrics, stepped behind you and placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, nudging you slightly to the right.

“I don’t think I’m teachable,” You muttered.

“Stop whining. You can do this.”

Jungkook extended his arm straight out in front of both of you. “Okay, listen. You want your throwing hand lined up with where you want the ball to go. Keep your wrist straight all the way through the throw.”

As he stepped away to grab his own ball, you huffed, still unconvinced. “You have a weird way of making friends.”

He shrugged, casually inspecting the weight of his ball. “Feel free to leave whenever you want.”

You scowled, but he ignored it, holding his wrist up for you to see. “Now, like this.” He demonstrated the proper grip, keeping his wrist completely flat and facing toward the lane.

You attempted to mimic him, gripping your ball and focusing on keeping your wrist straight. But the movement felt unnatural, your instincts screaming at you to rotate your wrist at the last second.

“This feels wrong,” You complained, shifting uncomfortably.

Jungkook smirked. “That’s because you’ve been doing it wrong your whole life.”

You shot him a glare, but he only nodded toward the lane, “Try it again. And don’t overthink it.”

You line yourself up like he said. Just keep your wrist straight, it seemed simple enough. So you went again, throwing the ball trying to keep your arm lined up with the center. You knew instantly your wrist twisted a little. This time you were pleasantly surprised to see the ball stay mostly on course, knocking down a single pin. 

Jungkook begins clapping next to you. 

Your mouth falls open and you point down the lane, “Hey! I got one!” 

“You got one!” Jungkook just had an enthusiastic smile at sudden triumph. “Now we can really start competing. Maybe you’ll actually get better than me.” 

“Maybe in like ten years, but I think that’s like the first time I’ve every successfully hit a pin!” 

“By the end of the night you’ll be my star prodigy I swear.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Present Day

 You were missing your wallet. 

You had actually been driving yourself crazy not having it. You thought maybe you had to have it at the bowling place the night before. You called them when they opened this morning. Praying that you had left it there. To no avail they said they couldn’t find anything. 

You were pretty disappointed. Not that there was anything special in there but you were going to have to replace your cards and your ID. Which was a whole hassle of its own. 

“I bet you just left it at home.” Vic assured you as you wallowed in self pity, moping around your whole shift. You really were just throwing the biggest pity party even though it wasn’t that serious. 

“I tore the place apart this morning. It’s gone forever,” You moan. Pity radiating from you.

“Y/N all of that shit is replaceable you know?” 

“I know! It’s just annoying because I have to get my ID redone and cancel my cards. It’s a hassle.” 

“Well where did you go last night?” 

“I hung out with some of the girls in the ER. We went bowling, but I already called and they don’t have it.” 

“You hung out… with other nurses. That weren’t me!” Vic starts to sniffle and cover her mouth like she is about to cry. 

“Oh please, you hang out with other coworkers all the time without me.” You shove her chair but she just just ends up spinning in a circle with a laugh. 

“It’s fine. I’m not your favorite anymore… I get it. I can pick a new favorite too.” She scoots her chair, bumping it against yours. “Like Yoongi.” 

On cue Yoongi, rounded the corner hearing his name, his head perked up. “What about me?” 

“I can’t believe you would pick this limp noodle over me,” You say pointing at him like he did something wrong. Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks.

“Limp noodle?” He mutters under his breath. Looking down at his body, suddenly wondering if he did in fact look like a noodle. 

“You’re not a limp noodle, I’m making a point. Run away while you still can.” You say waving for him to escape in some direction, he nods. 

“Gladly.” Yoongi heads down another direction away from the nurse station. 

“No! Yoongi you’re my new work best friend.” Vic calls after him as he leaves a little too quickly. 

“No thanks.” The both of you hear him call back, making you laugh. 

“If anyone's your work best friend it’s Jin.” You spin around in your chair looking to see the reaction you’ll get from Vic. 

“He’s my work nightmare. I’ve never met another man who drives me more insane.” She says as she scrolls through documents. She takes a quick a quick glance at some notes left from the nightmare himself and you can visibly see her rage bubbling under the surface. 

“I should also run away before you explode.” You try to make your escape but she forces your back into your chair. 

“Not so fast. You know we have more work to do.” 

You knew she was right too. It was medication paperwork, usually this kind of thing was pawned off to others but it’s backed up and so now it’s made its way back to the nurses to fill out. Mostly had to do with filling the correct paperwork for medications to be ordered and paid for. It was just tedious but not at all difficult. 

“Fine.” You groan, continuing to work through some of the files on the tablet in front of you. Pouting still thinking about the hassle of having to replace all of your crap. 

“Are you stilling pouting? Come on, it’s going to be fine.” Vic rolling her eyes, her patience wearing thin for you now. “Could maybe one of the girls have picked it up by mistake?” 

You hadn’t really considered it, but it was possible. Except it was more likely that Taehyung or maybe Jimin had accidentally grabbed it. “I haven’t asked, I guess I could see.”

You go to reach for your phone, but Vic stops you again, “Nuh uh! Not till we get more of this done.” 

You let out a defeated sigh, dragging yourself through the remainder of the paperwork alongside her. Only after making a considerable dent in the workload did she relent, waving you off so you could make your call.

Stepping away, you pressed Taehyung’s contact and put the phone to your ear. It rang twice before his familiar, overly dramatic voice burst through the receiver.

“Well, if it isn’t the most beautiful person I know—besides me, of course.”

You couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “I’m prettier, and we both know it.”

Taehyung scoffed. “Yeah, right. With my jawline? People literally fall to their knees.” His unwavering confidence was truly something to behold.

“Hmm, last I checked, it never worked on me.”

“That’s because you’re way too good for me,” He conceded, without missing a beat. “So, what can I do for you?”

You chewed your lip, hesitant. “You didn’t happen to take my wallet last night by accident, did you?”

He hummed in thought, dragging out the suspense just to mess with you. “Sorry, no. You lost it?”

“I guess so. I was so sure I had it when we left last night.” You frowned, thinking back. “Maybe Jimin grabbed it?”

“No, he wouldn’t have taken it. I’m also pretty sure I saw you grab it. Have you asked Jungkook?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of his name. “Uh… no.”

“Didn’t he drive you home?”

You hesitated, suddenly regretting this entire conversation. “I mean… yeah.”

“You should check if maybe you left it in his car.”

You sighed, “I don’t really have a way to do that. Can you ask him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have Jungkook’s number.”

A pause. “Really?”

You huffed. “Yeah? We haven’t exactly been on great terms for several years if you haven’t noticed.”

“Ah, right.” He dragged the word. “Well, I can give it to you if you want.”

You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “I think it’s better if you ask. No need to add another avenue for us to kill each other.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Alright, if you say so. But what do I get in return?”

“My love and devotion,” You offered dryly.

“Ugh, you say that, but I know you’re messing with me.” You could hear the pout through the phone.

You grinned. “Goodbye, Taehyung. Let me know.”

The moment you hung up, Taehyung wasted zero time before ringing Jungkook. He knew Jungkook would pick up. And Jungkook, confused by the unexpected call, answered cautiously.

“What?” Jungkook said, his tone lace with suspicion.

“Good morning!” Taehyung sang through the phone.

Jungkook frowned, glancing at the time. “It’s 1 PM.”

“Fine, if we’re being technical, good afternoon.”

Jungkook sighed. “What’s up, dude?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have Y/N’s wallet, would you?”

Jungkook blinked. “Uh… no? Why? Did Y/N say I took it or something?”

“Not at all,” Taehyung assured him. “Just lost it and asked me to check with you since, you know, you drove her home.”

Jungkook frowned, leaning back in his chair. “I guess it could have fallen out in the seat.”

“Oh, imagine this,” Taehyung started, voice brimming with amusement. “You find Y/N’s wallet. You take it back to her. She looks at you with big, adoring eyes and says, ‘Oh my goodness, Jungkook, you saved the day!’ And then you say, ‘I know, baby.’ Then she says, ‘Let’s make out!’ And then—”

Jungkook cut him off with a deadpan, “You’re gross.”

“It’s romantic.”

“It’s never gonna happen.”

“Yeah…” Taehyung dragged the word out knowingly. “Never gonna happen… again.”

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“No.” Taehyung’s grin was audible through the phone.

Jungkook exhaled sharply. “I’ll check in a bit. I have to go to my office later anyway.”

“Oh, perfect.” Taehyung sounded entirely too pleased. “I’ll text you Y/N’s number so you can let her know you have it. Or don’t. Your call.”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “Wait, how did you know I didn’t have Y/N’s number?”

“Call it a hunch.” Taehyung’s voice was smug. “You two don’t exactly get along these days, so I figured you wouldn’t have it.”

“…True.”

“Just let her know soon, she seemed pretty stressed about it.”

With that Taehyung hung up. Jungkook was left  dumbfounded by the exchange. He wondered for a moment, maybe it had fallen out? So he slipped out of his apartment and headed on down to the garage. Once making it to his car, it was right there. You must have dropped it and didn’t realize. 

Jungkook picked it up, there was nothing particular about it. He made his way back up to his place. Pulling out his phone, Taehyung had already sent your number. 

Meanwhile, you were slumped on a bench during your lunch break, barely noticing the sound of your coworkers chatting in the background. Your mind kept drifting back to your wallet; the one that had slipped from your pocket, the one you hadn’t even realized was gone until you reached into your bag to grab your phone. It wasn’t like it was the end of the world, but still, you felt this nagging irritation.

Right at that moment, you phone buzzed next to you. Checking to see you had a message from an unknown number.

unknown: I have your wallet

The text was followed by a photo of your  wallet on a countertop. You could only assume this was Jungkook, and Taehyung had given him your number. 

unknown: I’m holding it hostage

: Keep it, it has your boy cooties on it now. 

unknown: You’re tell me

unknown: It has your demonic energy attached to it. I need it out of my life immediately before it give me bad luck

:Uh huh, can you just bring it back to me Jungkook?

In the moment you were waiting for him to respond, you decided on a fitting contact name.

TheWorstEver: I have to go to my office today to grab something. I can bring it by later.

:I’ll be home at 6 so anytime after that

You also sent your apartment details so he knew where he was going. Jungkook didn’t respond from there, thank god. It must have slipped from your pocket when you got in the car or something and you hadn’t even noticed. 

Unfortunately this means you have to thank Jungkook. Ew. 

You were still chewing over the situation when Vic walked over, her presence a sudden shift in your mood. She sat down next to you, her eyes narrowing as she took in the look on your face, “What’s with that face? Any luck?” 

You blinked, realizing you had been making a face. You quickly wiped it off and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Uh, yes… actually.”

“That’s great! Where was it?” she asked, her voice a little too cheerful for your liking.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind working overtime, trying to figure out how to explain this. After a beat, you mumbled, “Jungkook had it…”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow, she did not understand you. 

You had intentionally omitted the information about Jungkook being there last night because you really didn’t want to hear Vic’s teasing today. “...Jungkook had it.” 

She blinks at you like she was trying to register what you said, “What? How?” 

You sighed and rubbed your temples, annoyed at how complicated this felt for no reason. “I may have forgotten to mention that we ran into him and some other guys I know… we hung out.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Hung out? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, looking at the table, hoping she wouldn’t press for more details. “It wasn’t planned. We just happened to be at the same bowling alley, in lanes right next to each other. Then I didn’t have a ride home, so... because I crushingly defeated him, he drove me home. It fell out in his car.”

Vic stared at you, unblinking, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, she broke the silence with a loud laugh. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me nothing happened? After all the tension between the two of you recently? Are you seriously telling me you didn’t go home with him again?”

“No, Vic,” you said firmly, but there was a certain tightness in your chest that betrayed your words. “We just hung out.”

“Armageddon didn’t fall upon the world?” She teased. You bump her shoulder rolling your eyes. 

You shot her a dry look, but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling a little. “No. Everything’s fine.”

She hummed, clearly not buying it. “Damn, that’s boring. What happened to the fiery clash of titans you two used to have?”

You shrugged, feeling something strange twist in your stomach. “I don’t know, he’s… easy to be around lately. We just talk, I guess.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Really?”

“Yeah?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, just seems strange.”

“I mean… it is, but what do you mean?”

She tilted her head, like she was carefully choosing her words. “Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m overstepping here. I know I tease you about the hooking up but… you’ve told me stories. This guy has seriously hurt you before, and now, suddenly, he’s easy to be around?”

“But what?” 

She lowers her voice to a whisper now, “He’s being nice… after you slept together? I don’t know, that sets some red flags off for me.” 

You froze, the weight of her words sinking in. You hadn’t let yourself think about it like that, hadn’t considered how easily things could go sideways again. But Vic wasn’t wrong.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that I guess.” 

“I’m just saying be cautious. Make sure he’s not doing this just because the door is open for that to happen again.”

“Okay…. I know…” You pause trying to form your thoughts, “As much as I don’t like Jungkook… he’s not really like that…” 

“I just would hate to see you make nice with him and then he turns into a dick all over again,” Her expression was serious but sympathetic. “He’s still a guy after all.” 

“Right. Well considering it’s never going to happen again, and I have dealt with Jungkook’s bullshit for years. I think it’ll all be okay.” You settle back into your chair and sigh.

“I guess. Just be careful, he’s caused you enough emotional pain… And I know your other friends love him too so they might not see it the same way as me.”  

Not that they knew about what was going on between the two of you, “Yeah that’s true.” 

And you thought that would be the end of it. Vic’s words ate at you a little as the day passed you by. As much as you liked to say you didn’t know Jungkook, you did know him enough. He wouldn’t just be being nice to you to sleep with you again. 

At least, you thought, but maybe he wasn’t the same.

He was the one to suggest sleeping together at the wedding… even if it spawned from something stupid Taehyung said. Jungkook was still the one to offer…

 Maybe he was like that. Maybe you had him all wrong.

You were still mulling it over when you got home later, tossing your bag onto the couch with a sigh. The thoughts lingered, tugging at the edges of your mind as you toed off your shoes, wiggling your sore feet against the hardwood. Before you could get too lost in your head, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A quick glance at the screen told you it was your mom.

With a small smile, you swiped to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi! I haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to check in.”

You wandered into the kitchen as you spoke, pulling open the fridge with one hand and balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear. “Just been working, Mom. Nothing crazy these days.” You grabbed a bottle of water and cracked it open, taking a quick sip.

“I know. I just miss you. When are you coming to visit?”

“Hopefully soon. I just need to sit down and plan it out. I have all this time since the wedding now.” You leaned against the counter, absentmindedly peeling at the label on your water bottle.

“Well, pick the days, and I’ll make them work.”

“I’ll have to see. I’ve been learning all this new stuff at work, and I hate to step away while I’m still getting my feet under me.”

“Oh, that’s right, you moved onto a new floor.”

“Yeah, oncology.” You rubbed at the back of your neck, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. It had been a lot to adjust to, but you were getting there.

“How are the doctors? Everyone being nice?”

“So far, I actually really like the doctors I’m working with right now. Dr. Kim is incredibly talented. I’ve been learning a lot.”

“Is he cute?”

You nearly choked on your water, coughing as you straightened up. “Mom.”

“What? You never tell me what’s going on in your love life, so I have to get something out of you.”

“He’s fine. I don’t think I could ever date him,” you said, rolling your eyes and picking at a speck on the counter. “Nor do I want to. I don’t like dating coworkers.”

“Yeah, but you spend all your time in that hospital or with your friends.”

“Hey, I just went out last night with some of the girls I work with. We even ran into some other guys I know.” You wandered back toward the living room, plopping onto the couch and tucking your legs under you.

“Like who?”

“Like Taehyung. You met him last time you were here.”

“Ah yes, the one who flirted with me the whole time.”

You groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “Yeah, that one. And some others.”

“Like who?”

“Do I have to spell out every detail?”

“Yes! I haven’t seen you in months. I want to hear everything.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Well, he has this friend Jimin. And Jungkook.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Jungkook? Like the boy who terrorizes you? That Jungkook?”

“Yes, the very same.” You stretched your legs out, letting your head rest against the armrest.

“He didn’t give you a hard time?” You could hear the defensiveness in her voice. Jungkook has been a topic between you two many times before. He is not in your moms favor by any means.

“Actually, it was okay. Tense, but we didn’t fight or anything.”

“That’s good. I never liked him.”

“You’ve never met him.”

“Yeah, but he’s been awful to you, and I’m your mom, so I have to hate him.”

You snorted. “We’ve actually been getting along lately. Trying to turn over a new leaf or whatever.”

“Interesting.”

You frowned, sitting up. “What? Jungkook and I can get along perfectly fine! I told you about the wedding.”

“Yeah, but you still fought and almost killed each other then.”

“Well, since then, we’ve just been hanging out more. It’s… weird, but we’ve been getting along better.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Your mom sounded unconvinced.

“I promise, if he steps one toe out of line, I’ll go back to hating his guts.”

“I just worry. You know that.” You could hear the worry in her tone. It wasn’t unwarranted. 

“I know, but I really think this is okay.” You tried to reassure her.

Before she could say anything else, there was a sharp knock at the door. Speak of the devil. You pushed yourself up, stretching lazily as you made your way toward the entrance. But as you turned the corner, your foot caught on the edge of the coffee table—hard.

Pain exploded up your leg like a bolt of lightning.

“Shit—” You gasped, immediately crumpling onto the floor. The phone was still clutched in your hand as you groaned, one hand gripping your ankle.

“What happened?” your mom’s voice rose with concern.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hissing through your teeth. “I just kicked my leg into my coffee table. Like, really hard. Shit this hurts.”

“No! Did you break it again?”

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath, blinking down at your rapidly reddening ankle. It was already swelling, a dull, pulsing ache spreading through the limb. You flexed your foot experimentally—painful, but still mobile. Not broken. Hopefully.

“No, but god, it hurts. Let me call you back, Mom.”

You didn’t wait for her response before ending the call, tossing your phone onto the floor beside you. Slowly, you tried shifting into a seated position, wincing as pain shot through your leg.

Another knock at the door. Louder this time.

Fuck. Jungkook was still waiting out there. And knowing him, he was about to make fun of you for this.

Biting down on a groan, you braced yourself against the couch and pushed up onto your good leg. You wobbled, testing your weight, but the moment you tried putting pressure on your injured foot, another sharp sting made you suck in a breath.

“Fuck.”

With no other choice, you resorted to hopping. Awkwardly, you maneuvered your way to the door, gripping the handle for support before pulling it open.

Jungkook stood there, hands in his pockets, brow raised. “Took you long enough,” He said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You leaned casually against the doorframe, as if you weren’t seconds away from toppling over. “Wallet, please.”

Jungkook squinted at you. “No thank you? Taehyung said there’d be a reward upon it’s return.” He pulled your wallet from his pocket, but his eyes flickered down, watching the way you shifted your stance.

“The reward is I don’t tell anyone about your crushing defeat last night.” You snatched the wallet from his hands, flipping it open for dramatic effect.

Jungkook huffed a laugh. “What?”

“Gotta make sure everything is accounted for.”

“Okay.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. At that moment you lost your balance. Bumping awkwardly against your door and having to hop on your leg to catch your balance. Jungkook gives you a weird look. 

“You know your face will get stuck like that if you hold it for too long.” You point at him and he doesn't drop his expression. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook tilts his head, arching a brow.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” 

“You’re hoping on one leg.” 

“And?” 

“...Why?” 

You sighed. “I, uh… might’ve destroyed my ankle on my coffee table.”

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” He seemed actually concerned, you were literally hoping on one foot. Anyone would be concerned. 

You shake your head, “Why do you care? I’m fine.” 

“Oh yeah? Try to walk,” Jungkook challenged, arms crossing over his chest. Jungkook was trying to call you on your bluff.

Your pride flared up. You open the door slightly so you can show you can in fact stand. “See?” As soon as you put weight onto your other leg the same pain shoots through your leg again. 

In reaction you hop away from the door sucking in a sharp breath. The door didn’t close behind you, Jungkook stepped inside hesitantly. You were leaning against the wall behind the door. Leg up like a limping dog. 

“Yeah you look fine.” Jungkook quips, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He actually got to see your ankle and you had bruised it good. 

“Go ahead, get your laughs in.”  You wave at him, expecting him to laugh.

“I would if your ankle wasn’t huge.” His voice was surprisingly serious, and when you finally looked down, you winced. It did look bad. The swelling had already started, spreading in an angry, blotchy pattern across the side of your foot.

You actually looked at it and yeah this really sucked. Definitely bruised but you were pretty sure it wasn’t broken. You begin to hop your way to your living room, Jungkook following slowly in toe. 

“Y/N are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to the hospital or something?” 

Still, you shook your head. “I’m a nurse, Jungkook. I know what I’m doing. It’s just a bad bruise, maybe a sprain.”

He scoffed. “Right, because medical professionals are always great at taking care of themselves.”

You ignored that. Pushing off the wall, you started hopping toward the living room, making your way to the couch. Jungkook followed at an easy pace, watching as you collapsed onto the cushions with a heavy sigh.

“Y/N, are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” you said firmly. “It’s fine. I don’t need X-rays to tell me it’s not broken.”

Jungkook crouched in front of you, eyeing your ankle like it had personally offended him. Before you could protest, he reached out, fingers brushing against your skin. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but you still flinched when he pressed against the tender area.

He glanced up at you. “Hurts?”

“Obviously,” You muttered. Reaching and smacking his hand away. 

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Where’s your ice pack?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Ice.” He repeated, already standing. “Where is it?”

“You don’t have to—”

Jungkook shot you a look. “You really think I’m just gonna sit here while you let your ankle swell to the size of a grapefruit?”

You sighed, relenting. “Top shelf of the freezer.”

Jungkook stands and disappears into your kitchen. Returning a moment later with the ice pack. You sit long ways on your couch, the swelling wasn’t so bad now that you were looking at it and you could definitely still move it full. Jungkook handed you the ice pack.

“Thanks,” You say, not looking at him.

Jungkook, however, didn’t move. He stood there, arms crossed, watching you like you had just grown a second head.

“What?” You asked, meeting his gaze.

“It’s too weird when you thank me,” He said, shivering exaggeratedly. “Gives me chills.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t push it. Instead, his gaze flickered to your ankle. “You sure it’s not broken?”

“I broke my ankle a year ago,” you said, adjusting the ice pack. “Plus, I’ve seen a handful of them before. This definitely doesn’t feel or look like that, but it hurts.”

You rub the side of your head. The ice was helping even though you could still feel the throbbing pulse where you hit it.

“I see.” 

“Actually, one more thing,” you say, thinking about it for a moment but deciding you weren’t getting up to get it yourself any time now. “In the bathroom, cupboard under the sink I have an ankle brace if you can get it.” 

Jungkook nods. Then looking around for an obvious place for a bathroom. 

You nodded toward your bedroom door, now closed. “You have to go through my room.”

Jungkook stared at the door, then back at you. “Okay, see, I’ve seen horror movies. This is definitely a trap.”

You groaned. “Just go in there.”

“A swinging ax won’t come down and slice my head off?”

“Jungkook—”

“Your ultimate wish of seeing me dead would finally come true.”

“God, you’re insufferable. Just—please?”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might get whiplash. He pointed at you. “Okay, now you saying please is the scariest part of all of this.”

You shot him a glare before he turned his back on you and went for your bedroom door. Jungkook took your room in for a moment before continuing to your bathroom. He didn’t really know what to expect to see. It was clean and the walls were decorated with pictures and mementos from friends. Small little things that you probably enjoyed here and there.

You watched as he disappeared inside, feeling something strange settle in your chest. It was weird, having him in your space. He had been around you a lot lately, but this was different. This was your home, your room—where things were personal.

He grabbed the brace from where you said it would be and came back out to you, “Here.” 

“I had a feeling I would need to keep this.” You set the brace next to you; it does you no good until you can actually walk on it. 

“You know, it’s kinda hilarious.”

You frowned. “What is?”

“That the mighty Y/N, got taken out by a coffee table.” He smirked, but you weren’t too amused. 

“I may have fallen but I still beat you yesterday.” 

“Barely!” he protested. “Anyways, do you need anything else?” 

That made you laugh under your breath, the tension in the air cut a little. Then a voice popped into your head. What Vic was saying earlier. 

You shake your head, Looking up at him where he was still standing, “No. I’ve got it from here.” 

“Okay… cause seriously if I need to take you to get it checked out I can.” 

“No… I’m good.” You stumble over your words. Jungkook nodded, and he seemed like he was going to leave but then your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up. “Jungkook.” 

He looked back at you, “Yeah?” 

“...Why are you… I mean why have you been so nice to me?” You say quietly. 

Jungkook blinked at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated for a second, but you had already cracked open Pandora’s box, so there was no taking it back now. You swallowed hard, adjusting the ice pack on your ankle before looking up at him.

“I just mean… you and I… You don’t like me… and I don’t like you.” Your words were slow, deliberate. “And then suddenly, we hook up—twice—and now you’re all… nice. Talking to me and making jokes… it's I don't know…” You gestured vaguely at him. “Why?”

The air went still between you. Jungkook thought, “I–”

“Because if it’s… because we slept together… and if you’re expecting something–”

Jungkook cuts you off, “Excuse me?”

“What?”

“You think I’m only being nice to you now because I’m trying to sleep with you again?” He laughed, but there was no amusement in it.

You raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, and he scoffed, running a hand over his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry?” 

He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s actually insane how fast you jump to conclusions about me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“You really think I’m only nice to people when I want something from them?” His voice was rising now, frustration cutting into each syllable. “You really think I’d sit here, get you an ice pack, get you an ankle brace, and offer to take you to the hospital just because I think it’ll get me laid?”

You swallowed hard but forced yourself to keep your tone even. “I don’t know what to think.”

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, hands braced on his hips. Voice quiet almost sad, “You’re always gonna find a reason not to like me, aren’t you?”

His words hit like a slap, knocking the wind out of you. Your jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh. “No? Then what do you call this?” He gestured between the two of you. “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t matter what I do. I could be an asshole, and you’d hate me for it. I could be nice, and you’d still find some reason to be suspicious.”

“Jungkook that’s not–”

“Not what you meant?” He scoffed. “Not what you were gonna say? What?”

Your hands curled into fists. “Can you blame me? We fight constantly. And then suddenly, it’s ‘how’s it going?’ Like none of that ever happened. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I was just being nice because I’m generally a nice person?”

“How was I supposed to believe that when all you have done is be intolerant and rude to me for years!”

Jungkook exhaled sharply. “Because you were an asshole to me! You’d already made up your mind about me a long time ago.” He shook his head.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. He took a step back, the tension between you almost suffocating. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

The words stung, more than they should have. You didn’t even know what you wanted him to say, only that you weren’t done fighting.

“You don’t get to act like this is all on me,” you shot back, frustration bleeding into your tone. “Like you haven’t spent the last however many years acting like I was the most annoying person on the planet.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “You were.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You were annoying,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But so was I. And somehow, we ended up here anyway.”

Silence stretched. You hated how easily he could say things like that—like it was simple, like it wasn’t a tangled mess of emotions you weren’t ready to unravel.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/N. But I’m not gonna stand here and try to prove something to you when you’re dead set on believing the worst of me.”

You swallowed hard, but you had no response.

He steadied his voice, choosing his words deliberately. His tone, sad again, “I could be as nice as possible but you’re always going to see me one way. So I won’t do it anymore. Just in case you get the wrong idea. So have a nice life or whatever.”

Jungkook studied you for a second longer, something unreadable passing through his expression. Then, with a small shake of his head, he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You couldn’t say anything… You had nothing you could come back with. 

All you could think about was the insane pit of guilt in your stomach.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

[angeliccss]

The Quite Ones

Pairing: Mona Wassermann/Reader

Words: 3.9k

Summary: She said it was love when she asked you to move in. You didn’t notice the walls closing in until they felt like home. Now there’s another girl wearing your old fear—and you, draped in silk and power, wouldn’t have it any other

Warnings: Toxic Relationship, Manipulation, Moral Corruption, Being Controlled But You Like It, Suicide (not reader), kidnapping

AO3

AN: This did a complete 180 from what I expected it to be, Oopsies. Enjoy Xx (Requested by: @luvpone)

The eggs are already plated when you wake.

Soft-scrambled, just the way Mona likes them—creamy, a hint of chive, barely touched by heat. The toast is dry, cut diagonally. The grapefruit has been halved, segmented, dusted with sugar.

You blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up slowly, like you’re afraid to shift the balance of the morning. The sheets are still warm beside you, though she’s long gone. You smell her perfume before you see the tray. Sharp. Floral. Unmistakably hers.

A folded note rests beside your water glass.

Remember your pills. Wear the blue sweater today. I’ll be home at six. Don’t make me come looking.

– M

You stare at the handwriting for a long moment. Neat. Severe. Looped just slightly at the tail ends, like she wants to seem softer than she is.

You do exactly as she says. Not because you’re hungry, but because she’ll ask. And if she finds the plate cold and untouched when she gets home—no. Better not to find out.

You chew mechanically, gaze drifting across the apartment. Her apartment. All clean lines and pale marble, glass so spotless it reflects the sky, not the city. Everything in its place. Just like you.

There’s a faint hum of music playing through the built-in speakers—one of her old jazz records. Mona likes music in the mornings. She says silence makes you brood.

Your phone buzzes once. Then again. You already know who it is.

Have you eaten? Send me a photo.

You don’t hesitate. You snap a picture of the empty plate and send it without comment. The read receipt pops up within seconds.

Good girl. Now the sweater.

You rise, dutiful, and make your way to the closet. Not yours—hers. Everything you own now fits into a curated space of her choosing. The blue sweater is already laid out on the ottoman. You didn’t put it there.

It still smells like her. You slip the sweater on. It’s soft, expensive. Cashmere, probably. Mona doesn’t buy anything that isn’t the best.

It still fits perfectly, even though you’re sure you’ve lost weight. She says that’s good. Says it makes you look “kept.” Like you’re being taken care of.

You sit on the edge of the bed, sweater clutched around yourself like armor, and let your thoughts drift—just for a moment—back to before.

Back to the beginning.

Mona had been kind, then. Overwhelming, yes—she swept into your life like a storm with perfect posture—but kind. She asked questions no one else thought to ask. Remembered the name of your cat, your mother, your favorite wine. She touched your arm when you were nervous and said things like: “You don’t have to be afraid with me.”

And you believed her.

When she offered her guest suite, just for a while, just until things “settled”, you didn’t think twice. You were out of work. The lease was ending. She looked at you like she couldn’t bear the thought of you struggling.

You told yourself it was temporary. She told you, gently: “I want you safe. That’s all. Let me give you that.”

You never even noticed the moment your keys stopped working. Or when she started answering your phone. Or when your old clothes vanished, replaced with carefully chosen alternatives. Mona said they “didn’t suit you.” She said this with a smile, holding a silk blouse to your chest like a gift.

And maybe it was. Maybe that’s what’s so confusing.

She loves you. She tells you so every day. She holds your face in both hands like it’s precious. She kisses your temple when you’re quiet too long and murmurs things like: “You’d fall apart without me, wouldn’t you?”

The worst part is—she might be right.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The lock clicks at exactly 5:58 PM. She never rings. Never knocks. This is her home. Her space. Her rules.

You’re already sitting on the couch, sweater smoothed over your lap, a book open but unread in your hands. You’ve been in that position for twenty minutes, heart fluttering with anticipation you’d never call fear.

She walks in without hesitation. A black coat draped over her shoulders. Lips painted like blood and wine. Hair perfectly set, not a strand out of place.

Mona Wassermann doesn’t rush. She arrives. “Darling.” Her voice is warm, velvet-thick. “You wore the sweater.” You nod, managing a smile. “You said to.”

She hums, low and pleased, and crosses the room in heels that echo like punctuation. “You listen so well,” she murmurs, and cups your jaw in one hand. Her thumb strokes your cheek, her touch feather-light. “That’s what I love about you. You know how to be cared for.”

You swallow. “I made tea.”

“I’m not thirsty,” she says, still smiling, still touching. “But I’ll sit with you.” She takes the book from your lap and sets it aside—delicately, like it’s fragile. Like you’re fragile. Then she sits beside you and pulls you into her side, your body folding against hers out of habit more than choice.

Her arm curls around your shoulders. Her lips brush your temple. “There,” she whispers. “Isn’t that better?”

You nod again. Because it is. It’s easier than questioning. Safer than pushing back. And besides, Mona’s warmth is real. Her grip, firm but comforting. Her attention, intoxicating.

If this is what love looks like, you think, maybe you can learn to want it this way. You close your eyes and let her hold you. And you don’t ask why the door locks behind her with a soft mechanical click.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t notice when you stop checking the time.

Mona keeps the clocks set fast by exactly six minutes, she says it keeps you sharp, but you don’t need them. You know her rhythms better than your own now. You wake when she tells you. Eat when she expects you to. Breathe easier when she walks through the door.

You used to wonder if this was normal. If it was healthy. Now you just want to make her proud.

She’s sitting at the dining table with her glasses perched low on her nose, reading something dense and contractual. You curl up beside her on the floor, rest your head against her hip. You don’t say a word. You don’t have to.

Her hand slips into your hair like it belongs there. “I could get used to this,” she says absently, still reading. You tilt your head up. “To what?”

“This. You. Obedient. Quiet. Sweet.” You beam like it’s praise. Because it is. “I just want to make you happy,” you say. She sets her papers down and looks at you fully, her expression unreadable.

“You do,” she says. Then softer, almost to herself, “You really do.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She still tells you you’re beautiful, but now it’s in the same tone she uses when approving a purchase order—decisive, possessive. Her hands roam absently when she walks past you: a hand at your waist, a gentle grip at your nape, a brush down your spine that makes you shiver in ways you pretend not to understand.

And when she kisses you, it’s with a kind of ownership that leaves no room for doubt.

One night, you whisper to her in the dark, just as sleep starts to take you both: “I love you.” You feel her go still behind you, just for a second.

Then her hand curls around your middle, pulling you closer. Her mouth finds the curve of your shoulder. “I know,” she murmurs. “I love you too.”You smile, eyes fluttering closed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You meet for coffee because Mona said you could.

She picked the café. Chose your outfit. Had the driver wait half a block away. “Let her feel free,” she’d said with a smirk, lips brushing your cheek. “It’ll make her easier to ignore.” You’d laughed. She kissed you again.

Now you sit at a small table by the window, sweater sleeves neatly pushed to your wrists, hands folded in your lap the way Mona likes. You’re early, of course. You always are.

When your friend arrives, she looks different. Or maybe you do. She hugs you too tightly, too long. She smells like a life you used to have—street food and secondhand bookstores, not rose oil and Mona’s Chanel.

“You look…” She hesitates. “Good.” You smile. “She takes care of me.”

“Yeah,” your friend says, pulling off her coat. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.” It starts softly. Little questions. How have you been? Are you still painting? Do you see anyone else? Do you ever go anywhere alone?

You answer like you’ve been coached—because you have. “She just wants what’s best for me,” you say. “She’s protective.”

“Protective,” your friend echoes. “Or controlling?” You blink. “What’s the difference?” She stares at you. Her expression shifts—fear, maybe. Or pity. You hate it.

“She’s cut you off from everyone,” she says quietly. “You used to call me when you couldn’t sleep. You used to laugh more. You used to talk about leaving.” You stiffen. “I don’t want to leave.”

“She doesn’t love you,” your friend says, voice flat. “She owns you.” You flinch like she slapped you. “No,” you say. “No, she does. You don’t understand her.”

“I understand you,” she says, leaning forward. “And I know when you’re not okay.”

You push back your chair, carefully. Not angrily—Mona taught you better than that. You gather your coat, your phone, your bag. Everything Mona picked out for you.

“I’m fine,” you say, voice even. “I love her. And she loves me.” She grabs your wrist. “She’s conditioning you.” You yank free.

“She saved me,” you say, quieter now. “When no one else did. I’m not going to apologize for being loved.”

Your phone buzzes. A single text: Time’s up. Car is waiting. You don’t look back. You leave with your head high, pride stiff in your spine.

That night, you curl against Mona in bed. She brushes your hair back and kisses your forehead. “She’s worried about you,” she murmurs.

You nod against her chest. “She doesn’t know what we have.” Mona hums. “No,” she agrees, stroking your back. “She doesn’t.” She holds you closer. You don’t see the way her eyes stay open long after yours have closed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The friend doesn’t stop.

She starts texting. Calling. Leaving voicemails that pile up unheard in your phone’s hidden folder—Mona showed you how to mute her without blocking. “Cruelty,” she’d said, “is giving them hope.”

At first, you ignore it. Then, you listen. She sounds tired. Worried. Pleading.

This isn’t you. You used to fight. You used to have your own mind. I’m not going away.

You play the last message twice. It ends with silence, then a quiet, broken whisper: Please come back. You delete it.

Later, you tell Mona. She’s in her study, barefoot, swirling a glass of red wine. You sit on the arm of her chair, your hand resting gently on her shoulder. “She won’t stop.” Mona doesn’t look up from her book. “Then block her.”

“She was my friend.” Mona hums. “And I’m your future.” You hesitate. Then: “She said I’m not myself anymore.” That gets her attention. She closes the book. Turns to face you fully.

“And what self would you rather be, hm?” Her voice is soft, slow. Seductive in its certainty. “The one who cried herself to sleep in an empty apartment? The one who begged for scraps of affection from people who couldn’t give a damn?”

You’re quiet. She leans closer, brushing her lips over your jaw. “Or this version? The one who’s loved. Protected. Chosen.” You nod. But something cold settles in your chest anyway. It starts to show.

At lunch with Mona’s acquaintances—never your friends—you speak less. But when you do, it’s with precision. You echo Mona’s cadence, her sharpness, her subtle threats wrapped in silk.

Someone makes a joke at your expense. You smile, cool and unbothered, and say: “Careful. Mona doesn’t like people touching her things.”

Their laugh falters. You finish your drink. Mona beams.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You dream about locking the doors behind her. You dream about telling someone they’re not allowed to leave. You wake with a sick flush of guilt—and something else. Something hotter. Thicker.

You bury your face in Mona’s shoulder. She strokes your hair and doesn’t ask what the dream was. She knows.

Your friend corners you outside the florist’s. You don’t know how she found you. “You’re scaring me,” she says. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

You look at her—really look—and realize she’s smaller than you remember. Not physically. Just… less. You tilt your head. “She’s not hurting me,” you say calmly. “She’s making me better.”

“She’s changing you.” You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The look in your eyes says it all.

That night, Mona kisses your neck and murmurs, “My sweet girl. You’re learning.” And you are. You just don’t know if you’re becoming what she wants—or something even she should be afraid of.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The friend comes back. She looks worse now—drawn, desperate, tired of begging but still clinging to the idea that somewhere beneath all this, you’re still you.

You open the door without hesitation. “Come in,” you say smoothly. She hesitates, but steps over the threshold. The lock clicks behind her.

You lead her to the sitting room, where the lights are low and the air smells faintly of Mona’s perfume, amber, spice, smoke.

She doesn’t sit. “I just want to talk.” You nod. “We will. But not yet.” You cross the room and pour a glass of wine, watching her in the reflection of the cabinet mirror. She’s uneasy already. Good.

You hand her the glass. She doesn’t take it.

“Mona will be home soon,” you say softly, brushing a stray hair from her shoulder. “You should stay. Since you want me so badly.” Her brow furrows. “What?”

“You keep saying you want the real me back.” You smile, all teeth. “She’ll want to see that.” She takes a step back. “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, I’m not joking.” You move closer. Not threatening. Not yet. Just present. “You chased me down. You barged into my life. You said you weren’t leaving until I came back.”

You lower your voice. “So stay.” You motion toward the couch. She doesn’t move. You don’t force her. You just watch. “Let’s see what Mona thinks of your loyalty.”

When Mona arrives, the energy in the room shifts instantly. She closes the door, tosses her keys on the side table, and pauses when she sees the two of you.

Her eyes land on your friend. Then flick to you with a slow, dangerous smile. You stand and walk to her, all grace and control, and press a kiss to her cheek.

“She wants to save me,” you murmur, just loud enough for your friend to hear. “Tried again.” Mona’s eye glint. “How sweet.”

“She’s staying,” you add. “For now. Since she misses me so much.” Mona looks at your friend like one might look at something pitiful on the street.

“How generous,” she says, curling an arm around your waist. You lean into her easily, effortlessly. Your voice is silk. “She doesn’t understand yet. But she will.” Mona kisses your temple. “She won’t like what she sees.”

“She never does,” you reply. “But that’s not our problem, is it?” Your friend stands frozen, uncertain if she’s still here to help—or if she’s already become part of the performance.

You smile, slow and cruel. “Don’t worry,” you say gently. “You wanted to see the real me.” You lace your fingers with Mona’s, lift them to your lips. “Well. Here I am.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She stayed. Not by choice. But she stayed.

It was supposed to be a confrontation. A rescue. But one look at Mona, one long, bone-deep silence between the two of you, and your friend lost her footing. You saw it in her eyes—the moment her resolve cracked.

Now she sleeps in the servant’s room. You didn’t even know the house had one. Mona called it “practical.” She doesn’t call her by name anymore. Just “the girl.”

“She’s useful,” Mona says with a wave of her hand. “Good hands. Quiet. Mostly.” You don’t ask her to leave. You don’t apologize.

Instead, you hand her empty teacups. You set your shoes by the door and let her clean them. You watch her as she dusts the shelves you used to daydream beside, and you feel…

Nothing. No guilt. No ache. Only power.

Mona sees it in you. The way your shoulders don’t hunch anymore. The way you speak with weight. The way you look at her like you’ve finally earned her.

And when she fastens your necklace in the mirror, she speaks low against your ear: “I’m proud of you.” Your eyes flutter shut. You lean into her touch. You’re warm all over.

She still tells you when to sleep. What to wear. Where to sit. And you let her. You want to. Because every time she buttons your collar closed or brushes her thumb over your lip to wipe away a crumb, your body reacts before your mind does.

Heat. Obedience. Desire. You used to wonder if it was wrong. Now you just want more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

One evening, you catch your reflection as you pass the mirror in the foyer. You pause. Step closer. Study yourself. The posture. The lipstick. The velvet around your throat.

You turn, slowly, admiring. Behind you, the girl—your friend—sets a tray on the table. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

You watch her in the mirror, then shift your gaze back to yourself. “Mona,” you say casually as she enters the room, “do you think she’s in love with me?”

Mona raises an eyebrow. “She’s afraid of yoi.” You smile. “Same thing.”

Mona laughs, low and delighted, and crosses to you. She kisses you slowly, possessively, not caring that the girl can see.

And you melt into her, fingertips grazing the curve of her waist. Because fear isn’t love. But it keeps people close. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s raining the day the girl tries to leave.

You find her in the foyer with her old coat and a canvas bag that still smells like the life she used to have. She’s trembling, soaked from the open door. Eyes darting, frantic.

She doesn’t speak at first. Just looks at you like she’s begging without words. You don’t say anything either. You just close the door. Quietly. Then you call for Mona.

The aftermath is silent. No shouting. No threats. Just the door locking. The coat taken. The bag burned.

Later, Mona wraps an arm around your waist as you sip wine by the fireplace. The girl kneels at the edge of the room, eyes fixed on the floor, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“You handled that well,” Mona murmurs, brushing your hair back. “I knew you would.” You smile. You should feel triumphant. But what you feel is settled. Like the final piece of something has clicked into place.

That night, you lie in bed with Mona’s hand at your throat and her breath in your ear, and it hits you: You’re not afraid anymore. Not of her. Not of what you’ve become. Not even of what you’re capable of.

You want her power. You want to share it. And you know now—you were never her victim. You were her creation.

The rain has stopped. There’s a stillness in the house that’s almost sacred. No birds, no wind—just the faint hum of quiet obedience in every room.

You pad barefoot into the kitchen the next morning, Mona’s silk robe wrapped around you like armor. It still smells like her—amber, smoke, power. You don’t bother tying it.

The girl is already there.

Kneeling by the oven, scrubbing the tile. Her movements are too fast, too frantic, like if she works hard enough she might disappear.

You stand in the doorway for a moment and just watch her. The tremble in her spine. The quick glance over her shoulder. The way she immediately ducks her head again.

You love it. Not in the way you used to love. Not the soft, giving kind. This is something deeper. Sharper. Almost holy.

You walk to the counter and sit. She stiffens when she hears the stool scrape the floor. You let the silence stretch. Then: “Coffee.” Your voice is low. Even. Calm. But it cuts through her like a blade.

She stumbles to her feet and obeys. Hands shaking. You don’t help. You don’t thank her. You just watch.

When she sets the cup in front of you, you reach out—slowly, deliberately—and take her wrist. She freezes. You don’t squeeze. You don’t threaten. You just hold her there. Make her look at you.

And when she does—when her eyes meet yours, wide and frightened, pleading—you smile. “I could’ve been you,” you say softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. You release her. Take a sip. It’s perfect. Behind you, you hear the soft click of Mona’s heels approaching.

She enters without a word and leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you. You meet her eyes. She’s beaming.

There’s something almost tender in the way she looks at you now. Something reverent. “Look at you,” she murmurs. “You’ve found your footing.”

You glance back at the girl, who has quietly returned to her corner. Head down. Knees bruised. “Fear,” you say, swirling your coffee, “is a kind of worship.”

Mona crosses the room and kisses your forehead. “I knew you’d understand,” she whispers. You rest your head against her shoulder, looking out at your kingdom. The kitchen, the house, the girl. All of it. Yours. Hers. Forever.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It happens on a Tuesday.

You find her slumped in the servant’s room—wrist pale and open, sheets stained a dull brown. She must’ve done it hours ago. No note. No drama. Just quiet defiance. Or maybe desperation.

You stand in the doorway and look at her for a long time. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You just sigh.

“She couldn’t even finish the floors,” you say that evening, curled in Mona’s lap, her fingers idly combing through your hair.

Mona hums in mild irritation, swirling a spoon through her espresso. “I told you she wasn’t built for longevity. All that conviction—useless without structure.”

You stretch, slow and catlike, lips brushing the underside of her jaw. “We’ll have to place an ad.” Mona groans dramatically. “Ugh. Interviews.” You laugh softly. “Can we get one that doesn’t cry?”

“Or pray.”

“Or try to save me?” Mona tightens her grip around your waist. “You’re not in need of saving,” she murmurs. “You’re perfect.” You smile into her throat.

Later that week, a new girl arrives. Young. Eager. Nervous. She calls you “Miss.” You offer her a drink. Something calming. She takes it with both hands.

And from the top of the stairs, Mona watches you with pride gleaming in her eyes. You’ve learned to play her game. No—your game now.

And the house? The house remains hungry. Always hungry.

[dykefield]

vermilion tenderness

abby anderson/reader

word count: 4,144

summary: abby makes your endometriosis a bit more bearable. period comfort, non sexual nudity and intimacy.

note: i suffer a lot with my periods and decided to really write something endo-related cuz i think we deserve sum love and care <3 hope you like it :D

link to ao3

─୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─

You were used to it by now.

Okay, well, maybe ‘used’ wasn't the right word when you were curled in bed with tears in your eyes and head pounding while you curled your arms around your belly, desperate for relief, but you already knew how it went.

This agony never had an end, all you could do was survive through it.

When you first arrived at the WLF, you did your best to keep it down. You were weak, this place was all you had now and you tried your damn best not to seem useless, a waste of resource, pushing past limits that had you sobbing quietly into your pillow at night, trying not to bother your past roomate.

It all went down the drain when you passed out during patrol, the warm day piling up with the cramps and the dizziness and you just faceplanted the soft grass, the sudden silence weirdly comforting and when you finally opened your eyes, strong arms held you sitted and supported your head, a woman with beautiful light eyes and angelic dark blonde hair and-

“Abby?”, you ask, mortified, finally coming back to yourself. You barely talked to the woman, too intimidated by her build, fame and friends, the popularity around her name was enough to keep you away. Her eyebrows were furrowed, face tense as she scanned you for any bruise. Eyeing around, you were glad it was at least the two of you, the other people patrolling far enough not to hear or see your embarrassing moment.

“What happened? Are you okay?”, she looks at your face, putting her palm on your sweaty, strangely cold skin, “You’re pale, have you eaten?”

Yeah, you have. You just had to make a quick stop to throw up until you were dry retching before the patrol, the nausea so intense you were praying you wouldn’t vomit bile on the car, eyes strained to your boots as you clutched your gun to your chest, breathing through your mouth and swallowing thickly.

“No, i- It’s fine. I tripped. Sorry.”, muttering, you tried your best to get away from her grasp, dying from embarrassment. She respected that but stayed kneeled on the floor next to you, curious.

“Tripped? Yeah, sure. On grass.”, her eyes studied around for the colleagues, and after making sure you were still alone and safe, she took her backpack from her back and looked for something inside.

You just sat there, still dizzy, feeling your fingers tingling and vision splotchy. It wasn’t worth trying to stay composed, she found you dropped to the floor like a brick and the damage was alredy done.

You blink when she offers you something - a silver package, and you look up at her in confusion.

“Food. Take a bite, looks like you need it”, she nudges your hand with it, expectantly.

You felt like crying. Just the idea of eating made you want to vomit, but the care in the act was enough to make you hold it down. Nodding, you take the wrap, opening the sandwich and taking a piece of the bread with your hand, chewing almost painfully on the bite.

“Thanks”, you swallow, your upset stomach alredy churning but you did your beat to swallow another two pieces before giving it back to her, wrapped carefully. She didn't comment on your lack of enthusiasm about food.

“No problem”, she puts the sandwich inside her bag again, still curious about your state. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, fixing your backpack and taking your gun from where it was dropped, getting up slowly on shaky legs.

Able to walk again like a baby deer, you went back to patrol. You could feel Abby now following around and you couldn't even be mad about it - despite the embarrassment, it was somehow comforting to know that she would still look after you, even if you were pulling the team down.

The real shame would crawl inside your guts later, getting out of the truck. You both were the last to leave the trunk, Abby offering a hand to help with the big step and you could cry from how thankful you felt, the cramps down to your thighs and knees made the simple act seem like a mile run. Your feet hit the floor, you’re glad the truck ride is over, hands clutching your backpack strips anxiously.

“Oh, wait-”, she holds your wrist to hold you from leaving and told the other colleagues to go ahead as she wanted to talk to you. You were tired, in pain and now so anxious about the talk that you could faint all over again. “You… could have told me it was your period, you know? I know we barely talked, but i know it can be hard”

You swallow, face heating up. She looked shy about the topic and for someone her size she was extremely sensitive.

“How do you-”

Gasping, the awareness hits you. Did you leak? The uncomfortable warmth and stickiness between your legs couldn't have gone past the pad, right?

“Hey, it’s alright. Look, i can walk you to your room, i’m sure no one noticed it”, patting your shoulder gently, she nods her head, “It scared me, seing you unconscious like that. Come on, you could use some rest.”

The walk to your room was a bit awkward, Abby doing her best to shield the blood from behind your pants while you fidget with your thumbs till you were standing in front of your room, pondering what to do now.

“There you go. You should take a shower and rest for a bit”, another minute of silence follows before she speaks again, “Is it… always this bad? Your periods?”

“Yeah, it is”, Abby frowned at your answer. That wasn't normal, was it? “I’m used to it, it just gets worse from time to time”

“To the point you pass out?”

“Well, sometimes-”

“Have you talked to Nora?”

You haven’t, and you didn’t plan to - that was until Abby forced you to see the woman a few days after that talk, with a pang in her heart since you were still in terrible pain and bleeding but it would probably be for the better if Nora could see and understand how you were feeling.

Abby didn’t know why, but she was worried sick about you. When you first arrived, hurt, alone and nervously curled into yourself, she didn’t think much of it. She said a few words to you here and there, nothing that justified her need to take care of you but that was just how Abby was. She cared.

Nora asked you a feel questions, felt your bloated belly with the tips of her fingers (apologizing when you hissed and tensed but she wanted to understand the issue) while Abby sat on a stool by the exit of the closed tent, looking down at her hands respectfully but listening carefully.

“We don’t have much left about gynecology, the few books i managed to put my hands in wasn’t near enough…”, Nora helps you sit up on the gurney. She was pretty nice, you liked her - even if it was only because of Abby, not a lot of people validated your pain. “But there is this one condition called endometriosis and from what you’ve told me, it’s very fitting with your symptoms”

Abby perked up on her sit, looking curiously at her friend while she explained briefly how it worked. The conclusion made your shoulders sag and the blonde tense up.

“So there’s nothing to do about it?”, reluctantly she asked, sitting straight on the stool.

“There was never much study about it before the outbreak, so nothing is clear… i’m sorry”, Nora squeezes your shoulder, sighing. “The best you can do is always try to eat a bit to help with the dizziness, even when you’re nauseous, and stay hydrated. I mean very hydrated, as much as you can, you lose too much blood and throwing up as well… not good”

Great. Now that was a way of living.

“And”, she walks to her desk and takes a heavy green bag, preparing to leave. Nora never stayed at the same place for more than ten minutes - it was not easy to be a medic, “I’ll try to separate some meds and hygiene products that arrive to this wing when i can. It’s the best i can do. Sorry, i have to go, need to tend some guys that found a group of scars on patrol. Take care.”

She gave you a small smile and a nod, moving to the door. You heard her mutter a ‘look after her, hm?’ to Abby before disappearing from the medical tent, leaving behind your disappointed and tired self and the buff woman sitting awkwardly on the stool.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you kick your feet from where you where sitting on the gurney, getting up with a grunt. You look at Abby who got up as stepped closer and your tongue worked before you could think about it.

“Why… exactly are you doing this? You don’t have to waste your time, i won’t hold you guys behind”, eyes finding the floor when you notice her approach, you almost jump out of your skin when her rough palm finds your forearm, trying to get your attention.

“That’s not what i worry about, i’m worried about you”, that makes you huff and glare at her.

“Why would you worry about me?”, you laugh, rubbing your eyes. You were in so much pain that your thoughts were cloudy and you just wanted to scream and cry and turn into a little ball. “I just got here a few months ago, you barely know me… what do you want from me?”

She took your wrists in her hands, holding your hand away from your face so she could look right into your eyes when she talked to you.

“I don’t want anything, i just want you to feel a little better. That’s all.” her cheeks got a cute shade of pink as she thought about her words “I told you before, but i got really worried when i saw you passed out on patrol that day. I’m sorry if it’s making you uncomfortable, it wasn't my intention to suffocate you, i just… i can’t shake this feeling off”

Two weeks after that, you pulled her into a kiss.

She was teaching you how to shoot - you knew your way with a pistol, but bigger guns were still a work in progress and Abby was happy to give you a bit of her knowledge when period was over and the cramps lingering wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

Shotguns were scary, you quickly find out, the earmuffs did nothing to cover up the sound and by the time Abby put the thing in your hands, you could hear a ringing noise echoing.

“... got it?”

You didn’t, but you weren’t weak.

Holding the gun up like she did - or almost, as she brought one hand to your scapula and the other to your elbow, the booth tiny enough that she was almost pressed to you. Even with the earmuffs, you felt her voice deep in your ears.

“There we go. Keep your stance firm and you’re good.”

“Okay…”

You were definitely not as firm as you should, distracted by her. The recoil made the gun slam on your shoulder and almost hit your face, nothing much happened but the scare made you let out a yelp and widen your eyes.

“You okay?”, she laughed but eyed you with concern, taking off her earmuffs. “Recoil is the worst part, but you did well.”

The gun was put on the little desk as well as both earmuffs, you lean your hips against it to look at her, heart still strong on your chest.

“M good, just scared me. Should probably stick to a pistol till i get the grip, though”, you laughed too.

The smell of gunpowder was grounding, Abby smelled like gunpowder most of the time and you got used to it pretty quickly.

You got used to Abby pretty quickly - not only that but the hope of spending time with her lingered, specially when she checked on you everyday, asking about your pain and bringing you food when you felt bad enough not to go to the cafeteria. No one has ever shown this amount of care for you.

“You’ll learn quick, you’re doing well”, she walked closer to you on the table to unload the gun, your eyes attentive to her experienced hands as she did.

She was so kind to you. You wondered what you have done to possibly deserve a woman like that willingly wanting to make you feel better and caring for you, it made your heart clench on your chest.

“Mhm, i have a great professor”, tilting your head to the side, you notice how her hands falter on the gun and a stupid little smile finds her lips. She glances at you, something you didn’t know shining in her eyes.

“Oh? Should i be concerned about this professor of yours taking my teaching spot?”

Fuck.

“Hmmm, dunno. She’s really great…”

She completely abandoned the gun, crossing her arms over her chest with her head tilted as she stared into your face. Her forearms looked specially beefy and veiny when she did so, her usual thank top leaving nothing to imagination.

“I’ll go after this teacher of yous, tell her to be careful… no one steals my student like that”

You know what? Fuck this.

Wasn’t worth overthinking about this, specially not when Abby’s lips were so incredibly soft and her big body fit so comfortably against yours, her arms hugging you closer and making you feel tiny and safe. You weren’t able to spend a single day without her lips after that.

But that was months ago, and now you were sad and lonely and in indescribable pain inside yours and Abby’s room, a few desolated tears running down your face.

Your gut was telling you about something being off for a few days, but you were almost always in pain so it didn’t mean much until you woke up in the middle of the night in unbearable pain and raw red blood almost pooling under you. Abby woke with your movements and let out a compassionate hiss, arms dropping from your waist as she got up to help you to the bathroom. She was a blessed human.

Now, hours later, the bloodied sheets were gone, a washed out green one taking its place and the matress stained. Abby had to leave you to do something with someone - you didn’t know, you were so deep in pain when she talked that you just stared at her pretty face and nodded until she left with a kiss on the tip of your nose and another on your lips, saying she’d be back soon and wishing you better.

Not able to do anything but sulk, you stayed there. You got up twice the whole day, both to go to the bathroom and change the overfilling pads and pee painfully, quickly back to the cocoon on the bed and miraculously falling asleep.

It was restless and deep, somehow. You woke up feeling like you were ran over but the sun was alredy setting in the distance so it was a very long nap, enough for Abby to be back and sat by the end of the bed with a book in hand, the other gently gripping at your foot as she read.

Always the physical contact lover.

“Hey”, your voice was hoarse, breaking. She immediately closed the book and scooched closer to your head, laying next to you to put her face closer to yours.

“Hey, baby”, the kiss she gave your forehead felt almost healing, but maybe that was just her presence. “Still that bad?”

“Yeah, not good”, rasping out, you bury your face on her chest. She showered, smelled clean and so Abby, and you wished you could’ve showered with her. “Could've woken me… when you got back”

“You looked so tired even in your sleep, didn’t have the heart to bother your rest”, her arms wrapped around you, one of her hands slipping under your shirt to rub your lower back. It was a bad cramping spot but her hands always soothed you, even if just a tiny bit.

“Hm, but i wanna be with you…”

“I’m with you now, baby. Don’t worry”, she cooed, pressing you closer to her chest. “Did you eat anything today?”

The answer was a shake of your head. She expected that and didn’t pry, instead putting you delicately back in bed (she had to kiss you a few times and whisper against your mouth that she was not leaving and just needed to get something until you released her shirt) and finding her bag on the couch. You looked at her with half lidded eyes, a déja-vu hitting you when she took a wrapping and walked back to bed, sitting on the edge.

“Abby”, you whine, turning to the other side and pulling the comforter to your ears, “Don’t wanna eat, i’ll just throw it all up. It’s useless.”

Always so patient with you, she pulled the comforter down, getting your ear between her thumb and pointer and squeezing just a bit.

“I know you get sick, baby. I’ll never understand how it feels but i see how bad it gets and i hate seeing you like that. I’d never do this if it wasn’t for your own good.”, she cupped your cheek and turned your face in her direction, caressing your skin, “But the more you stay without eating the sicker you’ll get, and you can’t go without food forever. Please, just a bite? Just one?”

You hate her stupid puppy eyes and how they always work.

With her help, you sit up in bed. She moves to stay behind you and pulls your back against her chest, not minding your disgustingly sweaty shirt and clammy skin.

“I don’t wanna eat”, your murmur was almost tearful as you watched her open the burrito wrap, turning your face away against her arm to get away from the smell.

“Baby”, she cups your face with her free hand to look at you from an awkward angle thanks to the position you both sat on, concerned eyes finding yours with care. “Hey. I promise i won’t make you eat more than one bite, but you need to have a little something to eat today. I can’t even give you any meds if your stomach is this empty, ‘s not good for you.”

You held your breath while you chewed the damn thing to hide the taste and swallowed hard. You pushed the wrap back into her hand and sighed, gripping her thigh with discomfort.

“Hate this.”

“I know, baby, i hate it too”, she pecked your shoulder, leaving the food somewhere behind her on the bed. “What do you think about a warm shower?”

“Sounds heavenly, actually”, leaning your head back against her shoulder when you were sure the food wasn’t coming up again, you look at her through your lashes. “I know you already showered but can you help me?”

“Of course i can”, she gets up and takes you in her arms, one hand behind your knees and the other on your lower back, the walk to the bathroom was nothing to her while she held your weight.

“You didn’t have to carry me, you know”, you laugh, kissing her cheek before she put you sat on the toilet lid.

“I wanted to”, booped your nose, stretching her arm inside the shower to turn the hot water on. “Isn’t that the whole reason i work out? To carry my girlfriend anywhere she needs me to?”

“Mhm, that’s right. Work it, Anderson”

She helped you undress, your hand never leaving her shoulder since your dizziness has been a pain in the ass. Abby was completely unbothered by your blood and all the disgusting things surrounding this - she loved taking care of you, this would never be enough to push her away. Taking advantage of the fact she was crouched in front of you, a gentle kiss was given to your bloated lower belly, right under your bellybutton.

“I saw the dogs today. Helped Mel with the cleaning, Bear licked my entire face”, she got up and kicked her own clothes off. Her hands were gentle when she tied your hair away from your face and neck, not wanting to get it wet as it was already pretty late. By the time you had the spray of hot water on your back, blood dripped down your legs, turning the puddle under your feet a nasty orange color. She didn’t care, just found the soap and started washing your body. “Alice was Alice, always with that purple octopus she likes so much. They are just like little kids.”

“I love them so much”, you sigh, dropping your forehead on her shoulder. Being skin to skin with Abby made everything better - she was always so warm, so incredibly soft despite the muscles. You wish you could turn smaller to curl into a little ball and sleep on her tummy, like a cat.

“I love you”, her hands bring soap to your neck, rubbing the tender spots with the tips of fingers.

“Love you more”

She washed every inch of your skin with extreme care. Under your arms, your chest, belly, legs and feet, between your legs and, lastly, your face. She gathered soap on the tip of her fingers and massaged your cheeks, mindful of your eyes, your arms hugging her waist while she did so.

“Skin is so soft”, mutters her loving voice, brushing the bubbles from your face with her wet hand. She didn’t shower again, having undressed only to keep her clothes dry, working quick for a fast but calming shower, aware of the fact you only needed the bed and rest in moments like this.

Making sure you were stabilized and snuggled up with a towel, she left the bathroom just for a minute to look for a pair of panties. You’d both normally sleep naked with every inch of skin glued together - why she didn’t dress up again -, so your only coverage was the underwear with the pad safely stuck inside (bless Nora for actually saving a few for you) that Abby pulled carefully up your legs.

“Thanks, Abs. For all of this”, you put your towel back on the hook, suddenly fatigued all over again.

“Don’t thank me, baby. You know I love being able to take care of you”

Then you found yourself in bed again, heavy covers over your body and tangled with Abby. You laid on your belly (somehow, the pressure of the mattress on your belly helped a lot), Abby cuddled to your side with her cheek pressed on your shoulder and her arm resting on your lower back, caressing the skin from the side of your body with her rough fingers.

Always warm, always gentle. You never got tired of surprising yourself with how soft she could be.

You could feel her breast pressed against your arm and back, deep breathing pressing it harder into your skin and her heartbeat was strong, just like her heart. Selfless, big, pulsing hard inside that body but not for her own sake, never just that.

You turn to your side, getting face to face with her. Your whole body ached, the cramps were slowly creeping up your spine but nothing seemed as bad when her beautifully shiny eyes stared at you like you were the sun, even when you were in pain and insufferable.

One of your hands finds that little spot in the middle of her chest, feeling her heart in your palm. You wished you could cradle her pretty heart in your arms and tend to every little pain caused to it.

“Really, Abigail. I love you so, so much. Thank you for always taking care of me.”

And her smile. The way her cheeks went up and her cute little freckles moved with her skin, a little more apparent thanks to the summer sun, her eyes just a little squinted and always looking at you, her pouty lips pulled into the most beautiful and warm smile to ever exist.

The menstrual hormones were killing you. You wanted to bawl your eyes out every time you looked at your own girlfriend.

“There is nothing in this world I would rather do instead of taking care of you, baby. I love you more than anything and it means everything to me”, she kisses your lips, softly, and pulls you closer. “Now rest. Let’s sleep a bit of this pain away.”

[starmatzz]

hello!

can you do sadist!hongjoong where like he gets jealous cause seonghwa is spending too much time with san lately? or something related to this?? i just need a sadist! hongjoong x seonghwa smut 😭🙏

Meltdown

hongjoong x seonghwa, 2.3k, smut

author's note: thank you for the message! i tried my best to dive into sadism, but decided to start lightly :D

nsfw tags dom/sub, wax play, wax, pain, sadism, bdsm, bondage, rope, begging, harm, punishment, smut, kink, pleasure from pain, dacryphilia

read on ao3

Hongjoong sat cross-legged in his cozy, dimly lit room, a faint hum of jazz music in the background. In front of him was an open laptop with a music editing program running. All of a sudden, a buzz of his phone caught his attention. Picking it up, he saw the notification: Seonghwa is live! 🐰🎉. A small smile tugged at his lips as he clicked on it.

The livestream opened, and there Seonghwa was, looking into the camera with his big, sparkly eyes, meticulously building a new Lego set while chatting with fans. Hongjoong chuckled softly at how focused Seonghwa looked, his tongue peeking out slightly as he carefully pressed pieces together.

“Of course,” Hongjoong murmured to himself, his smile widening. “He’d go live just to show off his Lego sets.”

Seonghwa’s voice filled the room, effortlessly switching between joking with fans and explaining his strategy for completing the set. Hongjoong propped his chin on his hand, completely absorbed in watching his boyfriend’s antics.

Hongjoong smirked as he watched the comments flood Seonghwa’s live: “Matz Lego live!”

Seonghwa, already blushing, waved a hand nervously. “Hongjoong is busy, you know, preparing songs for the next comeback. He’s working really hard!”

Leaning back, Hongjoong chuckled. “Busy, huh?” He muttered, thoroughly amused by Seonghwa’s flustered defense.

Suddenly, the door to Seonghwa’s room creaked open, interrupting the live. A man with jet-black hair and broad shoulders stepped inside without hesitation, a mischievous expression on his face.

He stood behind Seonghwa's chair, his usual kitty-like smile shining brightly.

”Hello everyone, it's San.”

Seonghwa looked up, startled, his hands pausing mid-air over the Lego pieces. ”Ah, you... get out. I am live.” Seonghwa sighed dramatically, looking up.

San raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the warning. “So? Let me hang out here,” he said, flopping onto Seonghwa’s bed and looking curiously at the Lego set.

The chat erupted with excitement, spamming comments like “San invasion!” and “Sanhwa live? So cute!”

San, clearly in a mischievous mood—because Seonghwa wasn't paying attention to him—picked up a random Lego piece from Seonghwa’s table and put it into his mouth, pretending to eat it with exaggerated chewing motions.

“San!” Seonghwa gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just witnessed a tragedy. “Don’t do that! You’re ruining the set!”

He flailed dramatically, his eyes wide with mock horror, as if the entire Lego world was crumbling around him.

Sam smirked, unfazed, and leaned back casually. “What? I was hungry,” he teased, taking the piece out of his mouth after a while.

The chat exploded with laughter, spamming comments like “San chaos strikes again!” and “Protect the Legos at all costs!”

But Hongjoong’s smirk faded as he watched the chaos unfold on Seonghwa’s live. San had escalated the teasing, turning their playful banter into a full-on wrestle.

Seonghwa yelped dramatically as San grabbed his waist, pulling him closer while pretending to wrestle him over the Lego pieces. When San slapped Seonghwa’s butt for the third time, laughing unapologetically, Hongjoong clenched his jaw.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his grip on the phone tightening. “He’s getting a little too comfortable,” he muttered under his breath, leaning forward in his chair. His expression remained calm, but there was a subtle edge to his gaze as he continued watching the live, silently taking note of San’s antics.

In one moment, San managed to lure Seonghwa from his chair, sitting on it instead. He pulled Seonghwa close, making him sit on his lap with his strong arms tightly wrapped around the other's thin waist.

After a few more moments of playful chaos, Seonghwa finally gave up and kicked San out of the room, a mix of frustration and amusement in his eyes. “Go somewhere else, you troublemaker,” he said, laughing despite himself.

With San grumbling as he left, Seonghwa sighed in relief. He returned to his Lego set, quickly finishing the final pieces and admiring his completed house. “There. All done,” he murmured, satisfied. He wiped his hands and glanced at the time, turning the live off. He wasn’t tired yet, and the night was still young.

Seonghwa smiled to himself and decided to visit Hongjoong. He grabbed his phone, typing a quick message: “You busy? I’m coming over.”

Not waiting for a response, he made his way toward Hongjoong’s room, feeling a little lighter now that his Lego house was finished and the chaos had settled down.

He opened the door to Hongjoong’s room, greeting him with a smile. “Hey, Hongjoong!”

Hongjoong looked up, his expression distant. “Hey.”

Seonghwa noticed the shift in his tone. “You okay?”

Hongjoong hesitated, a faint bitterness creeping in. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with San lately.”

Seonghwa blinked, a little taken aback. “We’ve just been having fun. Why?”

Hongjoong quickly shook his head, standing up. “Nothing’s wrong. Sit on the bed," he ordered, and Seonghwa immediately understood what's wrong.

He obeyed, sitting down with his hands folded in his lap. He knew Hongjoong got jealous when he was spending too much time with other members, especially San, who was always a bit more playful than the others.

Hongjoong’s mood shifted abruptly. He walked over to the door, locking it with a soft click, his eyes cold and focused. Without a word, he began rummaging through his dresser, pulling out a candle, a lighter, and a length of rope.

Seonghwa swallowed hard, knowing what was about to come.

Hongjoong didn’t answer, his back turned as he set the items down on the table, his hands steady as he lit the candle. The room grew quieter, tension thickening the air.

”Undress,” he ordered firmly, grabbing a lighter.

Seonghwa did as he was told, slowly taking off his shirt and kicking off his pants. He watched Hongjoong light the candle, not really understanding why he would need it.

Hongjoong sat on the edge of the bed, patting his thighs. ”You know what to do, bunny.”

And Seonghwa laid down across Hongjoong's lap with his head hanging down, feeling the leader pull his underwear down just enough to expose his bottom.

There were a few seconds of silence before Hongjoong's hand came down with a sharp slap, landing on Seonghwa's butt with a satisfying smack. Seonghwa let out a soft gasp at the unexpected sting, his body reacting to the sharp pain.

Hongjoong stretched his arm again, his palm hitting the soft flesh once more.

"H—Hongjoong..." Seonghwa whined, and he could feel his temples pulsating from all the blood accumulating there.

But Hongjoong didn't stop, switching between spanking him and kneading the already deep red flesh of his butt.

The burning and stinging pain had Seonghwa in tears, his skin being more and more sensitive with every new slap.

”Lie on the bed. Face down.” Hongjoong ordered and stood up. He walked over to his desk, grabbing the rope before returning back to Seonghwa.

Standing in front of the lying boy, he started tying his wrists above his head. Then, he connected the rope from his wrists to the bedpost.

”You know I don't like it when you get too close to the guys...” he murmured in a deep voice before standing up.

”But we were just—”

”I don't care, you looked like you didn't mind San touching your butt." Hongjoong replied coldly, ”So now it's my turn to enjoy you.”

Hongjoong stood there, towering over Seonghwa, a single candle held aloft in his hand. He tilted it slightly, allowing the red wax to drip onto the skin of Seonghwa's freshly abused butt.

The pain was immediate, the heat of the wax sending a sudden shock through Seonghwa’s body. He winced at the sensation, his mind reeling from the unexpected sting. The feeling was foreign and intense, and it took a moment for him to process what had just happened.

Hongjoong watched the wax as it dripped onto Seonghwa's red skin, continuing to let droplets fall one after the other. He observed the way his body reacted to the heat, the way he flinched and whined with each drop of wax.

The sight was satisfying to Hongjoong, and he continued to tilt the candle, letting the wax glide over Seonghwa's body like a makeshift brush.

Maybe he felt embarrassed about accepting it, maybe not, but he enjoyed seeing Seonghwa in pain. The way he closed his eyes tightly and bit his lip, how shiny tears rolled down his flushed cheeks.

He didn't just like it; he loved it.

He loved watching Seonghwa cry from pain, loved listening to him beg for mercy.

Seonghwa was beautiful when he cried.

”Hongjoong—I...I am sorry—” Seonghwa sobbed into the pillow, but his cries and whimpers only made Hongjoong's erection stronger. 

The pain was all-consuming, and tears began to form in the corners of Seonghwa's eyes, falling down his face like tiny drops of rain.

”Now you're sorry?” He chuckled, letting a few other drops of hot wax hit his sore butt.

He moved the candle higher, decorating his back too.

As the hot wax continued to drop onto his body, Seonghwa felt a sharp, burning pain each time it made contact with his skin. The pain was intense, the heat causing his muscles to tense involuntarily. He squirmed in an attempt to escape the itchy sensation afterwards, but he couldn’t avoid it completely.

”Please, please... please." Seonghwa mumbled over and over, clenching his fists.

But Hongjoong pretended to be deaf, manhandling Seonghwa and turning him over in one swift motion.

He could finally see his pretty, tear-streaked face, his red cheeks, and his glassy eyes.

”You're so beautiful,” he whispered before straddling his hips.

He felt like he was going insane; he loved causing him pain, often even having wet dreams about it.

It was a side of him only Seonghwa was allowed to see.

With a sadistic grin, he moved the candle above his nipples.

”You want me to stop, bunny?” he asked teasingly, looking at the older boy.

Seonghwa nodded eagerly, his eyes widening.

Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked down at Seonghwa's chest, his index finger tracing a path along his bottom lip.

”Beg,” he ordered, tilting the candle.

Seonghwa winced as the wax dripped onto the pinkish skin around his nipple, a sharp sting igniting like fire against his sensitive flesh. The heat was immediate, searing, and unrelenting, spreading a burning ache that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. He clenched his jaw, his breath hitching as he braced himself against the sharp intensity.

”Please... please, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa pleaded, crying beautifully. But it only made Hongjoong moan, his free hand touching his throbbing cock over his sweatpants.

The pain lingered on Seonghwa's soft skin, molten and biting, before slowly dulling into a throbbing warmth that still teased at his nerves. Seonghwa's fingers curled instinctively, the ache demanding his full focus as he fought to steady his breathing.

”Tell me how much it hurts.” Hongjoong breathed out, letting the red wax drip all over Seonghwa's body.

Starting from his face, watching it drip on the boy's plump lips and tear-streaked cheeks, lower on the pulsating veins on his neck. He returned to his nipples again, paying extra attention to them before proceeding to move forward, decorating his tummy.

”So much—please, it hurts so much." Seonghwa whimpered.

”Fuck..." Hongjoong breathed out, letting out a high-pitched whine as he threw his head back, slithering his hand under his pants and underwear.

He gripped his cock, pumping it aggressively while he looked back at Seonghwa.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, utterly captivated by the sight before him. Seonghwa lay there, bathed in the soft glow of the dim light, his features carved in delicate perfection as if crafted by the hands of a master artist. His eyes held an unspoken depth, glimmering like stars against a velvet night, while his soft lips carried a quiet elegance that seemed almost unreal. Every movement, every breath and sob Seonghwa took, appeared effortlessly graceful, as though he belonged to a world far more divine than this one.

Hongjoong’s heart swelled with an unnameable emotion, his chest tightening as he thought, How could someone look so breathtakingly beautiful? In that moment, nothing else mattered—only Seonghwa, who suffered in front of him like a vision he never wanted to let go of.

”Fucking hell.” Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut, quickly pulling his cock out.

He shot strings of cum all over Seonghwa, whose body acted now like a canvas for Hongjoong's twisted desires.

Hongjoong watched the white liquid drip beautifully among the hardened splatters of wax, the sight so erotic he wouldn't have a problem getting hard again.

For the last time, he took in the view of the masterpiece in front of him before starting to untie the ropes around Seonghwa's limbs.

”I hope,” he started, salivating at the sight of the red marks from the rope, ”that this reminded you how to behave.”

Hongjoong’s hands moved to Seonghwa’s waist with a quiet urgency, pulling him close. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, the space between them vanishing in an instant. Seonghwa’s breath hitched as Hongjoong’s arms enveloped him, his embrace firm yet tender, as if he never wanted to let go.

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of their breathing and the quiet beat of their hearts syncing in time. Hongjoong’s gaze softened as he looked down at Seonghwa, his fingers gently brushing through his hair, pulling him in just a little closer, as if to savor the feeling of having him this near. Seonghwa melted into the embrace, his own arms instinctively wrapping around Hongjoong’s shoulders, feeling safe and secure in the warmth and strength of his touch. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in the stillness of the moment.

Hongjoong leaned closer to Seonghwa's ear as he watched the older boy drift to sleep.

”My beautiful bunny...”

[digitalworldbound]

through the lens

characters: takeru/hikari summary: hikari has a photography project: photograph one person of your choice. initially, takeru feels like the natural choice. it isn't until she meets his gaze through the lens that hikari realizes she may have bit off more than she can chew. ao3 link A/N: thank you for reading!! sorry for being inactive. i started new job, bought a house, and have a lot of things just piling up. the only thing that hasn't changed is my love for takari, lol.

Crimson maple leaves twirled on the crisp autumn breeze. Hikari adjusted the settings on her camera, peering through the viewfinder at Takeru, who was leaning casually against a park bench, the golden afternoon light making his blonde hair appear even softer than usual. He smirked at her, and she knew that look meant trouble.

"Are you sure I’m your best option for this?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.  His golden hair shone in the mid-afternoon sun, momentarily distracting her. "I mean, you could have picked anyone. Maybe someone who won’t drive you crazy."

Hikari sighed but couldn't fight the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. "You fit the assignment. Someone close to me, someone I see often. You just happen to be a menace about it."

Takeru grinned. "I prefer ‘charmingly uncooperative.’"

She rolled her eyes and snapped a photo just as he gave her that playful, lopsided grin. Her chest thudded pitifully - it was unfair how photogenic he was. She could already imagine her professor’s comments about how natural and effortless these shots looked, but she knew better. 

Takeru knew exactly what he was doing.

For the past week, every time she tried to capture a candid moment, he made it as difficult as possible. Sometimes he would hold eye contact a beat too long, just to see if she’d flinch. Other times, he’d lean in after she adjusted a shot, murmuring, "Do I look good like this, or do you just like looking at me?"

It was infuriating. It was exhilarating.

They had always been best friends, defending the world together and arguing over math homework. Hikari couldn’t pinpoint the moment that his smile made her stutter or the way his casual flirting made her heart race. 

The courtyard was bustling with students. Some hurriedly jogged to their next class while others leisurely basked in the sun. Hikari lowered her camera and sighed. "Can you just behave for once? I need at least one serious shot."

Takeru tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Okay. But only if you answer one question first."

She narrowed her eyes. "That’s not how this works."

"Oh, but it is," he countered, sitting up straighter. "You’ve been staring at me for days now. Any new revelations?"

Her grip tightened around the camera. She was used to his teasing, but something about the way he said it—too lighthearted to be serious, too pointed to be meaningless—made her heart stutter. She wanted to blame it on the crisp autumn air, but she knew better.

"Yeah," she replied, aiming the lens at him again to avoid his gaze. "I’ve realized you have the attention span of a goldfish. Now hold still."

She could feel her fingers tremble slightly, Takeru’s crystal blue eyes piercing hers through the lens.

His laughter rang through the park, warm and familiar, and despite herself, Hikari clicked the shutter.

Another perfect shot. Another moment where her feelings threatened to slip out from where she had carefully tucked them away.

And Takeru? He just kept pushing, just to see how long it would take for her to break.

Later that evening, Hikari sat at her desk, scrolling through the images on her laptop. Each one was a snapshot of a moment that felt too intimate, too revealing. Takeru’s easy smiles, his lingering glances—she had caught them all, frozen in time.

She let out a breath, resting her chin in her hand. She was overthinking this. It was just an assignment, just a project. But then why did she feel like every picture told a story she wasn’t ready to admit?

A notification popped up on her screen. A message from Takeru.

Takeru: "So, do I make a good muse, or are you just falling for me?"

Hikari groaned, her cheeks heating up. Somehow she could feel his self-satisfied smirk from across campus.

-

The next day, they met up for another round of photos, this time in a quiet bookstore. Takeru had always loved books, and Hikari figured the setting might help her focus—less space for Takeru to pull his usual antics. 

Quickly, Hikari realized she was wrong. 

The aisle was lined with books on either side. Colorful spines were crammed together on the shelves, the smell of paper and academic comforting and familiar.

"So, do you want me to pretend I’m reading something deep and intellectual?" Takeru teased, holding up a random book. "Or would you prefer my usual ‘charmingly uncooperative’ approach?"

Hikari smirked, deciding it was time to turn the tables. "Actually," she said, leaning in slightly, "I think you should pose like one of those brooding literary heroes. You know, all mysterious and full of unspoken longing."

It was a clumsy attempt at turning the tables. She had wanted to make Takeru pause, to feel as flustered as she had been feeling. More than anything, she wanted a reaction. She wanted to know that whatever was brewing between them wasn’t one-sided.

Takeru raised an eyebrow. "Unspoken longing? Sounds intense."

She nodded seriously, lifting her camera. "Yeah. Just lean against the bookshelf like you’re contemplating the meaning of love. Maybe stare off into the distance like you’re remembering a past romance."

Without so much as a pause, Takeru chuckled but played along, striking an exaggerated pose. "Like this? Or do I need to look even more tragically handsome?"

Hikari giggled, snapping a few shots. "No, no, you need to sigh dramatically. Maybe clutch the book to your chest. Really sell it."

To her surprise, Takeru did exactly that, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his heart. "Ah, the agony of love lost!" he intoned theatrically, drawing a few curious glances from the other patrons.

Hikari burst into laughter, nearly dropping her camera. "Okay, okay, I give up! You’re too good at this."

Takeru straightened up, grinning. "See? I can follow directions when I want to. But I have to say, Hikari—if you wanted to see me as a romantic hero, you could’ve just said so." He leaned closer to her, eyes glinting mischievously. 

Her laughter faltered as her face went warm. She fumbled with her camera, pretending to check the settings. "D-Don’t flatter yourself."

"Too late," he said smoothly, leaning just a little closer. "I think you just admitted something."

Hikari huffed, raising the camera again. "Just pose, Takeru."

He chuckled but obliged, and as she took another photo, she realized that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the only one enjoying this game.

-

A week or so later, Hikari and Takeru managed to score a table at a busy ramen shop downtown. Different smells wafted in the air, eliciting a growl from Hikari’s stomach.

Across from her, Takeru chuckled. “Going for the struggling artist archetype? I didn’t realize clicking a button could work up such an appetite.” 

His fingers wrapped around his drink, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a long sip. 

Hikari huffed, fiddling with the strap of her film camera. “The only thing I struggle with is an uncooperative subject.” 

Takeru smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Their food arrived, steaming and delicious. Hikari dove in immediately, sipping carefully on the hot broth. 

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them, the ambiance of the restaurant taking over before Takeru spoke. He eyed the camera that was slung around her neck, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Going vintage today, are we?”

Hikari rolled her eyes, not bothering to comment. Instead, she took a sip of her drink, nearly missing the way Takeru’s eyes briefly settled on her lips before he smirked.

She hated that smirk.

“If you asked for my opinion -”

“I didn’t,” Hikari cut in dryly.

“If you had asked, though, I would say that seeing my face in great digital clarity has proven too much for you. You have to resort to medieval measures to avoid getting flustered by my beauty.”

Hikari nearly choked on her noodles. A flush crawled up her neck as her ears grew warm. Delicately, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, avoiding the intensity of Takeru’s gaze. 

“It’s just more portable,” Hikari muttered weakly. Takeru wasn’t wrong and he knew it. Hesitantly, she peeked through her eyelashes at him.

Takeru’s gaze never left her face as his chopsticks expertly gathered his noodles and brought them to his mouth. The air felt dense, almost electric. It was as if he were challenging her to a game he knew well. Hikari suddenly felt lost, her hands sweating and pulse thrumming in her ears.

Just as the noodles reached his lips, Takeru looked away. Part of Hikari was grateful that she could breathe easy for a moment. The other part wondered if she had missed an opportunity of sorts. 

Without thinking, she lifted the viewfinder to her eyes, her breath stuttering. The streetlights illuminated Takeru’s eyes, his gaze distant and slightly troubled. His chin was propped in one hand while the other still held the chopsticks in the bowl. Warm lights from the inside of the restaurant gave him a golden, ethereal glow. She had grown so used to the boy she’d grown up with that she hadn’t fully realized just how much he had changed. 

Hikari’s mind blanked. 

Takeru was beautiful.

With an audible click, she captured the moment, his blue eyes turning to her with surprise.

Good, Hikari thought. It was satisfying to see Takeru, so normally poised and self-assured, being rattled by the mere click of a button.

“Give that to me,” he stated playfully, a hand reaching across the table. Wordlessly, Hikari handed him the camera, her quiet curiosity evident. As Takeru grabbed the camera, their fingers brushed briefly, Hikari inhaling quickly. His eyes glittered with mirth and something else - something deeper - she hadn’t seen before.

Takeru held the camera against his eye, a slow smirk spreading across his face. 

“I didn’t realize there were views this great so close to campus.” 

Before Hikari could mask her shock, the shutter clicked, immortalizing the heat rising in her cheeks and the rapid beat of her heart.

[goldenlionprince]

How to make your romantic intentions known

Part two to How to stop a know-it-all from showing off (which is now part of the How-to Guides for Inter-house Relationships series) thanks to @eastwindmlk and her comment that brought Ravenclaw Sirius back on my radar xD It's February so the perfect time to bring teenage love and disaster back into the world ;) Enjoy!

[AO3]

.

He's infuriating.

That's nothing new, really. Sirius Black has been infuriating ever since James had become aware of his existence. But he's even more infuriating now. Not that James had thought that would be possible, but Black just loves to prove him wrong, even now when he's not even saying a contradicting word to James. He's sitting over there at the Ravenclaw table, writing on his overlong piece of parchment – because of course it has to be much longer than required – concentrating fully on his work instead of his breakfast and ignoring everyone around.

Everyone, including James. Which means his brain is not entirely preoccupied with the little kiss they shared after Charms a few days ago, unlike James'. Which only shows again how infuriating he is.

James huffs and takes another piece of toast out of the basket on the table in front of him. He bites into it, his eyes still on Black bent over his essay as he chews. Does Black ever even eat at all? Or is something like eating too mundane for someone so brainy?

“Are you okay, James?” Remus asks, bringing James back to the Gryffindor table.

“Fine,” James grumbles around his mouthful of toast. It's not fine, really, because Sirius Black seems not as affected by their kiss as James is.

He doesn't seem affected at all.

Which is exactly why James can't stop watching him, waiting for even a tiny give away, a small slip up, that reveals what Black is thinking other than total indifference. Because it can't be indifference. It simply can't.

If the boy you drive up the wall with your know-it-all comments kisses you in an empty corridor it just can't leave you feeling absolutely nothing about it.

Not that James has kissed him willingly. It had just happened. Somehow.

Maybe Black had cursed him and that's why James did it. Or he had coated his lips in a love potion so that's why James can't stop thinking about it. That would make so much sense.

Only that it doesn't. Because – as much as it pains James to admit it – Black wouldn't do things like that.

Which just means James is affected by that stupid kiss more than he should be and he has no idea why.

Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe that's why Black can sit over there, focused on his essay, because he already figured out it was a fluke with that big brain of his.

But to make sure it was just a fluke, nothing else, James would have to do it again. To gather more data. Proper research. Just making sure the theory he's come up with is sound.

Which is why he's making his way to the library that very same afternoon without Remus or Peter. He would be surprised if Black would be anywhere else in the castle at this time of day, with no other classes to be in.

James has checked.

Locating the git in the library turns out to be a little more complicated. The library is big, which James already knew, but Black has to be in the most obscure corner of it. Of course. He's flipping through an absolute brick of a book, his hip leaning against the bookcase, looking all cool and casual.

How does he do that?

“This is starting to become a problem, Potter,” Black says and looks up from the book. His grey eyes meet James' with no glimmer of surprise in them, as if he already knew James would show up eventually. “First you're watching me, now we're at stalking. Will I have to be concerned about you suddenly standing in front of my bed in the middle of the night?”

“No,” James says dumbly.

Black sighs and closes the heavy tome with a thud. “What do you want?”

“I was hoping you could help me with some research,” James says, finding his tongue again along with the courage to step closer.

Black frowns and sets the book down on a nearby study table. “What kind of resea-”

James doesn't let him finish. He pushes Black up against the shelf and kisses him, shutting him up before that infuriating mouth can say another word.

It's a second or two of bliss, of James realizing his fluke theory might be utter nonsense, that he actually is interested in Sirius Black, before Black is pushing him back, two fingers staying on James’ chest as if he wants to make sure James stays where he is.

“When I said this is motivation,” he says, his grey eyes pinning James better in place than his fingers do. “I didn't mean it in the way that you can just grab me whenever you feel like it and glare at me from across the hall for the rest of the time in between.”

“I don't glare!” James protests. Black just gives him another look. James gives him a sheepish smile in return and cards a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I do. But it's just because I thought you might have cursed me into kissing you the first time.”

Black’s eyes somehow turn cold as he crosses his arms over his chest. James feels the absence of his fingers on his chest like a stab of cold air. “Charming.”

“No, no it's fine,” James reassures him. “I know you didn't.”

“I'm so glad, Potter.”

James sighs and drops his hand. “That came out all wrong.”

Black raises one eyebrow in a perfect judgemental arch. “You don't say.”

“Look,” James says, frustration creeping into his voice. Why does Black feel the need to make everything a lot more complicated? “I kind of like you, I think.”

“Wow,” Black says, shaking his head. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Somehow that comment is what makes James pause. Because yes, he can see how that’s making him sound kind of shitty.

Black seems to take pity on the crestfallen look on his face. He sighs and drops his arms. “I’ll tell you what, Potter. Sort out whatever this is that’s going on in that head of yours and when you’ve figured out what it is you want you can come find me again. You just want to make out? Fine, I’m interested, but not in a way where only you get to decide when and where it’s happening and I have to wait around until you remember my existence again. You want to be more than just a casual snog?” Black casually shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll see about that. But one thing I want to make very clear.” He taps two of his fingers on James’ chest. “Next time you'll ask first before you just grab and kiss me or I will jinx you in a way that will make it very hard for you to find your ball again, are we clear?”

James swallows hard and nods. He’s not sure if he should feel as turned on as he is.

“Good.” Black says and then turns away to grab his bag and the brick of a book he was looking at earlier. He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and gives James one final nod. “See you around, Potter. And tell Lupin he can have my Runes notes when he’s sick again next week.”

And with that he’s gone.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. When Remus is sick again, not if.

Next week will be another full moon.

Which means Sirius Black – Ravenclaw know-it-all extraordinaire – knows about Remus' furry little secret. Or at least suspects it.

Somehow that doesn’t surprise James at all. A stupidly sappy grin spreads on his lips. If anyone else would have implied Remus' condition, James would have felt threatened on Remus' behalf. But somehow coming from Black, all James feels is pride in Black's stupidly big brain. They have shared N.E.W.T.s classes for less than six months and he's already onto them.

It also means he keeps an eye on James and his friends.

Adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, James leaves the library with a skip in his steps.

[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter twelve

chapter eleven: new faces, new stories

chapter summary: Looking for advice, Yunho meets Jisung’s friends, who turn out to know more about Mingi than he expected.

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 3k

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho, same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3 | this fics masterlist

author's note: hey my dear readers ♡ hope you enjoyed today’s chapter! 📖 i can't wait to hear your thoughts and comments ★★ i'm already working on chapter 13, so hopefully, it’ll be out soon! 🤞

also, if you want more of my content, thoughts, or other stuff, follow me on X

Yunho sat in class, staring at the professor, but nothing was sinking in. His notes were a mess of half-written sentences, and his pen tapped restlessly against the desk. His mind was elsewhere—circling back, again and again, to the conversation he had with Mingi that night.

A friendship. That’s what they had agreed on. Well, sort of. Mingi had phrased it more like a deal, like some sort of peace treaty for the sake of their project and dorm. “Let’s be nice to each other, get to know each other.” That sounded reasonable, right? Normal, even.

Then why did it feel like such a big deal?

Yunho chewed on his lip. This wasn’t just about a casual friendship—it was about Mingi. And Mingi was… different. Yunho didn’t know how to act around him, didn’t know what to expect. One second he was intimidating, and the next, he was geeking out over anime. Sometimes, he was looking at him, like he could see right through him.

Yunho exhaled sharply, slouching further into his seat.

He needed to talk to someone about this.

Jisung. That was the plan. Jisung and his friends.

Yunho fished out his phone under the desk, quickly checking his messages. Jisung had texted him earlier, confirming their meetup for later. Yunho just hoped they could actually help him figure this out. Because right now, his head was an absolute mess.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On his way to Jisung’s dorm, Yunho stopped by a convenience store to grab some snacks—an unspoken rule when hanging out with Jisung. If he showed up empty-handed, he’d never hear the end of it.

Balancing a bag of chips, some drinks, and a pack of cookies, he made his way down the hall and knocked on the door.

A second later, it swung open.

“YUNHOOOO!” Jisung practically yelled, grinning wide.

Yunho blinked. “Hey—”

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!”

Yunho frowned. “We saw each other two days ago. In class.”

“I KNOW,” Jisung groaned dramatically. “That’s like five years.”

Yunho rolled his eyes but laughed anyway as Jisung dragged him inside.

The dorm was warm and slightly cluttered, but it had a cozy feel to it. Two guys were already sitting inside, casually chatting. Yunho immediately assumed they were the friends Jisung had mentioned.

“Yunhooo,” Jisung started, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “This is Seonghwa and Hongjoong.”

Seonghwa had on a soft sweater and casual black pants, glasses perched on his nose, his long, fluffy black hair framing his face. Next to him, Hongjoong sat with ripped jeans and a tight black shirt, his blond-dyed hair slightly tousled.

Yunho exchanged polite handshakes with both of them. “Hey, nice to meet you guys.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Seonghwa said with a small nod.

Hongjoong smiled. “Same here.”

Jisung clapped his hands together. “They both study here too, but different faculties. Hongjoong studies MP&E, which stands for what again?”

“Music Production & Engineering,” Hongjoong answered smoothly. “But honestly, for me, it’s mostly just Music Production.”

He grinned at Yunho, who nodded in understanding.

“Riiight, anyways,” Jisung continued. “And Seonghwa is studying psychology. He’s usually quiet, but when it comes to stuff he likes, he yaps.”

Yunho glanced between them, taking in their dynamic. They seemed like complete opposites, but there was an easy warmth between them. Hopefully, they’d like him too.

“I’m a literature major, same as Jisung,” Yunho added.

“Oooh, really?” Hongjoong mused. “So that’s how you two know each other?”

Seonghwa frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Jisung literally told us about Yunho, like, three times already.”

Hongjoong blinked. “He did?”

Seonghwa sighed. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

Jisung raised a hand. “Okay, okay, hold up—I gotta back Hongjoong up on this one. We all know—well, Yunho doesn’t, but we all know—what a great listener Joong is. But every time we talked about Yunho, he was working on his project, sooo that excuses him.”

Hongjoong pointed at him. “Thank you.”

Yunho chuckled, relaxing a little.

Jisung clapped his hands dramatically. “BUT WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT NOOOW! So hand over the snackies, sit your ass down, and spill. And I mean the whole pot!”

Yunho blinked. He suddenly felt very small under the expectant gazes of three people he barely knew. He had to open up to total strangers? Okay. Okay. He was totally not freaking out.

But they seemed nice. And they were Jisung’s friends. And Jisung had said they were good with advice…

With a deep breath, Yunho hesitated before settling down on the floor in front of Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

Hongjoong leaned forward, tilting his head. “Okay, wait—since I wasn’t listening—sorry about that, Yunho, truly,” he added with a dramatic hand over his heart, “what is this about again?”

From the kitchen, Jisung’s voice rang out. “Mister Perfect.”

Hongjoong groaned, turning his head toward the kitchen. “Oh my god, really? I totally forgot he’s a literature major too, damn.”

Then, shifting back to Yunho, he squinted. “Alright, so what did he do? Did he hit on you? Did his group mess with you? Hurt you or something?”

Yunho’s face went up in flames. “No! NO! Not really—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, um… he’s my roommate.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“WHAT!?” Hongjoong nearly choked. “THE Song Mingi is your roommate?”

Yunho winced at how loud he was. His entire face burned as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-yeah…”

Jisung strolled back into the room, dumping the snacks onto the table. “And as you can tell,” he said, grabbing a bag of chips, “they are complete opposites. So you know damn well that cannot go well.”

Hongjoong nodded, snatching a cookie. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

Yunho hesitated before asking, “Wait… you know Mingi?”

Jisung snorted. “Babe. Everybody knows Mingi.”

Yunho groaned, throwing his head back. “Yeah, I know. Sadly. But I meant—like, do you know him personally or something?”

Hongjoong shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well… you could say that, I guess?”

Yunho frowned, shifting slightly in his seat. His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, and he felt the immediate urge to pull at his hoodie sleeves. “What does that mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Hongjoong smirked and leaned back comfortably, resting an arm along the couch’s backrest. “Before college started, Mingi used to hang out at the local studio sometimes. He literally knows everyone, so he’s everywhere, really. You’d be surprised how often you just turn a corner, and boom—Mingi’s already there like he’s been waiting for you.”

Yunho huffed through his nose. That was… disturbingly accurate.

Hongjoong continued, “Anyway, after a few casual run-ins, there was this one time—” He paused, eyes flickering upward as if trying to recall the exact details. “I was behind the pult, and this group of people were chilling in the studio, drinking, getting high—you know, just messing around, the usual.”

Yunho’s eyes widened. “Mingi was there?” That didn’t seem all that surprising, but still, hearing it made it feel different. He never imagined Mingi hanging out in that kind of scene, even tho it made total sense.

“Yeah, of course,” Hongjoong confirmed, noticing Yunho’s reaction. “At around 2:30 a.m., out of nowhere, he just stands up. Doesn’t say a word, doesn’t give any sort of warning—just walks straight into the booth like he owns the place. Then he turns to me through the glass and signals for me to play him something.”

Yunho’s stomach twisted. He could almost see it. Mingi, tall and confident, moving with that easygoing swagger, stepping into the recording booth like he belonged there. He was the type to do things on impulse, wasn’t he? But to rap? Mingi?

“And then,” Hongjoong exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it himself, “he spits out one of the best rap verses I’ve ever heard.”

Yunho’s jaw went slack. He blinked once. Twice. His brain short-circuited, like it physically couldn’t process what had just been said. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first, just a tiny exhale of disbelief.

“Wait—” Yunho finally managed. “So, you mean to tell me that my roommate—Song Mingi—the same guy who’s basically the most famous person in our school, a literature major, raps?”

Jisung, now comfortably sprawled out with a drink in hand, let out a loud snort. “What are you so surprised for? I told you, Mingi is full of surprises. You can never know if the stories about him are true or not.” He pointed his drink at Yunho for emphasis. “But this one? Yeah, this one’s real.”

Yunho felt his throat go dry. His mind was still racing, trying to picture Mingi doing something as intense as rapping. The same Mingi who lazed around in their dorm, the same Mingi who constantly teased him and made his life a total rollercoaster of emotions—that Mingi?

“And how do you know that?” Yunho asked, voice unintentionally softer, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Hongjoong grinned. “Well, after that night, I couldn’t just let Mingi go, could I? So I invited him over for a proper studio session. I even recorded a little bit.” He shot a look at Jisung, lips curling up mischievously. “And guess what? Jisung here was one of the first people to hear it.”

Seonghwa, who had been quietly sipping his drink, finally spoke up, his voice gentle yet sure. “It’s true,” he said, a small smile forming as he adjusted his glasses. “I’ve heard it too.”

Yunho swallowed. He lowered his gaze, his fingers automatically finding the hem of his hoodie, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He already felt like he didn’t really know Mingi before, but this? This was on an entirely different level. Every time he thought he had Mingi somewhat figured out, another layer peeled away, revealing something even more unexpected beneath.

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he thought back. “Yeah, but as I said, that was before college even started. I haven’t spoken to Mingi in a solid year and a half.” He shrugged, swirling his drink absentmindedly. “I mean, he wasn’t a jackass to me or anything. If he ever saw me around, I think he’d at least give me a nod, like a casual ‘hey, I see you’ kind of thing. But that’s about it.”

Yunho nodded slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Mingi acknowledging Hongjoong—even in such a small, impersonal way—felt… strange. It was one thing to know that everyone knew Mingi, but knowing that even people like Hongjoong had this passing connection with him made it feel even more surreal.

Hongjoong continued, leaning forward slightly. “Since I’m from around here, I actually knew of Mingi before college, so trust me—I’ve probably heard every rumor about him at least once. And I get why people either fear him or are totally obsessed with him.”

Yunho gulped. The words settled over him heavily, sinking into his already overloaded brain.

He swallowed again, fingers twitching against his hoodie sleeves. So now, he knew yet another person who was somehow connected to Mingi. Not that Hongjoong seemed that close to him, but still—it was something. It was more than Yunho had before.

And it definitely gave him something new to think about when he inevitably couldn’t fall asleep later. Great. Fantastic. Amazing.

Jisung clapped his hands together suddenly, snapping Yunho out of his spiraling thoughts. “Well, now that this is all out of the way and totally clear—” he gestured vaguely between Yunho and Hongjoong, “—can we finally get to your problem, Yunho? You know, the reason you came here in the first place?”

Yunho stiffened.

Oh. Right. That.

His actual problem.

He had almost forgotten about it for a second with everything else being thrown at him. But now, as Jisung and Hongjoong both turned to him expectantly, waiting for him to spill the reason he had walked in looking like a deer in headlights—his nerves came rushing back in full force.

Yunho inhaled sharply, totally not panicking.

Yunho exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts before finally speaking.

“Jisung already knows this,” he started, shifting uncomfortably, “but to catch you guys up… Basically, Mingi and I are roommates.”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged a quick glance before turning back to Yunho, listening intently.

Yunho continued, playing with the hem of his sleeve. “At first, things were… fine, I guess? He was nice enough the first week—not overly friendly or anything, but not a total jerk either. We just kinda coexisted. But then…” He hesitated, glancing at Jisung for reassurance before continuing, “Then, one night, he had some friends over, and, uh—he stood up for me.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Stood up for you? How?”

Yunho swallowed. “Some of his friends were being kinda rude, making fun of me. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but then Mingi just—he shut them down.”

Seonghwa’s brows lifted slightly. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Yunho nodded. “And, I mean, I was grateful, right? So I tried to thank him afterward.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And?”

Yunho sighed. “And then he started acting weird.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Weird how?”

Jisung snorted. “He started acting like a total dick, basically. But Yunho’s too nice to say that.”

“Jisung,” Yunho muttered, shooting him a look.

“What?” Jisung held up his hands. “It’s true!”

Yunho sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “Anyway, when I thanked him, he just looked at me and said, ‘Don’t thank me.’”

Seonghwa frowned. “What?”

“Yeah,” Yunho nodded. “Then he said, ‘I don’t want that. Just because I stood up for you doesn’t mean we’re friends.’”

Hongjoong let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“And then,” Yunho went on, voice growing quieter, “‘It’s already bad enough that my friends know about you. They’re making fun of me because of you. So, let’s not make this any more complicated, okay?’”

There was a moment of silence.

“Wow,” Seonghwa said finally.

Yunho let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. And, uh, I didn’t really know what to say after that, so I just… apologized.”

“Apologized?” Hongjoong repeated, incredulous.

Yunho nodded, cheeks burning. “I don’t know, it felt like—like maybe I had done something wrong? But he just looked at me and went, ‘Whatever. Just… stay out of my way.’”

Hongjoong scoffed. “What the hell got into him?”

“I know, right?” Jisung said, exasperated. “See, this is why I keep telling you not to waste your energy on him and finally stand up, Yunho.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just—I don’t get it. Why act like that all of a sudden? What did I even do wrong?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “That’s… yeah, that’s weird.”

Jisung clapped his hands together. “And that isn’t even the worst part, right, Yunho?”

Yunho groaned. “Mhm.”

He hesitated for a second, then finally admitted, “The day after all that happened, we got assigned a huge literature project. Like, huge—it’s a two, maybe three-month-long thing. And, of course…Guess who I got stuck with,”

“Mingi,” they all said in unison.

Yunho threw his hands up. “Yeah, exactly.”

Jisung clicked his tongue. “See? The universe has it out for you, dude.”

Yunho exhaled sharply. “So, we agreed to meet up after school a few times to make sure we actually get a good grade.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Okay, that seems reasonable. Have you started working on it yet?”

Yunho rubbed his temple. “We met up once.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Once?”

“Yeah.” Yunho sighed. “Two days ago.”

Jisung clapped his hands together. “Alright, so now we’re all caught up on everything that’s happened so far. But Yunho, you said you had something to discuss, so I’m guessing something else went down in the past two days, right?”

Yunho exhaled, shifting in his seat. “Yeeeeeah,” he admitted slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still can’t wrap my head around it, but… basically, last night, around 1 AM, I got up to get some water. And all of a sudden, I hear someone shuffling with the door.”

Jisung gasped dramatically. “OH MY GOD, Yunho—did you get robbed? Did Mingi kick you out of the dorm and now you have nowhere to sleep at?”

“What?” Yunho blinked, thrown off. “No! What the heck, Jisung? Let me finish.”

Jisung shrugged. “I dunno, man, sounds like the logical conclusion.”

Yunho groaned and rolled his eyes before continuing, “Anyway. I hear someone at the door, and at first, I’m like, ‘Oh my god, who is that?’ Like, I thought maybe some drunk guy was trying to get into the wrong dorm or something. But then the door actually opens, and in walks Mingi—totally beaten up and bleeding.”

Jisung let out a short laugh. “Hah. Karma.”

Seonghwa immediately frowned and smacked Jisung’s arm.

“Ow!” Jisung yelped, rubbing the spot where Seonghwa hit him. “Dude, what?”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa muttered.

Hongjoong, who had been silently processing, leaned forward. “Please continue, Yu.”

Yunho nodded, letting out a slow breath. “So, obviously, I was shocked. I asked him if he was okay, but he just brushed me off. Told me not to talk to him, to just leave him alone, and then went straight to his room.”

Jisung scoffed. “Oh, amazing. So you went back to your room too, right?”

Yunho pressed his lips together into a straight line.

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “Right, Yunho? You went back to bed and left Mingi alone?”

Hongjoong sighed and crossed his arms. “If I had to guess,” he said, “Yunho didn’t go back to bed. Because if he had, he wouldn’t be sitting here telling us this whole story.”

Yunho swallowed, his fingers twitching in his lap. “Yeah, well… I wanted to go to bed,” he muttered, “but somehow—”

Then, all in one breath, he blurted out, “It happened and I knocked on Mingi’s door and said that I know he hates me but I would like to help him heal his wounds and he let me so we spent the night healing his wounds and eventually talking.”

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment the words left his mouth.

Silence.

Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his eyes again—only to find three pairs of wide eyes staring back at him, mouths slightly open in shock.

Hongjoong blinked. Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. Jisung was completely frozen.

Yunho swallowed. “Uh…”

Jisung finally broke the silence.

“…You what?”

previous chapter | next chapter

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 6

A/N: Alright, here's the deal: I wrote the next 3 parts of Sonnet all together (including this one), but have decided to split them up for flow purposes. Which, hopefully means more frequent updates, because they're already written lmao. I apologize for this being a shorter chapter, but the next two will be from Tav's POV and then Astarion's. We're doing character building, ya'll. Happy reading!!

Rating: M/Soft E Word count: 2k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, body worship, post-breakup, unhealthy relationship Summary: In preparation for the upcoming gala, Astarion commissions a hand-tailored dress for Tav.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

A small gathering has commenced within Astarion's office.

Tav stands on an upturned wooden crate with her arms outstretched, facing a mirror. A tailor is at her side, wrapping measuring tape around her chest. He scratches something into his notepad, then slips the tape down to her waist. He cinches it tight, causing Tav to gasp.

“Ah, excuse me, may I request something?” she asks, putting up a finger in protest. The man looks up at her through the thick lenses of his glasses.

He's a meek older man; human, likely in his seventies. His glasses sit heavy across the bridge of his nose, and he speaks with a voice that begs for some type of nasal lavage. He nods at Tav.

 “Perhaps leave some extra fabric around the waist?” Tav suggests, sweetly.

She’s wearing an emerald green satin dress. Astarion picked the color – part of their agreement to have her attend tonight's event – as it matches her eyes. The dress is modest, overall. Off the shoulder sleeves with a horizontal ruffle across her chest. The neckline dips slightly into her cleavage, but it's mostly obscured by the bunched fabric. It cinches around her midsection, opening into a wide skirt down the legs. The same ruffle across her chest is present around the bottom hem of the dress.

It truly is a magnificent dress.

…If she enjoyed wearing them.

Astarion looks on from across the room, languidly sipping a glass of wine. He's sifting through various documents strewn across his desk as he chimes in, “You have such a darling figure, my dear. Why hide it?”

With a huff, Tav argues, “I've grown softer in these last few months.” She looks off to the side pensively, chewing the inside of her lip. She knows what he's going to say. It's never been about what she looks like, though hearing him call her a vision always does wonders for her self-esteem.

No, Astarion has always wanted her. Was drawn to her heart, as twisted and warped as it was. Despite that, he managed to find the small beacon of light still shining within. And slowly, ever so carefully, pulled it from the depths.

“And? I hardly see the issue,” Astarion challenges with a slight tilt of his head.

“Astarion!” she shouts, giving a quick stomp of her feet. Heat rises to her cheeks. “Please, Astarion – I would feel more comfortable about wearing this… thing,” Tav says while pulling at the dress, “if it weren't so form-fitting.”

Astarion takes another drink of wine, walking around the desk to lean against its edge. He and Tav exchange glances. When he finds her pouting, he sighs. “I guess it doesn't matter, really,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. His lips then curl into a devilish smile. “It's only going to end up on the floor, come nightfall.”

Tav shoots a bewildered glare toward Astarion, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. The bastard has the nerve to be smiling so smugly after a comment like that, because he knows. There's no way Astarion doesn't know the impact his words have on her. 

It's another game he plays, but truth be told, Tav likes this one. A lot. It’s rare for him to not make good on those honeyed words. And when he does, gods, does he do it well.

Preventing her mind from becoming awash with lust, Tav shakes her head. She stomps her feet again and huffs out an audible breath in Astarion’s direction. It's a warning for him to ease up on the flirtation, lest she blow a gasket.

His smile deepens.

Of course he'd want to see that.

The poor tailor, caught between their questionable spat, clears his throat. “I-If it's alright, my lord, I'm more than willing to comply with your Lady’s request.” 

Astarion brings the glass of wine again to his lips, looking at Tav from over the rim. She mouths a ‘please’ in his direction; he pushes himself away from the desk’s edge.

“Of course,” he agrees in a posh tone. “Whatever my Lady desires.” Astarion then abandons his glass on the desk, moving toward Tav. 

A shiver runs down her spine as Tav watches his reflection appear in the mirror behind her. She knows he’s handsome, but seeing his form within the glass leaves her speechless.

It grounds her in a way she doesn't expect. Makes this entire situation real. 

She may never get used to it.

“However,” Astarion continues, “I would ask that you please leave the room.” He turns his head to the tailor. “If only for a few minutes.”

“Of c-course, Lord Ancunín,” says the elderly man with a bow. He gathers a few materials scattered from around the room and quickly heads out into the foyer. The door to the office clicks shut behind him.

Astarion then offers Tav a hand in stepping down from the wooden crate. She accepts and stands before the mirror. She takes a quick moment to study her reflection. 

Her hair is being held up in a loose bun. As she tilts her head, Tav can see the scars on her neck through the fallen strands of hair. Yet, she's happy to find that the bruise Astarion sucked into her neck is starting to fade.

“Now tell me truthfully, darling– Why hide this beautiful body of yours?” Astarion asks from behind her. He slips his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne, mixed with the sweetness of the alcohol on his breath, floods Tav’s senses. She finds herself quickly growing lax under him, slipping further into his embrace. 

“Unless… you're saving it all for me?” he asks, coyly. He slots his face into the nape of her neck and inhales, leading a trail of kisses up the side of her neck, stopping just behind her ear. “How very modest of you,” Astarion teases.

He sways her gently within his arms and Tav wraps her hands around his forearms, fighting to keep herself upright. “I think a better topic for discussion, Astarion,” she deflects, “is how you almost killed me the other night.” She gives a brief pause before adding, “Again.”

“Oh, but my darling, I didn't,” is his sultry reply. Astarion sucks another kiss into Tav’s neck. The sensation has her knees buckling, but she quickly recovers, squeezing his forearms tighter.

He worries over the scars on her neck and Tav whimpers softly, raising her hand to thread through silver locks. “That's hardly the point, Astarion,” she retorts. Her voice is barely audible, more air than sound.

Astarion slides his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts through the gown, eyes fixated on their reflection in the mirror. “I would say that's precisely the point, my dear,” he suggests, accentuating his argument with a gentle squeeze of her breasts. “You asked me not to turn you – I didn't. I respected your wishes.” He rests his cheek against hers, rocking them gently again as he stares into the mirror. “In my defense, I'm used to taking a bit more from you. It seems you've lost some of your resilience in our time apart.”

Tav scoffs, offended, though allows Astarion to continue swaying her within his arms. “Are you really trying to imply that it's somehow my fault for almost dying again?”

“On the contrary, actually.” Astarion moves his hands again to her waist, wrapping them tightly around her. His voice drops an octave as he says, “We've spent far too much time away from one another.” He kisses her cheek. “And we should perhaps fix that.”

Tav turns to face him. “What do you mean?” she asks, panicked. “We've been seeing one another for the last three months. This is certainly all… something.” She's suddenly on edge, but she's unsure why. Does she fear him rejecting her?

…Since when does she care about that, again?

“Exactly,” Astarion agrees with a husky growl. He drops his face, resting his forehead against hers. “It's something. But what if it were more? Would it truly be so terrible?”

They stand together within the quiet office. And as Tav looks into his eyes, she almost forgets the events of the night before. 

How she essentially aided him in ending the lives of two men. How he hid them within the depths of the manor. That he probably would have never told her, had she not found out. 

This man will keep secret after secret from her, if it means staying within her good graces. He will never risk tarnishing her opinion of him. Tav will have to fight, tooth and nail, to pull each and every truth from him.

Being with him will be work, and will likely end horribly.

But now, as she looks at his face, illuminated by the soft glow of the morning sun breaking through the windows, she feels that maybe…

Maybe…

She's been wrong about him.

Would spending eternity with Astarion be all that bad? He would put her in the very best of everything, never letting her go without. Tav knows he would protect her, always, until his dying breath. Hells, she would never have to lift a finger ever again. She would never be lonely; Astarion would make sure of that. She would never want for anything.

Tav plants a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, giving Astarion a genuine smile. “We should really let the tailor finish working, Astarion,” she scolds, playfully.

‘Maybe,’ she thinks…

‘It's worth trying again.’

With a groan, Astarion rolls his eyes. “That's terribly boring,” he replies with feigned annoyance. “I have a better idea in mind.” He kisses his way up the side of her neck again, and Tav becomes a puddle of girlish laughter in his arms. “We should throw the dress to the floor now, no?” he suggests. “Nightfall is just so very far away...”

As Astarion's hands wander down the length of her back, Tav lets a moan slip past her lips when he cups her arse. “Let the man finish his job, Astarion,” she insists, “or I won't have anything to wear at all.”

He draws back from her, studying her face. Confusion strikes her as she looks back at him, unable to read his expression. The corners of his mouth then curl into a sly smile, and suddenly, she understands. 

“Again,” he says in a velvet tone, “I hardly see the problem.” Astarion accentuates his point by pulling her to him. Tav gasps as their centers collide, and that's when she feels it. The length of him, stiff and proud, rubbing up against her. Heat rushes to her cheeks in embarrassment – he would take her here in the office, knowing damned well the tailor is just beyond the office doors. 

The same doors that happen to be unlocked.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she states, tapping Astarion's chest while peeling herself free of his embrace. “Now, please; I would appreciate if you quit being so fresh and let the man finish.” Her breath comes in labored pants, her cheeks flushed. Her mind begins to clear.

With a playful scoff, Astarion throws up his hands in defeat. He steals a quick kiss to her cheek, snaking a hand down the front of his trousers. Astarion flips himself up into the waistband of his undergarments, pulling out his shirt to cover himself. Tav gives a quick giggle, Astarion shooting back with a smirk, and he finally heads to the office doors. He invites the tailor back into the office with a bow. “My apologies,” Astarion says with a well-practiced smile, “and thank you for your patience. Please, resume your work.”

The tailor lifts his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose as he walks back into the office, clutching his measurement tape to his chest. He gives a quick bow to Astarion, then helps Tav back up onto the wooden crate. Astarion resumes shifting through documents on his desk, though catches Tav staring at him through the reflection of the mirror.

When their eyes meet, they give one another a knowing smile.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Crush

Summary: Every time the Riddler comes on the TV, you can't stand him. His face and voice piss you off - but when you find yourself in the center of one of his traps, you might just realize you like him more than you care to admit.

Content Warning: Awkward flirting, unrequited crush.

Word Count: 2.2k

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

He was on the TV. Again. That irritating voice of his, like always, grating on your every last nerve. Knots twisted in your stomach and you glared at the screen, which Edward Nigma, the Riddler, had somehow managed to take over, broadcasting his face all across Gotham. Green question marks danced in the background behind him, illuminating your apartment in an ominous green glow.

“Listen up Gotham!” he cried. “All across the city, I’ve left a series of carefully crafted conundrums for you to solve.” He laughed, high-pitched and full of ego.

You rolled your eyes, rage rising up from your belly and spreading through your veins like wildfire. Already, you were drowning out the sound of his voice, you absent-mindedly reached for your remote to mute his ever-annoying voice. God, didn’t this guy have anything better to do with his time? With an angry huff, you snatched up your phone and hopped onto social media, only to find a thousand other Gothamites expressing their same distaste for the Riddler. Any man as obsessed with Batman as he was had some serious issues. Many Gothamites were using some rather choice words to complain about the interruption of their regularly scheduled programming, and you couldn’t help but laugh at a few of them.

Turning your attention to your own page, you wrote, Can’t this guy get a life? He needs a serious reality check. His ego is bigger than the Empire State Building! With one button, you sent the post off into the vast void of the internet.

Almost immediately, a dozen people began commenting on your own post, words of agreement flooding your screen. But as you watched more and more come in, one in particular got your attention. The profile image was of one single, green question mark against a black background.

And your brain is smaller than an ants, the commenter had replied.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, it was just another Riddler fanboy coming to jump to his defense. Gotham was ripe with plenty of those. But just as you were about to set your phone aside, a second comment from the same profile caught your eye.

If you want a better insult, I suggest using the Burj Khalifa. It is the tallest building in the world, but of course, your pea sized brain wouldn’t have known.

You frowned, cheeks burning. Your brain was not pea sized! Another dozen insults suddenly came your way, and you chewed on your bottom lip. Anxiety twisted in your belly, and even though people were jumping to your defense, the onslaught of creative insults continued to come at rapid speed. Quickly, you deleted your original comment and raised your eyes to the screen, relieved to see Riddler’s broadcast had officially ended.

Good, you thought, even if the insults still got under your skin, as anger rippled inside your bones. With an angry huff, you stood and headed to bed.

The next day, you found yourself walking through Gotham on your way home from work. But as you weaved your way through the trash-riddle streets, a strange feeling crept over you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up on end, goosebumps crawled along your flesh. The sudden sensation that you were being followed washed over you; glancing over your shoulder, you checked the streets, but saw nothing – at least, nothing out of the ordinary. You took a quick swing right, down an alley you always cut through to get to your apartment, when you saw it: a small box sitting on the ground, purple with green question marks on it.

“Oh no—” you said, but before you could even turn to run, the box suddenly opened, expelling a cloud of green gas. You coughed, eyes watering at the smoke filled your lungs – and everything went dark.

When you finally awoke, your limbs were stiff and achy. Your throat was scratchy and you struggled to prop yourself up, looking around at the shadowy room you found yourself in. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you managed to prop yourself up and look around the room. Darkness lingered in the corners, and you saw nothing in the distance – other than the simple fact you were inside a cage.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling yourself to your feet. The room suddenly illuminated in a green haze, as the shadowy corners were lit up with question marks covering all the walls. You ran forward, wrapping your fingers around the iron bars; the space between them was too thin to squeeze through.

“So, you’re the one who said I have an ego the size of the Empire State Building,” a familiar, annoying voice suddenly came over the intercom.

Crap, you’d know that voice anywhere. The same one that came over the TV only the night before. Irritating and grating on every single one of your nerves. You searched the room, but between the ominous green glow and shadowy corners, it was impossible to tell where he might be.

“Let me out of here!” you yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He let out a bored sigh. “Isn’t it obvious? You really have no sense of making your own conclusions, do you? And for your information, I don’t have an ego.”

Right. Of course not. Any man who hacks into Gotham’s TVs and broadcasts himself for everyone to see can’t possibly have an ego. With a shake of your head, you turned, examining the cage, only to discover that there were three podiums lined up one by one on the other side.

“All right,” you said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I thought I’d run a little experiment,” he replied. “Since you’re clearly in need of some intellectual stimulation, I’ve prepared three riddles for you to answer. If you can answer them correctly, you go free. If you can’t, well…you’ll see.” A low chuckle escaped his lips.

Your skin bristled at his threat, face draining of all color. This couldn’t be happening – it couldn’t be. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately hoping to wake up from this nightmare, but when you opened them, you were still in the same spot. Okay – deep breaths. The only way to get out of here was to answer the riddles. That was his MO, right?

You braced yourself and turned to the first podium, examining it. In bright green writing was a riddle, along with three buttons labeling multiple choice answers. Okay – so that was a good thing. He was going easy on you, giving you a chance. Maybe he thought you were too stupid to answer them without some level of guidance.

“I am easy to lift, but hard to throw. What am I?” he asked.

You studied the choices: Feather. Paper. Ball. “Uh…” you wondered, the word slipping out of your mouth.

“Tik-tok,” he said, his tone laced with impatient and condescending.

Your palms grew sweaty, your heart pounded in your ears. You swallowed, throat scratchy and dry as panic filled you. You had to choose – in case something happened – in an instant of pure terror, you slammed your hand down on the button for paper…but it immediately flashed red.

“Wrong!” he cried. “What a disappointment. Now, next riddle. What is full of holes but still holds water?”

Examining the next choices, one in particular caught your attention. Oh! A sponge. You clicked the button and sighed in relief when it turned green.

“Well, well, perhaps you do have some shred of intellect,” he said. “But lucky for you, that was one of the easy ones.”

Of course he had to rub it in your face that you got the “easiest” one right. Looking around the cage, you mumbled, “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you are, my dear. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten caught. You wouldn’t have taken the same route you always do through that alleyway back to your apartment. At least take some effort to analyze your surroundings as you walk.”

You paused, his words washing over you. Wait…what? “Have you been spying on me!?” you cried, unable to contain the horror in your voice.

“Wait – no, of course not!” he cried, defensive and frantic. “I checked the surrounding security cameras near your apartment. That’s all.”

“So you were spying! That’s creepy! Don’t be a Peeping Tom!”

He sighed. “You haven’t forgotten my name already, have you? You do know the correct term would be “Peeping Edward”. You really are daft.”

There was a sudden, long pause that washed over you when you realized just what he’d said. In such a sarcastic tone.

“Wait,” he said, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help it – something inside of you broke. That utter hatred and irritation for him snapped, making room for the laughter escaping your lips. Your shoulders shook, unable to contain yourself as the sound poured out of your mouth. Warmth flooded your veins and you held onto the iron bars, resting your forehead against them.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he cried. “Stop laughing. That feeble mind of yours couldn’t possibly find humor in what I’ve said.”

Despite his protests, you couldn’t stop. You slid to your knees, ribs aching as the laughter continued. You couldn’t believe you felt this way, as if all the anger had suddenly disappeared and been replaced by something else entirely. A pounding in your chest, a fluttering in your heart.

A yellow glow suddenly filled the room, and you looked up to find a door on the other side open. Edward Nigma strolled inside, wearing cargo pants and a wife beater covered by a button down clad with question marks. His cheeks were flushed, red creeping up his throat, as he stormed over to the cage.

“Silence!” he cried. “We’re not finished here yet, remember? You still have one more riddle to solve.”

As you caught your breath, you wiped your eyes and managed to control yourself. Oh, right. You were still trapped in the cage. But no longer did you feel fear and hatred and irritation…instead you felt something else. A heavy beating in your heart; you met his eyes, blue and stern. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of him. He was more handsome in person than you expected. Your face flushed and you looked away shyly, not wanting to meet his eyes.

Oh no…this couldn’t be happening.

“Now,” he said, clearing his throat. “One last riddle. Or has your tiny brain already forgotten?”

“No,” you said. “I haven’t.” You turned your attention back to the third podium and glanced down at the green lettering.

I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?

Three choices: Map. Space. Painting.

You hesitated, heart hammering against your ribcage. Not because of nerves this time – not because your life was on the line – but because he was watching you. Your every movement. Hesitantly, you clicked the “painting” button and it immediately flashed red.

He sighed. “You really are stupid.”

You spun around on your heels. “Wait – please give me another chance!”

“I don’t do second chances,” he said, but as he spoke, he pulled a key from his pocket and slid it into the keyhole, unlocking the door. The iron bars swung open and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to leave.

You watched him hesitantly. “You’re letting me go?”

“You really are lacking in any kind of survival instinct, aren’t you? I’m setting you free and you’re not even running.” He raised his brows, a bored and disappointed look crossing his face.

Perhaps you should be, but you didn’t want to run. You were far more interested in taking the time to watch him a little longer…your blood raced hot, and a nervous lump formed in your throat that you tried to swallow. You suddenly couldn’t take your eyes off him: the toned muscles of his arms, the small patch of curly chest hair, the sweat dripping down his brow…

“Why are you just standing there?” he asked, brows furrowed. “You’re a hostage – act like one!”

“Sorry. Well, I just don’t understand why you brought me here and now you’re letting me go,” you said.

He sighed. “Because I was bored, and I thought you would make an interesting experiment, but alas, you failed my tests. And since I’m feeling generous, I’m allowing you to go free. See? I told you I don’t have an ego. Now you can run online to your little friends and tell them just how generous I, Edward Nigma, the Riddler, am. Now go. Before I change my mind.”

A small smile crept across your lips. With a shake of your head, you wandered out of the cage and past him, catching a whiff of musk and sweat and him. Heart thundering against your chest, you turned and stood on your tiptoes – and planted one kiss onto his cheek. He suddenly stilled, as if short-circuiting, before you pulled away and raced out of the hideout before he could decide to kill you.

And the next time he came on the TV, you’d make sure to savor the moment.

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 04)

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

THE SAME DAY

Pidge offered to let you shower and change in her room so that you could be warm again and in clean clothes. You took her up on it, eager to feel the hot water and steam heat your skin.

Roger was already snoring, dead asleep on the sofa in the living room, and Johnny - or Soap, as Bekah had named him - disappeared into his room for a bit, looking for his own shower. He was absent while you and Pidge tried the cake samples from the Stiff Peaks bakery. She gushed about the flavors and the use of spices in the cake and its icing. You even got a few moans of culinary approval from Hamish whose high standards were impossible to reach. All in all, it felt like a success.

So why did you feel so empty? It was more than just the text from Bekah. There was some piece missing, something you got wrong and needed to fix. But, what could it be?

Johnny had confessed his feelings to you, and his kiss had felt… well, it had felt like a kiss should feel. It was the kiss that every young person imagined they might experience one day when the softness of someone else’s mouth finally found their own, their tongue icing the flesh of the other’s like a knife through a creamy, sugary glaze. The heat of their wet lips burning their edges, locked into a primal embrace of ownership and consumption, eating without feeling full. Devouring and yet becoming hungrier, increasing your appetite, gorging on the sweetness, until finally…

Johnny’s door popped open and he came to join you in the kitchen. His eyes went to you before eventually settling on Brigette,

“So? What’s the verdict, then? Dinnae meet the mark?”

“Sure,” Pidge smiled at him, “Right on target, you wee nugget. Good thing I sent you then.”

Johnny nodded to you, sitting in the bar stool next to yours at the kitchen counter. He gestured to you,

“She kept me in line, so she did. Would’ve gone for the chocolate myself.”

Pidge nudged you,

“Aye, what’d I tell you.”

You offered the other half of the cake to him, passing him your fork. He took it, cocking his smile into a mischievous grin,

“You’d have been proud of your wee hen here, Pidge. She made a pretty convincing bride. Might have to recruit her for our next mission. Be needin’ some espionage.”

Pidge laughed without even glancing up at him, her voice full of bitterness,

“So, havin’ you and da’ throw away your life on spyin’ wasnae enough. Should be my best friend, too?”

The whole room went cold. Johnny was mid-chew when he heard his sister’s comment, and he spat out the cake into a napkin in disgust. Pidge cut him off before he could say anything,

“Don’t forget to give little miss James Bond here a ride to her fitting tomorrow. I’m off for my shower,” she squeezed her brother’s forearm, seeming to understand that she had hit a nerve. He did not respond to her words nor her touch.

Johnny turned inward, closing off from conversation. You tried to coax him back out,

“Hey, here’s your phone. I think you missed a call.”

Without saying anything, he took the phone from you. He flipped through the message, and his expression remained unchanged.

“Gonna steal some of tha’ stew Hamish has been hidin’. You want in, thief?” He asked you, reaching for the pots and spoons before cracking open the freezer.

“Aren’t you gonna go to the pub?” You asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible.

He froze in place, holding the pot by its handle, locking eyes with you,

“No, not unless you wanted to do dinner with me, lass. Cravin’ samosas?”

It was a test. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t, but here you were, playing games. Could the party boy resist a party? You were about to find out.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Maybe a little. We could get take away.”

“Brilliant,” he grabbed his keys and followed you to the door.

Now that night had settled in, it was too cold in the Jeep. You held your arms right to your body and tried to shield yourself from the wind. Johnny dug around in the back and dragged out a camo jacket with his name tacked onto the chest.

You put it on and it swallowed you, warming you up from the inside out. The fold of the collar flapped just under your nose, letting you smell his orange, woody scent. There was something else, too. Gunpowder. You smelled like fireworks and winter citrus.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it tighter around you.

“You make it look good,” his smile was bright and full of innocent praise, “Warm enough?”

You nodded, suddenly shy. You regretted your decision to drag him out of the house again. You should’ve kept him all to yourself, covetous and selfish like a hoarder, locking him in like a shorn Repunzel, playing like Circe with her pigs. But, you didn’t want to be Circe. You wanted to be Penelope. Permanent, as impossible though it may have been.

Was he Odysseus? Or Narcissus?

The car park was packed. He dropped you off at the door and you waited for him to find a spot in the back. He pulled the keys out of the Jeep and did a bit of a jog to catch up to you.

He commented on the crowd,

“Match is on. Rangers and Aberdeen. Whole town should be out tonight.”

You made a quiet noise in assent, not knowing enough about football to comment.

He held the gate open for you, and you walked through the smoky, crowded courtyard. Ettrick’s had tons of outdoor space, and the tall heat lamps made it cozy despite the nip in the air.

Inside, the noise hit you like a punch. It was a small space and the din was overwhelming. Warmth and bodies and smells tumbled over you like a wave. Johnny pulled a menu from the host stand, positioning himself as a barrier between you and the chaos.

He had to lean in close to you for you to hear him,

“Samosas, yeah? And we gotta do the chicken khorma. It’s top notch here, lass. Trust me.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” you smiled and watched him look around for the host.

Just as he rounded the corner, you heard a loud shout,

“MacTavish! You made it,” Lachlan’s voice carried through the crowded bar and you watched Johnny’s face light up in recognition.

He shook Lachlan’s hand and Bekah came up behind him, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, which he returned, just as tightly. They chatted together for a moment until you saw Lachlan look over Johnny’s big shoulder right into your eyes. He waved you over, and you tried to control your face. So much regret. But, you made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

“Hey, babes,” Lachlan and Bekah hugged you as well. The tall, handsome man made a point to leave his arm around your shoulder when you pulled away, “You can’t miss the game. We told Johnny you’re eating in, no complaints!”

“Yeah,” Bekah clung to Johnny’s heavy arm, “We’ve got plenty of room. Come have a seat.”

“Well…” Johnny started to make an excuse, giving you an out, but the look on his face was so earnestly disappointed that you interrupted him,

“Okay, thanks.”

You followed her to the table, and Johnny fell in behind. The waitress took your order. You watched the game, and you fell into a quiet lull. The room was bursting with energy, and you watched as Johnny slipped into the excitement. He fed off of the highs and the lows of the match. He barely touched his food, and you ate alone. He was right about the khorma. It was delicious. You wrapped up your leftover samosa and put it near his plate. He’d find it eventually.

You pushed your chair out and stood to leave. He turned to you and caught your hand. You stared at his hand and he stared down at it too, dropping it after a breath, forgetting himself for a moment,

“Where you off to, bonnie?”

“Ladies’ room. See you in a bit,” you ducked out of the crowd and into the bathroom for a moment, trying to get your thoughts together in the silence.

You washed your hands and avoided the mirror until you had to look. Then, there it was, the embroidered “MacTavish” across your chest, a little too ironic.

You took a deep breath and went back out into the fray. The Rangers scored, and Ettrick’s went wild. Bekah and Johnny held each other by the arms and screamed with joy into each other’s faces, nearly leaping over the table in celebration.

Johnny’s focus on her was so intense, the look in his eyes so full of fiery admiration, you could barely look at them. He could have Bekah. There were no rules against her like there were for you. You shouldn’t have had the nerve to even consider that he might choose you. How could he go against the wishes of his own sister? How could you?

You were right next to the back door, so you made your exit. It was a long walk back to his room, and you were nearly frozen by the time you got there. Rodger was still snoring away, and Pidge’s door was closed. So, you stripped down to just your shorts and a tank, and you crawled into bed, defeated.

TWO HOURS LATER

“There you are, mhèirleach! You had me worried sick,” the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice and his heavy weight shifting onto the mattress pulled you from your sleep.

You groaned, trying to deter his attention. He smelled like the bar, and himself, but mostly the bar. All you felt was guilt and shame and you wanted it to stop.

“Are you alright, lass? Why’d you go? I would’ve taken you back.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled.

He didn’t reply. You fell back to sleep, starving for something you couldn’t eat.

…BEFORE MORNING

You awoke to a strong nose and jaw nuzzling your hair and neck, taking long deep inhales of your scent and breathing heavy. Johnny had his arm snaked up through the bottom of your shirt, his huge hand sticking out of the crew collar, holding you firmly against the base of your clavicle. His thumb was feeling the crescent curve where your throat met your body, over and over like he needed to memorize it. Like he wanted to find it again in the dark and know it was one and the same.

Was he awake? You couldn’t tell. You could tell, however, that his cock was pressing hard between your thighs, the fabric of your shorts shoved out of place by the fabric of his boxer briefs, straining against the thin cloth.

“A bheil thu milis, a mhèirleach?” Are you sweet, thief?

You decided that no, he wasn’t awake. He knew you didn’t speak Gaelic, and you had no idea what he was asking. Yet, your body seemed to. It recognized his aching timbre, its dark dulcet layers folding over your senses like silky caramel.

His hand retraced its path, sliding back through the valley of your breasts, exploring southward, finding the gaping waistband of your shorts and your lack of knickers under them. Upon discovery, his big body rocked into you, his thick rod riding into your thigh, begging for relief. A ragged, shuddering sigh left his lips and you felt it race across your skin.

“Feumaidh fios a bhith agam.” I need to know.

His words all slurred together. You were too busy melting under his hand to care for a translation. His wrist finally dipped low enough for him to slip one thick finger into your wet heat, soaking itself there like a wick in wax, coated and milky.

Your breath stalled. You couldn’t breathe in, nor out, and you felt your pussy clench around his knuckles, kissing his fingertip as he slipped it back out. Then, you watched as he slowly brought it to his lips, right next to your face, and you saw him feed himself with your slick, sucking it off of his skin, licking the knuckles of his fingers, eager for any missed drops.

Wild, crazed pleasure mixed with cold guilt in your chest. So, you called for help,

“Johnny?” Your voice was just above a whisper.

He breathed into your neck again, and then his tone changed. His language changed. He changed.

“Mm,” he whispered, “Sorry, thief. You stole my covers.”

With that excuse, he took some of the blanket from you and turned back over, breathing deeply again, leaving you there in a million little pieces.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 05

[climbthemountain2020]

To Know That I'm With You - Chapter 9

Nessian | Ch. 9 | Ao3

Eternally, @popjunkie42 has the keys to my heart and my google docs. Okay, okay, friends I hear you. Originally, Cassian's only POVs were going to be the prologue and epilogue, but everyone's comments about being excited for his POV inspired me, lol. SO, I went back and did some writing. Now, you all get what I'm calling a few Cassian clips.

When Nesta awoke the next morning, she knew before she even moved that something was very, very wrong.

She tried to stand, worrying that perhaps her instincts were telling her that someone had infiltrated their cave despite the sigils. But she’d stumbled immediately, her leg not able to bear any weight at all. The wall of the cave was sharp against her skin, making her hiss. Stars bloomed behind her closed eyes, and she knew with great clarity that her leg was deeply infected. 

Cassian, of course, hadn’t missed a beat. He sprung up like he wasn’t injured at all as Nesta yelped and leaned heavily against the wall. 

“You’re injured?”

She waved him off, grumbling. “It was fine last night when I put the poultice on.”

“It’s clearly not fine now.” He helped her back to the ground. “Settle, I’m alright.”

“Your wing–”

“–is fine today.” He ruffled the wing behind him as though to show her that the injury felt better, but she scowled up at him. 

“You should be taking it easy. There’s no way it’s healed,” she snapped back, trying to ease, but more so collapsing, to the ground. 

“It isn’t healed, but it’s well enough that it doesn’t hurt. And I’ve slept for nearly a full day. I won’t be able to fly for a good while, but it doesn’t mean I can’t function.” He was already shuttling more wood towards the dying fire, his eyes not leaving her.

Fuck . It hurt like fire was seizing her leg, the panic clawing up her throat every second. She could barely walk, let alone travel or care for herself. The walls of the cave began to feel like they were growing closer.

“You don’t have to mother me.” She spit the words like venom, hated that she couldn’t just get up and leave.

“I’m not mothering,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly even. She closed her eyes, ignoring him and the feeling of his eyes back on her again as her head swam with the pain.

The ache was so bone deep it made her grit her teeth. She knew the telltale traits of infection from treating Feyre’s many injuries and overhearing the horror stories from the family guards, and she knew these weren’t good signs. She pulled the gauze to the side as she clamped her jaw tightly shut. The skin around the wound was angry and red, dark streaks spiraling out from it beneath her skin. The injury was not healing the way it had been before. 

Was it worth it for her to chew another entire root and knock out just to heal? It had healed her ankle before, but was she willing to be completely unconscious for hours around Cassian?

Absolutely not.

The thought of a stranger with her while she hallucinated was so overwhelming that she shut the thought down immediately. She didn’t care how badly off she was, she wasn’t risking it. 

He seems like a good man. He would take care of me.

She fought with her mind again, forcing it to shut up as it tried to convince her otherwise. Normally, Nesta felt she had a good head on her shoulders, a solid perspective and direction to move at each decision. But lately, it seemed like her mind had split in two, and each part of her wanted something very different. Especially when it came to Cassian. 

He wants to help.

She growled in irritation and pain. 

No.

She’d made it this far on her own. She could get through a measly infection.

“Gods, Nesta.” His shocked exclamation startled her from her own back and forth, and she went to cover her leg with her hands. But in a heartbeat, he was kneeling in front of her, wings spread wide behind him, the light of the fire dotting through the remaining unhealed openings. He was right– they were substantially fewer and farther between now. The sight spun a little in front of her, vision doubling then coming back to normal.

He had her wrists in his hands, prying them away from the cut with surprising gentleness. She hesitated, but he paused with her, his eyes meeting hers. Something in the way he waited, in the halting of his own movements…

He was a stranger. But, in this moment, he felt safe. 

She let him touch her, the size of his hands positively dwarfing her own. They were warm and calloused against the skin of her wrist, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath them. 

“Why didn’t you say how badly you were hurt?” His eyes found hers through a deeply furrowed brow, that scar flexing as they moved. 

“It wasn’t so bad when I fell asleep. I thought the poultice would heal it.” 

“You’ve been limping around on this?”

“I told you already, it didn’t hurt this badly yesterday,” she snapped back. The sharp movement made her yelp before she could stop it, and a look flashed over Cassian’s face so intensely that it stole her breath. 

“Where is everything you used on my wing? Tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Nesta. I’m not asking.” She was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. It was far removed from the jovial teasing of the last day.

Nesta wasn’t used to it from him. She wasn’t used to it from anyone. 

“Alright, don’t get your pants in a twist. The bowls and cloths are next to my bag.” She pointed. “There should be a little water left. I was going to go out this morning and find a new water source.” She suddenly felt guilty for putting it off. 

“I can do it.”

“It isn’t far,” she offered as he busied himself, getting the fire roaring and the skin of water boiling over the flames.

“Can you describe to me where the water source is?” he asked. She remembered the map didn’t work for him, the ink enchanted only for her. 

“Fetch it out of the bag and let me see it.” He did so without protest, handing the ragged map back to her as she pinpointed the nearby stream she’d seen yesterday. “It’s a five minute walk east from here. Not the way we came.”

He leveled her with a stare. “I know what east means, Nesta.” 

She scoffed in response, ignoring him otherwise. “It looks like it’s a stream banked by two boulders right to the left of the path. One is shaped a bit like an egg.”

“That map must have decent markers.” The levity had returned to his voice. “I’ll go now while this heats. Don’t move.” 

“Yes, Mother,” she lobbed back, smirking sarcastically as he glowered at her. 

She followed his directions while he was gone. 

Mostly. 

She had painstakingly crawled over to her bag once she heard his footsteps fade, pulling it back with her to the bedroll with a shot of pain that had her holding back a groan. She needed to see if there were any attainable alternatives for medicinal plants that would help her heal. She was definitely well on her way to infection, if not already situated firmly within it, but there was no way she’d be comfortable taking the char root in a quantity large enough to help. She nibbled the tip of it just to take the edge off the pain and flipped through the book. There were plenty of poultice-type recipes, but nothing stronger than what she already had. 

You can trust him.

She gritted her teeth.

Can I? 

He hadn’t given her any reason not to. But still…

To be that vulnerable, that incapacitated in front of him. The thought was unbearable. Nesta knew how men were, what they wanted and how they took it. She’d met enough men like that to last her more than a lifetime. 

She stumbled outside to relieve herself before he returned, each step feeling like a roaring flame erupting around her leg. It was so unbearable that her vision began to white out as she staggered back into the cave after finishing. She all but threw herself down against the wall and into her bedroll, her breath coming in sharp pants.

Take the root. 

She couldn’t.

She’d simply need to clean it well and keep it well wrapped while she managed the pain and hoped it resolved on its own.

She had enough dried fruit and mushrooms to get them by for a few days, but without foraging, she’d run out before long. The jerky was entirely gone now. She put what was left of the food near the fire, then laid her head back against the cave wall and sighed, closing her eyes and waiting. 

Cassian was back in what felt like a blink, his shirt still off and the water skins full and heavy in his arms. 

“Good stream. Just about the distance you said.”

“Did you think I'd lie?” she asked with an eyebrow raised, but her labored breathing made her remarks come out hoarse. Cassian stalled with concern painted as clear as day across his face. He set the skins down, shuffling the boiling water off the open flame to cool and already getting to work arranging the items she’d need.

He worried over her like a mother hen. “Let me see it.” She shuffled a bit. 

“I can do it myself. Stop hovering.”

He leveled her with another glare. “I know a bit about injuries. You cared for mine when I couldn’t. Now let me help.”

She grit her teeth and all but growled at him. “I said , it’s fine.”

He rolled his eyes and Nesta’s defenses were up again. “You’re hurt. What was that you said about it would hurt less if you’d just let me help? ” He threw her own words back at her.

Nesta begrudgingly relented, choosing again to not correct him about the equalizing of their scales. He’d saved her life, he was going to stay on with her as she hiked to the Illyrian Mountains, now he was tending her wounds. The scales were tipping irreparably to one side already. But there was no room for argument. Cassian was already shifting so the light from the fire could fall on her leg as he inspected it. 

She sat restlessly beneath his watchful eyes, the soft press of his fingers near the wound causing her to inhale a sharp breath. If she was any more in her right mind, the indecency of the placement of his hands might have upset her more, but the char root had her feeling numbed, a pleasant buzzing in her ears as she let him take in the damage. 

“This is from the beast in the woods?” he asked, his hazel eyes lifting to meet hers. 

They were a dark, lush green. So deep that they looked like evergreen trees in the moonlight. From any other distance, they might be mistaken for a brown so dark it teetered on black, if not for the golden flecks in them. They rotated around the iris, almost red towards the center. She’d never seen any eyes like his, the colors in them melding like paints in a pool of fallen leaves on the forest floor.

“Nesta?”

She blinked, and her heart thumped. 

What had he asked?

“Is this from the monster?”

“Oh, yes. It got me just before you landed. A single claw, but it was enough.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, turning her leg in the flickering light. “I’m going to clean it. It’s showing signs of infection, and I worry that the poultice won’t be enough.”

Exactly what I thought, too.

The first touch of the warm cloth on her skin had her jumping, the sting of the wound nearly unbearable beneath his steady hands. 

“ Fuck, that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry.” And he sounded like he meant it. “Do you have any more of the char root you could take?”

Trust him.

Trust him.

No . 

“No, it’s gone. I took the last tiny bit of it while you were out.”

He looked at her apologetically. “I’ll be quick.” And he was. She could tell without looking that he’d done this before. She wanted to ask him about it–ask him to distract her with stories of the more gruesome injuries that he’d treated in his lifetime so she could think about anything but her own. 

But she couldn’t, her jaw clenched tightly as she tried not to scream. She should have eaten more of the root, taken a larger bite and damned the consequences. It hurt , and her mind was screaming as he cleaned the infected skin, dutifully making sure he missed nothing. 

After countless swipes with the cloth, Nesta felt near delusional with the effort of holding herself together. 

“...esta. Nesta?” Her thoughts swam back into focus as she blinked her eyes open, only to see Cassian’s own staring worriedly into hers. “I’m done. You still with me?”

She nodded feebly, wetting her cracked lips with her tongue. Her throat felt raw. Had she actually been screaming? Cassian looked so concerned as he crouched on the ground in front of her. 

“I reapplied the poultice and wrapped it. We’re done.” She looked down in surprise. She had missed him doing that in the cloud of relentless pain. 

“Thank you,” she rasped out, and he leaned over to grab her a water skin and place it in her hands. “How bad is it?”

He cringed. “It isn’t great.”

“But you’ve seen worse?” She tried to crack a joke, but the question just came out sounding desperate. Cassian hid another grimace badly. 

“Of course. I’ve lived through wars. I’ve seen much, much worse.” 

She nodded, then let her head fall back against the wall. She could hear the unsaid words. 

I’ve seen worse, and it ended how you might expect.

“There are still mushrooms and dried fruit by the fire,” she croaked pitifully. 

Cassian nodded, then busied himself in the cave, cleaning and putting the supplies near her bag. She’d have to do it all again tomorrow. The thought exhausted her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Cassian was asleep on the ground. Closer now than he had been before.

She must have fallen asleep. 

She blinked again and he was awake beside her, reading one of her books. When she stirred, he bent down and offering her some of the fruit. The thought turned her stomach. 

“Nesta, you need to eat.” The words echoed in and out, the sound reverberating as though bouncing around in her mind. She tried to shake her head, thought she might have, but the darkness was closing in again, the things in her vision catching and blurring. 

She had a final thought that this wasn’t normal. 

When Nesta woke again, the cave was quiet save for the crackling of the fire and Cassian’s steady breathing by her side. He was propped beside her against the wall of the cave. 

At first, she thought he might be asleep, but he opened his eyes and looked at her the moment she moved. His face swam in and out of her vision. 

His beautiful face.

Some emotion flickered across it and she wondered if she hadn’t spoken the words aloud. She thought she might be blushing, but her whole body felt hot. 

“Nesta, is there anything else in your bag that might help?” His voice was warped, the sound quiet and loud all at once. 

She wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Her mouth was so dry, her eyes hurt with the effort to keep them open as sharp fractals of firelight magnified and swam across her vision. She wanted to tell him to get the char root, but it was too late. Her mouth wouldn’t move with the words she wanted so badly for it to say. She could see plain as day the horror on his face as he watched her. 

Nesta would die here, not from some animal attack or a mythical beast, but from a simple infection and her own blasted stubbornness. 

She could feel his hand on her jaw, warm and large, nearly encompassing her entire face. 

“Please, Nesta. If there’s anything else…”

She opened her mouth. She wanted so badly to tell him. The thought hit her from the depths of her spinning consciousness. 

She didn’t want this to be the last time she saw him. 

She didn’t want to die in this cave. 

Her adventure wasn’t over. Her purpose not yet fulfilled. She hadn’t risked everything to die like this. 

“--ch–char.” She had no idea if she’d actually managed to say the words aloud until Cassian reacted.

He leaned in immediately. “What? Nesta, say it again.”

“Bag–root.” She tried to point but her hand barely moved. 

“There’s more char root in your bag?” It sounded like he was screaming the words as he moved, the air cold around her at his sudden absence. 

“ You stupid, stubborn woman… ”

She could have laughed at the words, but her consciousness was slipping again, the awareness like grains of sand in an hour glass, dropping through the hole one by one. Certainly, Cassian was not the only one who thought that about her.

She felt the gentle opening of her mouth, something wet and sticky and coarse dropping into it. 

“Chew it, Nesta. Chew and swallow.” She tried. 

Was she doing it? Was anything happening? 

She tried again. 

She could hear Cassian distantly cursing.

“Nesta, please… ”

The words drifted as she did, a pleasant feeling of rumbling nothing sweeping through her body. She tried, again and again, unsure if it was all in her mind or if anything was actually happening. Blissfully, the pain was ebbing, the reality of it all slipping away. There, in the firelight, she could only feel the warmth of a single bloodred wing embracing her. 

Am I already dreaming?

“Sleep, Nesta. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

+++

She could feel the strangling lace of the wedding dress beneath her fingers, the corset tight around her ribs and waist. She couldn’t see anything, the air around her opaque with something like a white, smoky haze.

It was hard to breathe, the strings pulling tighter and tighter as she fruitlessly tried to gulp lungfuls of air against the tugging on her chest. 

“Suck it in, Nesta.” The words rattled around in her mind. Not because of what they were, but because of who said them. She recognized that voice, though for years she’d only heard it in her nightmares. “Tomas won’t want a fat bride. Your chest doesn’t do you any favors.” 

Her mother tugged the corset tighter, tighter, until Nesta couldn’t breathe at all, the world spinning around her and the lace itching her skin raw. 

“Don’t. Please don’t make me do this.” She was crying, uncaring of who saw the break in her carefully curated walls. She would scream, cry, and beg on her knees if it got her out of this. “You know what he’s like, Momma. Please. Please.”

She felt the slap on her face, her skin burning up. 

“Pathetic.” The word echoed. 

Pathetic.

“You’re lucky he’s even still taking this deal.” Her mother’s voice hissed around her in the sightless gloom. “Feyre gone, the Archeron name sullied. Because of  you. You had a single job and you couldn’t do it. Pathetic.”

Pathetic. 

Unlovable. 

Couldn’t do it.

“You will serve him, Nesta. Whatever he wants.”

“No! Momma, please.” She went to turn but found she couldn’t, her hands dragging down as great chains bound her to the floor. “You know what he’s like. Don’t do this.”

Her chest heaved now with sobs. She grabbed for her mother’s dress in the haze like a child, casting her hands out into the void until she felt fabric.

“I’ll do anything. Anything. Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–”

“And it will be what you deserve.”

The air around her blustered, the fabric slipping from her hands and the smoke swirling. Her mother was gone.

It is what I deserve.

The words hung heavy. Her soul hung heavy. 

Someone grabbed her arms, the hands large and hot near her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if it was Cassian, here to save her again when she didn’t deserve it. But the voice in her ear was not his. 

“It is what you deserve.” She flinched by reflex, Tomas’ low voice creeping around the nape of her neck and making her recoil. “ I am what you deserve.”

She tore at the chains, but it was no use. She could feel him behind her, pressed against her back. He was closing in, and there was nothing she could do. No one left here for her. 

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this…”

But the words meant nothing. They never had. 

Nesta was there to serve a purpose, to fill a role, no matter what she might have wanted. She wasn’t wanted for her, only her name, her position, her family, her breeding potential. Never her. 

She sobbed again in the quiet haze, the hopelessness of her situation sinking in.

But nothing happened. 

The silence stretched on and on, no more threats or horrid words. Then Nesta realized the weight at her wrists was gone, the hands on her arms, too. There was a caress across her skin, soft as a breeze around her hands. She blinked her eyes open to find the haze had been replaced with a soft, orange glow. She could hear a muted crackling, like the low burning of logs on an open flame.

Am I by the fire?

She looked down. Around her hands fluttered a rope–no, a ribbon. It was the same orangeish red hue, glowing brightly, flickering around her hands as though it wanted her to grab it. It was warm when she wrapped her hands around it, solid to the touch. It pulled her forward, and she followed.

She felt warmth all around her now instead of the desolate clammy mist that had covered her before. There was a sense of safety as she moved through the cloudy brightness with the ribbon in her hands. 

I am safe here.

Wherever here was. The ribbon stopped tugging, disappearing into the glow.

Some part of her recognized that red suffusion of light, the comfort of it easing her tension and fear and replacing it with exhaustion. 

Here, I can sleep. Here, I can rest.

+++

Cassian

In the low light, Cassian watched her sleep. 

It was the softest he’d seen her since he met her, the peace on her face making her look exactly as young as she was. Her body was finally still, the twitching stopping as her fever began to break, that frantic worry that had filled him starting to ease off. Her head still rested on his thigh where he’d put it to keep an eye on her while she slept. There was something strangely enchanting about her now—lying there, still, her chest rising and falling with the slow, rhythmic ease of someone who didn’t need to fight.

Her breath caught lightly on an inhale, the tiniest snore Cassian had ever heard, and her lips stayed parted as the flickering firelight cast shadows across her skin.

Nesta Archeron.

What were the fucking odds?

He’d spent much of the last two days wondering exactly this. Cassian wasn’t one to put much stock into fate, but he wasn’t an idiot either. There had been so many moments in his life where the timing had been something spectacular, something nearly unbelievable, but nothing quite so stark as this. If he hadn’t heard her scream, if he hadn’t been slowed by his wings and flying over at that exact moment, he’d have passed right by this place–right over her. He refused to think of what would have happened to her if he’d been only moments later.

She murmured something he couldn’t make out, her lips dry and cracked. The urge to dip his fingers into the water skin and run them over her lips almost possessed him, but he already knew she’d be uncomfortable with the way she slept–he wasn’t going to push it. 

It didn’t take much to understand that Nesta didn’t allow many, if any, people to see her this way. The memory Rhys had shared with him had told him that much, certainly. Feyre probably knew her own sister better than anyone else, and she’d outright told them how closed off she was–how many walls she had up to prevent people from being let in. Cassian brushed a light touch over Nesta’s brow as it furrowed in sleep. It was sticky with sweat but cooling now, her fever finally broken. He breathed a sigh of relief at that, at least. 

He’d been almost sure that they were too late. 

Stubborn, willful woman. 

His eyes studied her face again as they had at every opportunity since he’d met her. Stubborn, willful, beautiful woman. 

She’d refused the char root, lied about having it, all because she didn’t trust him. He understood–he’d probably have done the same in her situation. Strangely, she reminded him so much of Azriel that it had knocked the breath from him more than once. But still, the lack of trust stung more than he cared to admit. When he’d come back to the cave to find her looking like death, he’d panicked. He hadn’t smelled the infection on her, the cloying mint of the poultice covering the decay of gangrene in her skin. She’d been feeding him and caring for his injuries all this time, and he’d missed how badly she was hurt. 

She’d done a good enough job of covering it that Cassian didn’t doubt a word Feyre had shared about her. This was a woman used to hiding her own suffering through any and all means. And when she’d let him finally see the severity of it, he’d nearly passed out himself. 

How had a human been functioning on this leg? He’d fought wars with men that this injury would have incapacitated. He’d done what he could, taking great care to clean and dress it as well as possible while she grit her teeth in pain. He’d lost her a few times, the pain of it all slipping her off to somewhere else, compartmentalizing the agony in her mind. But the way she’d looked at him when she was lucid, her small hand gripping him for dear life…

It had done something to Cassian– changed something within him. 

The moment when he saw her resolve flutter, that ice-cold exterior cracking just enough to let him in, had nearly undone him. Now, as he stroked a hand lightly across her hair, smoothing it away from her face, he knew that was true. In the short time since he’d plummeted from the sky, he had become strangely attached to this fierce human woman–his High Lady’s sister. 

Even human, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Nesta reminded him of sharpened steel, the beautiful glint of a newly hewn sword or dagger. She reminded him of the tearing winds off Ramiel’s face, the glittering ice on the way up. She was jagged edges and unyielding determination and grit and ferocity. But there was something hidden and soft about her that kept drawing Cassian closer. 

“She is distant and cold because she knows if she isn’t, then she can be hurt.” How long had it been since Nesta could relax? Strangely, Cassian wanted to be the one to see her let her guard down, and he somehow knew he’d do anything for it. 

She murmured in her sleep again, and he let his hand smooth her hair down. Silver eyes flickered back and forth beneath shut lids, and she whimpered low in her throat. He couldn't help himself from brushing another sweaty lock of hair from her forehead and letting his hand linger on her cheek. He wanted to soothe the worry away–take whatever it was that was haunting her and do anything he could to help her find some peace.

She calmed again, her body relaxing against him and the hard stone of the floor as he tugged the blanket back up that she’d shrugged off. At least they were out of danger. He leaned his head back against the cave wall and closed his eyes. His wings rustled, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn’t believe the speed with which she’d mended them, no pause or hesitation in her methods. As a human, she’d likely never seen anything even remotely like his wings before–she probably hadn’t known for more than the weeks she’d spent in Prythian that creatures like him existed at all. Still, she’d stitched them together, holding him down with one arm while he’d writhed in the strangest combination of pain and overwhelming arousal that he’d ever experienced. Her fingers had been strong but delicate, the touch of them sending him into some mental space he’d never quite entered before. No one touched his wings but him. Even when he’d been injured in the past, he’d been knocked out while they were fixed. But he hadn’t stopped her. He didn’t regret it. 

And he couldn’t help but prod her when she’d understood what was happening–couldn’t resist teasing out that beautiful blush that crept up her neck to her high cheekbones. But the way she’d touched them, cared for them…it had felt intimate beyond belief. Instead of feeling vulnerable or snapping, Cassian had felt so oddly safe under the care of this prickly woman he’d only just met, even with her sharp-barbed words. 

He sighed, reaching out with his mind again in the silence of the cave to find only a foggy darkness. 

Rhys…

He’d been trying since the first night, only to be met with nothing but eerie, heavy quiet. It reminded him too much of the way things had been for the last five decades, and it made him so uncomfortable he itched. Either the distance or The Middle was interfering, but regardless, nothing was getting through. 

Would they come for him eventually? They had no way to know where he had landed, no way to know he hadn't made it to The Human Lands. They hadn’t even set up any check ins, assuming that he wouldn’t run into any difficulties. When would they start to wonder? Would they find them walking north to Illyria? Hopefully, by the time they reached a friendlier court, he could reach out to Rhys somehow and get help.

Abruptly, Nesta cried out, her body trying to curl in on itself so violently that Cassian lurched forward to keep her head from hitting the floor. 

“Please… Please! ” Her voice was anguished, the cries desperate as they fell from her mouth. 

“I’ll do anything. Anything.” She cried out again, and it was all Cassian could do to hook an arm around her shoulders to keep her still. He ran a thumb in circles over her shoulder, trying hard to be a soothing presence. He’d had his experiences with char root enough times to know that attempting to wake someone during the nightmares was a horrible idea. Still, he held her through it, hoping that the gentle rocking motion would soothe her rather than frighten her further.

“ Please, Momma. He’ll break me, he’ll–” The words echoed in the cave as she whimpered, her voice sounding so frail and unlike her. But it was the words themselves that made Cassian see red. 

Who had hurt her? Who had this fearsome woman of steel and stone so frightened that she ran from them in her worst nightmares? He’d seen the way she’d reacted when he’d lost his temper and slammed his fist into the cave floor–had seen the way she drew back into herself like she had to remember where she was. Nesta had been hurt by someone–likely a man–and the thought brought such wrath and fury to the surface of Cassian’s consciousness that he needed to force himself to take a breath.

Someone had hurt her, and the thought sent his feelings careening into a rage he’d rarely felt off the battlefield. Her nose and brow scrunched, almost as if in pain, and the glint of a single tear at the corner of her eye almost pushed him over the edge. 

He needed to rein it in for her. She was vulnerable. She didn’t need his wrath, she needed his comfort. He leaned down to whisper the words in her ear, brushing the tear away as it made a track down her temple.

“You’re safe, Nesta. You can rest.”

Though she didn’t wake, she seemed to calm at the words, a deep, shuddering exhale leaving her. 

“I’ll keep you safe.” The words left him without him even thinking about it, as though he hadn’t meant to say them at all. But he had the bone-deep knowledge immediately that he meant them. That he’d do anything to make sure that she wasn’t harmed. He’d come here for Rhys and Feyre, but there was no doubt in his mind that, now, he was here for Nesta.

Still asleep, her hand shot up to grab at his where it rested on her shoulder, her small fingers twisting to interlock with his like she needed the contact, the anchor. Her pulse beat against his fingers, the fluttering of it like the thumping of a wild rabbit in a trap. Slowly, it returned to normal, her breathing evening back out as whatever nightmare plagued her faded away. 

Once she was settled, he relaxed back against the wall again. Even though she was asleep, even though it meant nothing, she had trusted him. His heart pulsed strangely at the sentiment, a warmth that he wasn’t familiar with beating through his veins. Once she woke, her walls would rise again, as if nothing had changed–he wasn’t foolish enough to think otherwise. Her harshness would return, the distance between them would widen, and the woman who had let him care for her would be gone. But for now, in the firelight, she was beautiful beyond words—soft, unguarded, and safe enough that she’d let him care for her in a way she wouldn’t let anyone else.

It wasn’t long before he was falling asleep to the steady beat of her heartbeat against his skin. 

+++

Nesta’s eyelids felt like stone and dust as she blinked back into consciousness. 

Her head felt heavy and clouded, her tongue a useless weight in her mouth. 

How long have I been asleep?

She was immediately aware of what had occurred, remembering the char root that she’d taken by force at the last possible moment. 

Stupid, Nesta. So incredibly stupid. 

She was already more lucid than she had been before, painfully aware now of how close she’d come to irreparable damage for her pride. She took stock of her body as she blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Her body ached, her thigh tender, and her skin itched with the sensation of dried sweat. 

Lovely. 

Her fever must have broken in the night, the steady orange light of the fire the only thing illuminating the cave. As her vision returned, she realized that she was staring at the rocky ceiling, the stone jagged above her head as it caught the flickering shadows. Her head was on something soft and warm, her neck cradled on the material like a pillow. Then the pillow moved. 

She startled, her body jerking to attention as though she’d been shocked. She had been resting on Cassian’s lap, her head cradled on one of his thighs as she slept. 

Her body recoiled sharply, but everything spun madly around her and the arm she’d tried to use wasn’t supporting her weight. The nausea was so overwhelming that she thought she might vomit, might fall straight into it after, but two hands lightly gripped her shoulders. 

She remembered her dream. 

But these hands weren’t rough, weren’t hard on her skin. 

She thought she’d panic, but she didn’t feel trapped. The hands were large, warm, but they supported her. They didn’t drag her down, but eased her, turning her gently. She recognized his voice. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe. Take it easy.”

She could see his blurry face swim in her vision as she felt her body eased back to the cave floor. His eyes–beautiful eyes–looked so concerned, so relieved. It was a balm on her frenzied thoughts, a reprieve to the terror. 

It’s what you deserve.

The words were heavy and acidic, but they also felt hollow and far away as they were drowned out by “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

She relaxed into her bedroll on the cave floor, her eyes still feeling swollen and her emotions raw. 

“You’re okay, Nesta. All healed.”

She tried to nod, his voice reassuring in the near dark.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

She pulled at her wrists, and though they moved strangely, distantly, she could tell that they weren’t chained. She could feel the light linen of her top and not the stifling, tight lace of a dress and corset. 

Safe. 

She sighed. 

Cassian was quiet for a moment while she came back into her body before he asked, “Why didn’t you take the char root?” There was no accusation left in his voice, just genuine concern. 

She tried to open her mouth to speak, but it felt filled with ash and dirt. She cleared her throat and tried again, only to feel him pressing the mouth of the water skin to her lips. She drank, and it tasted better than anything she could remember. 

When she’d had her fill, she tried again. “It made me hallucinate before. I was unconscious for hours.”

“And you were scared.” It wasn’t a question.

“How long was it?”

“About ten hours.”

Ten hours. He’d sat with her for ten hours. 

“It’s healed?”

“You’ll have a nasty scar, but it’s healed.” He spoke the words tightly. There was no levity in his voice. “You didn’t trust me.” 

A statement. A fact. She tried to ignore what was plainly hurt in his voice, and she also ignored the way it made her feel empty in her chest, horrid. 

She didn’t answer for a while, her dream fresh in her mind. “You’re a stranger.”

He wasted no time in response. “I would never hurt you.”

She fought the urge to scoff, refusing to look at him. “You’re a man.”

“No, I'm a male.”

“What’s the difference?” The words were biting, but the interest was genuine, even as she faded between waking and dreaming.

“I am not mortal. We do not function the same ways as human men, and so we don’t call ourselves men.” He answered the question as though it were simple information everyone knew. She didn’t see the difference. All men, and likely all males, were the same. 

“Do males not feel entitled to take?” She shot the question with barbs, her hurt more evident that she wanted it to be, but it was out before she could stop it. 

Still, Cassian's words were soft when he answered. “Some might, but I do not. I would not.”

She didn’t expect the boundless bubble of emotion that emerged in her throat at the response. He said it so assuredly, so matter-of-factly. In his voice, she could hear the pity, and she hated it. She knew what it meant. 

She couldn’t respond, just shut her eyes, the exhaustion so bone deep that she thought she might actually cry. 

I would not.

After silence that stretched so long she worried he’d left, he spoke quietly but firmly. “You can trust me, you know.”

I know , she wanted to say–the reaction immediate. Against her better judgement, she did know it. Some deep layer of her felt it.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true.

Instead, she let her breaths even out. 

She wouldn’t acknowledge it aloud, wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him. But she would try to believe him, allowing herself the privilege of safety to drift back into a dreamless sleep.

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

Notes:

This little story has been stuck in my head for almost a year. It’s taken more than one change of direction over the last months until I was happy with where it was going. I hope you'll enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And if you want to leave kudos or a comment—no matter if it’s an emoji or several long paragraphs—that would make my whole month.

I also want to say a huge THANK YOU to the wonderful @baronessblixen!

If it hadn’t been for her, and her constant encouragement to continue working on this story and her questions about its progress, I'm sure this story wouldn't be the same. Your input and excitement for this spark of an idea during a Sunday evening chat about something completely unrelated was invaluable. Thank you, my friend!

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | @today-in-fic

Chapter 1: To the Place I Belong

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C. FBI Headquarters – Bullpen Friday, November 27th, 1998, 3:30 pm

“Any plans for the weekend, Scully?” Mulder placed a sunflower seed between his teeth and looked at Scully questioningly. He leaned back in his desk chair, slowly bouncing backward and forward, returning Scully’s questioning glance with an innocent look.

Mulder was completely bored after spending days doing nothing but paperwork and sorting files. He knew Scully was bored too, even though she didn’t mind doing reports half as much as he did.

Scully reached for her coffee cup and sipped the hot liquid, closing her eyes in appreciation. Mulder grinned; he loved watching Scully enjoy her coffee. Mulder could tell she was frustrated by their punishment, which was exactly what was happening. They were being punished. This was also why he had started making an extra effort to get her a cup of coffee just like she wanted every morning and afternoon. She had stoically navigated his frustration with their current situation over the last few months, keeping him in line. And it hadn’t been that long ago that he had had to reassure her that she played a major role in his life. If getting the perfect coffee for her made her happy, he was all for it.

Scully opened her eyes and hummed appreciatively before looking back at him, and he gave her a knowing look. She blushed a bit but didn’t avoid his gaze, her eyes full of warmth. “Did you finish calling the letters ‘H’ and ‘I’ already, or are you planning on spending YOUR weekend catching up?” she quipped and turned back to her keyboard.

“I don’t care about any ‘E’s and ‘I’s. No one is going to follow up on this, anyway. They just want to keep us busy and off any real cases!” he said emphatically, pushing off the floor with his foot and bouncing his chair back and forth again.

“’H’ and ’I’, Mulder. Not ’E’ and ’I’. You did the ’E’s’ last week already. Remember that report I had to rewrite for you because you couldn’t help but add your opinion on why you consider this pointless?” Scully took a new file off of the pile and gave it a cursory glance before sighing.

“Aha! See? You’re just as bored by this as I am, Scully!“

She slowly rotated her shoulder and neck before turning back around to him. “I never said I wasn’t. Of course, this is pointless. None of these people ever so much as stole a chewing gum, much less organized a terrorist attack. But the more we protest, the longer they’re going to keep us assigned to this, and we’ll never get the X-Files back.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s just focus on getting this over with. If we keep our feet still long enough, they might trust us with the X-Files again.” She smiled tightly, and he knew she was trying to sound confident.

He gave her a long look before sighing and turning back to his overflowing pile of folders. “I hope you’re right, and we’re not wasting our time expecting they’ll forget about us.”

He knew Scully was hoping for the same. He despised sitting around, working on senseless tasks, following up on even more useless information when he could be on the road or talking to people who had actually seen something related to the truth.

“Well, at least Kersh didn’t make you recheck your report this time. Maybe he’ll give up sooner than later,” Scully joked, looking away from her monitor for a second.

“Yeah. By the way, thanks for going over it. I doubt I’d have gotten the same reaction to my original draft. You’re a lifesaver!” Mulder gave her a half-smile and pursed his lips.

She returned his smile with one of her own before turning back to her task.

“So, about those weekend plans—” Mulder began, only to be cut off by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?” he said into the receiver, grimacing at Scully when he recognized the voice of Kersh’s assistant. “Yes, we’ll be right there,” he clipped before hanging up and getting up from his chair, grabbing his jacket. “We’re expected in the Deputy Director’s office asap, Agent Scully,” he parroted, not waiting for her before taking off towards the open reception area of Kersh’s office.

He could hear Scully sigh, but she followed him without comment. What now? he wondered. Nothing good ever came out of being called into their boss’s office.

Office of Deputy Director Alvin Kersh

“Have a seat, Agents,” Kersh greeted them without looking up from his note-taking. His tone was as unreadable and impersonal as ever.

Mulder glanced at Scully, but she wordlessly took one of the two seats in front of their boss's desk.

The minutes passed slowly, and Mulder counted the ticking of the analog clock hanging on the wall at the side of the office, which signaled the passing of time. Kersh was making them wait, and Mulder hated every second of it. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if they were keeping him from his work, Kersh looked up and put his pen aside.

“I have a new assignment for you,” he began, giving them both a calculating look. When neither agent reacted, he slid a thick brown folder across the desk towards them. “There have been reports of some nighttime activities down at the Waterfront Resort. I want you to investigate those reports and ensure that nothing illegal is going on there.”

Mulder reached for the file and started to read the top sheet. The more he read, the angrier he got. “Nighttime activities, sir? From what I’m reading here, there have been reports of some kids staying out past their curfew down there. That’s not an actual assignment, a security guard could easily take care of this.” He angrily snapped the file shut and threw it back on the desk.

Kersh’s eyes narrowed, and his tone became even colder if that was possible. “What is an assignment and what isn’t is still something for me to decide, Agent Mulder. Are we clear on that?”

Scully quietly cleared her throat and reached for the folder. “Yes, sir. Agent Mulder and I will take care of this.” She quickly got up from her chair, placing her hand on Mulder’s arm.

Kersh nodded, his eyes still piercing Mulder’s with a cold glare. “Very well, Agent.” He took his pen back in his hand and began writing again, dismissing them wordlessly.

Mulder stood up abruptly, and for a moment he was tempted to have Kersh have it. He was so tired of being roadblocked every step of the way. A gentle squeeze of Scully’s hand on his arm kept him quiet, though, and with a last glance at their boss, he turned around and headed for the door.

FBI Headquarters – Bullpen

Mulder watched as Scully sank into her office chair, her exasperation clear. Another day, another senseless task, he thought.

Mulder frustration was close to exploding. The longer they worked under Kersh, the worse it seemed to get. Scully glanced over at him, and Mulder realized he had been morosely staring at his monitor. He started to bounce his leg, trying to get rid of some of his anger. He’d definitely have to go for a long run tonight, he mused, or his head would explode.

“Mulder, stop fidgeting!” Scully slapped her hand on his bouncing knee, forcing the offending appendage to stop moving.

Mulder sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stay still. “I just hate this, Scully. We’ve been sitting around, doing nothing, for weeks now.” He slowly moved his head from his left shoulder to his right, trying to stretch out the stiff muscles. “And now this! We both know this assignment is just to keep us sidelined. I don’t know how long I can stand waiting around! What are they even planning to do with us at this point?”

Scully nodded, her own frustration evident. “I don’t know, Mulder. I just know fidgeting is not going to change anything. What I do know, however, is that we have to play along for now, or this is going to escalate even higher up, and then we won’t ever get the chance to get the X-Files back.”

Mulder turned to face her directly. “It’s just so frustrating! We should be investigating real cases, not watching some teenagers commit the unspeakable crime of underage drinking.”

Scully gave him a sympathetic look. “I know, Mulder. And I’m just as frustrated as you are. I didn’t choose the FBI to do this kind of grind work either. I want to find the truth just as much as you do.”

Mulder didn’t reply, his eyes firmly fixed on Kersh’s reception area, where the Deputy Director had just appeared and had started laughing with his assistant. Mulder deflated once again, dropped back in his office chair, and gave Scully a pointed look. Kersh had them right where he wanted them.

Scully returned his look grimly before turning back to the folder with their assignment and started rubbing her temples.

He watched her for a few long moments before jumping up and grabbing her arm, pulling her with him. She let him drag her out of her chair, hissing, “Mulder, what are you doing?!” while taking a cursory glance around the large office space. No one was paying them any attention.

Mulder reached for his jacket from the back of his chair, shrugging it on. “This assignment is going nowhere. I’m pretty sure no one has even glanced at this file in the last several weeks. Let’s get out of here, Scully.” He grabbed his keys from his desk and slipped them into his pants pockets before putting his arm on her shoulder, squeezing softly.

She gave him a long look before sighing. “Might as well,” she added, grabbing her coat and putting it on.

Mulder placed his hand against her lower back, and together they walked down the hallway towards the elevator.

[reve-de-sang]

prompts open for a bit!

i’m taking some prompts for ficlets; any rating, whatever you’re feeling, offer includes snippets or AUs of works i’ve already posted. am open to giving a shot at any pairings. (you can post prompts in the comments here [anon open rn if you prefer], or over on that ao3 entry) ETA: prompts closed for now

loustat, prompt: intensity. HSAU w violinists nicki, lestat, and louis

While Dr. Fenwick was chewing out another section in the orchestra, Louis tended to zone out, starting at and through the sheet music. His new section mate, Lestat, tended to be restless. Fucking around with his rosin. Endlessly adjusting the stand. Switching between perfect posture and exasperated slouching. Ever-so-softly plucking his strings held close to his ear to needlessly tune his violin. Was the tension on his bow right?

Louis noted Lestat’s boyfriend—first chair of the first violins (Lestat and Louis were to the back of the second violins)—used the time more productively: shadow-bowing the piece while they waited. Practicing fingerings. Okay, yes—making sure his violin was as in-tune as it could possibly be.

If Nicki wasn’t so gloomy, Louis would kind of hate him. Louis wished he had something he was as passionate about as Nicki was the violin, and so lauded for it. But as intense as Nicki was about his craft, and despite the accolades, there was always a cloud over his head.

It was usually a short amount of time during a wait before Lestat started tormenting Louis.

“It’s just,” Lestat whispered out of nowhere to Louis, both of them obediently staring straight ahead, “I feel like if Holden Caulfield explored the body of another guy instead of whatever that was, it would’ve been an entirely book. No angst.”

“Yes. An entirely different book.” Louis whispered dryly. “…Did you even read it?”

The violas started playing the passage they were getting reamed over, and Lestat waited them out.

“I read most of it,” he breathed, when silence (aside from Dr. Fenwick growling) descended again. Dr. Fenwick snatched a viola from a student to demonstrate how not to fail.

“Then you missed the orgy,” Louis murmured after Dr. Fenwick finished. He idly wondered if their fellow violins could hear them, or if they really did have privacy, hushed as they were.

“Bullshit,” Lestat huffed.

“Look—” Louis cut his eyes to Lestat subtly, and Lestat was startled enough by Louis actually instigating conversation that he glanced over. “What’s up with Nicki? Something wrong? He’s always so…?”

Nicki was currently half-hunched over, violin pressed to his thigh, the scroll pressed to his forehead as if in prayer, bow lax in his hand.

Lestat sighed, shifted in his seat. “He is grieving because the f-holes in his violin are too small to fuck.”

That did startle a short laugh out of Louis.

Dr. Fenwick turned on them.

—

After class, Nicki packed up and left quickly, leaving Lestat behind. He’d been doing that lately, Louis noted.

Louis walked over to Lestat. Louis shifted the violin case strap on his shoulder as he looked down at Lestat, who was sitting on the floor, idly loosening the tension on his bow.

“He doesn’t know how to break up with me,” Lestat said, securing his bow and closing up his case. “His parents are very serious about his music. He is very serious. I am not. —But I am kidding myself: he is mostly just angsting about which school he’s going to after he graduates.”

“But…you are serious? I mean—you used to be with the first violins; what happened?”

“I got bored.” Lestat gave him a sly smile.

“Oh.”

They walked slowly out of the hall. It had been the last class of the day.

“I am not as serious as him. That becomes exhausting.”

Louis was under the impression Lestat was also a theater kid, so maybe he’d just rather focus on—

“And you were in the second violins.”

Louis glanced up from where he’d been staring through the shiny linoleum as they walked. “—What?”

“You were in the second violins,” Lestat repeated with a smile.

Lestat was fucking with him. “Uh huh. …You’re saying you performed exactly poorly enough a couple weeks ago to get demoted to sit precisely next to me,” Louis said slowly.

“Orchestra is more fun now, don’t you think?”

Louis glanced at him, uncertain. “Uh. Yeah?” He adjusted the strap of his case over the strap of his backpack. “But you’re gonna get us murdered by Dr. Fenwick.”

“Come over to my place tonight to practice, and I won’t say anything to make you laugh next time.” Lestat was watching him as they walked, his easy smile and his steady eyes.

Louis’s mind was racing. Was Lestat— Louis wasn’t out of the closet. Louis had homework. Mama wasn’t going to just let him go to some guy’s house to practice tonight. No way was Louis going to get to borrow the car. Louis wasn’t out of the closet.

Lestat was incredibly hot, Louis had always thought so, the way Lestat had flirted with him these past two weeks always lit him up warm inside, Louis had been beside himself when Lestat had been seated next to him, Lestat always smelled incredible, he would get to see Lestat’s bedroom, what if—what if Lestat was actually asking him out.

Louis was in the closet.

Louis glanced at him. “Sure, okay.”

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand. 

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?” 

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded. 

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember. 

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go. 

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily. 

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?” 

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously. 

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind. 

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds. 

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing. 

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well. 

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look. 

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it. 

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot. 

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty. 

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called. 

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter. 

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was. 

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area. 

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place. 

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?” 

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second. 

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing. 

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh. 

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?” 

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw. 

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?” 

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do. 

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.” 

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down. 

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream. 

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine. 

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while. 

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?” 

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked. 

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face. 

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” 

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself. 

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.” 

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him. 

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole. 

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again. 

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive. 

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was. 

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to… 

Fuck, wanting what? 

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed. 

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. 

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you. 

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table. 

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?” 

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you. 

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.” 

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of ​​doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?” 

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it. 

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you. 

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs. 

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.” 

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that. 

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.” 

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, ​​just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.” 

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was. 

“... You didn’t, I assume.” 

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, ​​but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.” 

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again. 

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.” 

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were. 

So you said something else to put him at ease. 

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.” 

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud. 

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said. 

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out. 

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.” 

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone. 

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh. 

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.” 

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.” 

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.” 

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them. 

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd. 

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little. 

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too. 

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it. 

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject. 

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control. 

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture. 

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.” 

That made you smile and almost made you cry. 

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there. 

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar. 

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun. 

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air. 

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in. 

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson. 

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence. 

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away. 

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila. 

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing. 

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home. 

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure. 

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.” 

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled. 

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.” 

“Right, okay. Got it.” 

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast. 

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration. 

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay. 

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?” 

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face. 

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.” 

And then he said something that made you waver even more. 

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.” 

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street. 

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

@dizzybee03

[space-writes]

hey! what does your writing process look like? how do you take something from an idea to a draft to Done?

hello!

my process varies a bit depending on the project, but it goes a little something like this:

have Idea

scribble notes about Idea until it starts getting unwieldy

do some form of planning or outlining - for oneshots that's usually just a bullet point rough outline of events in the writing document; for novels it's anything from a document outline to multiple documents of planning and world/character building

write a rough draft as fast as humanly possible. square brackets everywhere. literally putting every thought possible on the page

then I usually like to let it sit for a bit - for small projects that's usually like a few days to a few weeks; for bigger ones i like to let it sit for a lot longer

the second draft is always a full rewrite: literally writing the Entire Thing, Word By Word, Again. I like doing this because it helps me not just get complacent about what I wrote 'ehhh it's good enough' and also helps me figure out re-ordering of things like scenes and story beats without feeling stressed about messing up what I've already written

(usually before I do a second draft I'll write some notes on what I want to change - again, for oneshots this is a small bullet list; for novels it's a fuckoff mchuge bullet list.)

then I enter the endless phase of 'read the thing, comment mark it with things I want to fix -> fix the comments -> repeat until I can't find any more mistakes'

then I'll leave it a bit (or not, if i'm impatient), and go in and do a pass for all the crutch words I lean on - and usually i have a list of ones that i've used too much in the particular project as well - and cut the ones that aren't doing anything useful

and then the final stage is spelling, grammar, and I used to read it aloud myself but now i found a TTS program that does it for me which has been EVEN BETTER than reading aloud, because I can read the thing with my eyes closed and thus 'see' all my words in a completely new light. seriously, this is maybe the thing that helps fix awkward phrasing the MOST

then, because my final stage is normally posting on AO3, i'll throw the story up, read it through in draft form on my phone one last time to catch any last minute fuck ups before i hit post

somewhere in there i'll do research if i need to for specific things, and if my beta is free i get them to look it over (usually they're busy so i just throw things at the internet anyway)

i do a lot of passes! it's kind of a lot of work, but I know my process well enough by now to know where things are in the pipeline, and if they need an extra redraft, or more structural work, or more prose polishing or whatever

with my novels I have a big list of things to look out for gleaned from various craft books as well, along with troubleshooting methods for when i get stuck, so if the story needs those I do those

(and then there's AQoT, which i had to leave marinating for almost a year while i chewed the Big Problem over in my brain four hundred times until i had enough distance from the frustration of the third draft to actually come back and fix it)

anyway that was. a lot. i hope it's vaguely interesting!

(and feel free to jump in with your process - as can anyone else reading this, i love seeing how people Work Differently. usually bc i'm looking for Methods To Steal)