#because I just know he wants to commit to his job

[midniqhtt]

comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. 

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @starktonyx II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. 

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

[catthestampede]

I was gonna post this ao3 free but I decided just posted here 

Cottontail or Cottonhead

Danny first got into the business when he was eight.

His parents forgot him—again—at a paranormal convention. By the time they remembered, it had been two weeks.

Jazzy was away at camp, and they only noticed he was missing when she got back.

Those two weeks? Well, they were interesting, to say the least.

Somehow, he ended up being picked up by an assassin. And apparently, he and a group of them decided to see how good this kid really was.

Surprisingly, ghost hunting and assassin work are pretty similar. Ghost hunting and mercenary work? Basically the same thing.

And deep down, Danny’s always been a commit-to-the-bit kind of boy.

So he committed. He ended up gaining a reputation—one of the best child assassins out there. So good, in fact, that no one even knows his real name.

Or what his face really looks looks.

No one needs to know it’s because of stranger danger that no one knows his name—

or that he was going through a phase where he thought surgical masks were the coolest thing ever.

By the time he left, he knew things no eight-year-old should know.

⸻

The next year, history repeated itself.

And then again the year after that—but this time, Danny actually went out of his way to get jobs. Because, well…

The bills were piling up. Mom and Dad weren’t paying them—again.

Jazz tried her best, but at the end of the day, she was only two years older than him. Way too young to handle all of this.

On top of that, she was focused on getting good grades so she could earn a scholarship for college.

Danny tried to make money, but no one really wanted to hire a “freaky Fenton.”

So, when it came time for the convention?

He made up some excuse about summer camp.

Instead of two weeks, he got six. And by the end of it, he’d taken the lives of nine men.

Made more than enough money to cover him and Jazz for the rest of the year—until next summer.

He wouldn’t say he felt particularly good about it. But he didn’t really feel anything at all.

He Googled the men later, trying to find some reason to feel guilty. He didn’t.

He felt more guilt about not feeling guilt than anything else.

⸻

Time passed. By the time he was twelve, he was well known in the underworld.

He even got a nickname: The Killer Cottontail.

He’s not sure how to feel about that. But it’s too late to change it now.

He’s pretty sure it started as “Copperhead,” but was changed to “Cottontail” because of how young and cute he looked—which, rude.

(In reality, he got the nickname because the white part of his shirt always poked out of the back of his jacket like a rabbit tail.)

All in all, though? Not the worst way his life could’ve gone.

⸻

He met Bruce Wayne when he was eleven.

Danny had been hired to kill a man named Mr. Pennyworth.

Bruce thought Danny was there to kill him—which was kind of self-important, but also a reasonable assumption, he guessed.

The man panicked and offered to pay him ten times his original rate. Danny would’ve been a fool to say no.

He gave Bruce a business card and left.

⸻

Apparently, that day started a very weird relationship.

That card had a connection to Danny’s business phone, and Mr. Bruce apparently took it as an invitation to text him.

For “jobs.”

Which apparently included fetch quests… and sending pictures of his dog.

In all fairness, Ace might actually be the best dog in existence.

Danny will never not respond to pictures of that dog.

Bruce also hired him for smaller tasks like:

• Get information on Penguin’s goons

• Capture this criminal and turn him in

• What do you know about this underworld figure?

Danny enjoys the relationship, though he constantly has to remind himself to stay professional.

Also, Mr. Bruce is way smarter than he looks—or acts.

Several mercenaries have warned him about that. When Danny brought Bruce up once, Mr. Deathstroke got a weird look on his face—like he knew something but wasn’t saying it.

So Danny’s always careful about what he says around Mr. Bruce.

⸻

That odd little relationship lasted about six months.

A few days after Danny’s twelfth birthday, Bruce called him in for another job.

It was weirdly simple.

Bruce wanted him to babysit his newest kid.

Danny has no idea if Bruce realizes how insane that is.

Or that said “kid” is a trained assassin. And kind of a little punk.

Maybe Danny should introduce Bruce to How I Met Your Mother and the whole “crazy-hotness” scale, because wow—Talia al Ghul is definitely on the crazy end.

Normally, Danny wouldn’t leave Jazz alone for more than a couple of days.

But she’s staying the rest of the winter with a friend out of state.

Her school turned digital for the next 3–4 months while the building gets repaired. (Mom and Dad really need to stop jumping straight to missile-grade ghost weapons. Start with something small, maybe?)

So, for the next few months, Danny’s going to be babysitting Damian Wayne during his first days of school.

Joy. 😩

Still—it’s good money. Enough to help Jazz’s college fund. Maybe even enough to start his own.

In two days, he starts his new job for the next three months 

@bluebird8683

"I'll pay you 10 times the amount you were given to take me out." Bruce Wayne is, very out of character, super serious and looking at him so intense.

Danny isn't paid enough to figure out why the supposed himbo isn't acting like it.

"You know what? Yeah. Deal." He fishes his phone out, accepting the money transfer and calls his boss for the day.

"Heyyy big guy– yeah‐ I know... anyway! I'm not killing Bruce Wayne, you should find someone different to do it— bye!" And he hangs up, cutting the shouting with a grin.

"If you ever, and I mean, ever need someone out of the way, call me."

He happily hands his contact information to the billionaire and swoops out of the window.

He is rich! So mega rich!

("Did you just buy the mercenary?"

"He's a kid! I panicked!"

"At least you got a phone number??")

[vintage-brass-tc]

I was missing 🌭 considerably, then a thought hit me in a flash.

I thought back to the person he was, and remembered his highly esteemed traits: his pride in his career path; his professionalism; his realistic, rational train of thought; his all-or-nothing sense of devotion; his ability to maintain his composure in any situation.

And I’ve gathered that 🌭 is a man of honor. He is someone to be respected— in fact, he commands respect everywhere he goes. He’s by no means a stranger to taking charge, and thus, I have never seen the man take a break. He is very skilled at his craft and he devotes practically all of himself into what he does as a director and a musician.

Thinking back, I’ve only seen him interact super closely with his male students. And if he’s chatting with girls, it’s always in a group. In the situation he laughs and jokes with a girl, I’ve found that, for the most part, it’s only the girls who are already in a relationship, and he doesn’t let the conversation last for a while.

I’ve gathered that he has put everything into protecting his career and maintaining his position as a steadfast director and respectable leader.

That’s why any heartfelt or personal interaction we’ve had has been behind closed doors. And, even then, he would always keep a respectful distance. He would never offer physical reassurance, but instead would only touch me with his words and console me with his eyes, unless I explicitly asked him for permission to hug him.

I think the only time that he pulled me into a hug on his own whim was the last time I ever saw him. And, with the sides of our faces pressed together in our side-hug, he addressed me with an endearment and wished me well.

His murmured words and tight embrace were a reflection of his heart… and the subtlety and efficiency of the otherwise time-stopping interaction was a reflection of the character he wants to maintain.

He’s exactly the kind of person who would sacrifice something good if it meant he was able to contribute to the betterment of other people by doing so. I realized that he was expending all of his effort into protecting me, and protecting himself.

…

Then, suddenly, I was fine with waiting.

[zuzus-ponytail]

‘so long london’ is about roku & sozin.

[moeblob]

I unfortunately picked up Bravely Default 2 again (I bought it back when it released) and then started over since I last played it in June 2021. And. You know what. I like these silly beans. And then I saw concept art for Dag's expressions and I am not the same. Why did they decide to give him huge fangs in it.

(also I'm trying so hard to avoid spoilers less for plot but more for characters so if you know anything that happens to characters shhhhh. also the expression concept is below the read more so you can see what I mean.)

[vaguely-concerned]

do you think arranging the little veilguard tableaus of npcs standing around together was fun. I think it would be fun. I would make up soooo many dumb intricate little stories for all of them while I was placing them around the map and no one playing the game would ever know about it. but I'd know. I'd know their stories

[mars-ipan]

tbh i think the number one most important thing about jealousy in a relationship is trust. i think you can be as jealous as you want so long as you have trust in the fact that your partner would not lie to you and is devoted enough to you to remain faithful to you. jealous people only attack the people they see as “threats” to their relationship because at the end of the day they don’t trust their partner to stick with them. that could stem from a personal insecurity or having been burned before but at the end of the day the issue is not the third party but instead their own lack of faith in their partner

[pwurrz]

quincy comforting yakumo and telling him he can sleep soundly knowing quincy will do everything in his power to keep eiden safe (even from him, as much as he doubts yakumo will lose control), so yakumo doesn’t have anything to worry about and he can finally get some rest

[inbabylontheywept]

the fine and subtle art of arguing with old men

it was a good week for testing which meant it was a slow week for me. most of my job is fixing the machine when it goes down. if it doesn't go down, i don't have much to do. 

fortunately neither did marc. in a site full of ornery old bastards, he's the oldest and the orneriest, so it goes without saying that i enjoy spending time with him. he reminds me of my grandpa. hell, he reminds me of a lot of people. i've befriended enough grumpy old men that i've got a sort of momentum to it now - you know how it is, when you meet someone that reminds you of someone else you really like. you get to start that friendship off half built, because you already have an idea of how to like that guy, and some of that old warmth can be brought to the new friendship. a little ember to start the stove up with.

(i think that's one of the really undersold beauties of getting older. you stop viewing people as strangers and more like remixes of friends.)

anyway, i was sitting next to marc and we were talking about the future. i've got my eye on having kids sometime soon (year or two? hopefully?), and he's very happy for me. i've tried asking him for advice, but all he says is that he didn't do a great job with his own kids and they still turned out okay, so i should stress less and trust myself more. i hope he's right. he believes it, at least, and it's a hell of a thing to have the faith of an old man. his faith is hard won.

as for his plans, he's retiring at some point in the next six months, and is hoping to sell his home and buy something in florida. he's republican, so he views the state as paradise, and i'm not inclined to even try talking him out of it. it's his dream, you know? i know for a fact my paradise would be a lot of people's hell. life's funny like that.

still, we kept going on, and it was a good time, and then he reminisced about the last time he got close to quitting - back around 2020. our job required getting vaxxed, and he refused, and there was a big kerfuffle about it before the job actually backed down. i know there's not a lot of sympathy for the unvaxxed out here, but the man's 62. you get the shot when you're under 30 to protect the people around you, but when you're over 60, you're just getting it to protect yourself and it's hard to be mad at someone for kicking their own ass. 

still gave me pause though. i knew he wasn't going to take it well, but half the job of collecting curmudgeons is keeping them around, so i said 

hey. i'm sorry they bent your arm over it, but.

but. 

you should really get that shot. 

and he looked over at me, and i looked at him, and he actually spat. not on me, just the concrete, but it was enough to show that he was mad. then he walked away, as abrupt as anything.

i felt bad about it. i wasn't sure what i'd expected, when he was willing to lose his job over it before, but i'd been so invested in his dream of retirement - the idea of him sipping margaritias on a beach next to his wife, the wife he calls every day during lunch, the wife he says is the one thing in life he ever got right on the first try. the wife that almost divorced him back when he was in the airforce because he just wasn't home enough. 

(but he can be home now.) 

and then he mentioned the vax thing, and it was like seeing a pin hit a balloon. he works out every day and takes all sorts of crazy vitamins and is generally committed to getting the most out of his pension and his life. i didn't want this dumb weak point to be his achilles heel. 

---

i wasn't actually sure how long marc would be mad at me. i've seen him stay mad at some people for weeks. i wasn't sure if being friends would make that time go up or down. 

it went down. i'm glad it went down. 

he stopped being mad about two days later. we were doing front end maintenance one morning, and it was just that simple mechanical rhythm - hex key, replace the anode sheets, punch some off-gassing holes, oil it up, put it back in - that put things at ease. it always does. people working there are too busy to remember grudges, and it has this sort of mandatory practical communication that helps smooth things over. it was going great, and then out of the blue he said babs, you gotta be careful giving advice. those shots come with complications. what would you do if i got that shot, had a stroke, and died? 

and i don't know what answer he was expecting, but i just told him the truth, which is that i would be devastated. i'd feel like i killed him. i thought that was a pretty normal response, but he looked taken aback. he asked why i said it then, and i said i'd have felt the same if he died of covid. that's just life. sometimes, there's no way forward that doesn't risk some kind of regret. 

we finished the tube after that, in a silence that felt heavier than peace but lighter than anger. it felt like the ball was back in marc's court. like it would be rude to take that turn from him. 

we parted ways with a nod and didn't speak until the next day. 

---

i was doing spreadsheet work when he found me again. standard paper engineering - thinking of things we might need and ordering them in batches, months ahead of time. it always feels a little like plugging holes in a dam with my fingers. 

but he popped up, and we didn't even exchange pleasantries. he just said i'm gonna die one day, and you can't blame yourself for that. 

which is a hell of a thing to just tell someone right off the bat. 

so i said what 

and he said babs, i am in my 60s. something is gonna get me eventually, and whether it's covid or heart disease, or a stroke, there will be something you could have said or done before. and that's okay. it's not your job to make me live forever. 

and you know, he actually made a lot of sense. so i said 

okay. 

i'll keep your business yours. i just

you were talking about your retirement before this. and i want that for you very much. you've worked hard for 45 years, and you deserve a break. we're getting to sick season, and it would be the saddest fucking thing in the world if you got this close to winning the race then tripped in the last ten feet. 

and we sat there a few moments longer. i wasn't sure what to say, and i wasn't sure what he'd say, but eventually he just shrugged and said

yeah 

then he left. i figured that would be the end of it. 

---

i did front end maintenance yesterday, after being gone a week. it's one of my favorite things to do. i like working with my hands. i really like working with my hands. i'm glad i went to college, but in a different life, i think i could've made a better electrician than an electrical engineer. 

and at one step, when we were both hoisting the plate back onto the machine, his sleeve rode up, and i saw two bandaids on his arm. 

we finished the install, and i was ready to go back when marc actually stopped me. 

i got the shot, he said, almost embarrassed. like he'd been caught. and i knew he was gonna say something dumb about it, so i just cut him off by giving him a hug. 

i was relieved. hugging old men is kind of like picking up cats. if they like you a lot, they'll tolerate it, but that's about it. we sat there maybe three beats before his hands went up, and then he gave me one overly-hard thump on the back. in my experience, this is how old men tell you that they're done, so i let him go.

carla talked me into it, he said, almost defensive. his wife. his one good decision.

tell her i said thanks, i said back.

trump got the shot too, he said, less defensive, but oddly pleading. like he was consoling himself.

like he was nervous.

then it's gotta be safe, i said, and he looked up at me, strangely searching, strangely vulnerable. i don't know exactly what he was looking for, but i guess he found it because after a few moments his shoulders relaxed.

yeah, he said, one hand on the back of his head.

it's gotta be.

[haologram]

dipped ⌁ c.sc [m]

↳ part of the carat bay collab!

⌁ synopsis: your summers since university have always been spent spinning in odd circles around town, pockets overflowing with cash - until your clerical 9-5 lays you off for 'spring cleaning.' luckily, you find a summer job fast: tending to the 'adults only' section of your local waterpark, and being at choi seungcheol's beck and call. ⌁ genre: stupid big dumb idiots to lovers ; angst, fluff, smut. ⌁ pairing: grad student!choi seungcheol x fem!lifeguard!reader ⌁ word count: 33.8k ⌁ rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ⌁ warnings: swearing, alcohol, smoking (weed), mentions of past sports-related injuries (seungcheol), one weird encounter with a creep (yn and seungcheol) ; wonpil + brian of day6 mentioned as side characters and i'm SORRY i LOVE wonpil + brian okay don't say shit to me ; seungcheol is a flirty fuck and very much rolls with the punches ; yn has many Issues™ (read: no contact with her parents, fucks her roommate, stands by girl code religiously (lies), has a weird relationship with aftercare) ; lots of calling people whores and sluts (listen...just...okay?) ; so. many. insults. ; mentions of joshua x reader because i love making things extra spicy ; yn does NAWWWT like seungcheol (yes she does) ; pet/nicknames: lifeguard barbie, babe, princess, etc || smut warnings: unprotected sex ; making out (they kiss...so much...free me), dry humping/grinding, nipple play (m/f. rec), body worship (m/f rec.) because it's not a haologram fic without body worship and nipple play ; oral (m/f rec.), handjob, fingering (f. rec), cumplay/swapping (?) ; kinda subby!cheol but it just depends on how you see it i guess ; begging ; missionary, creampie ; i think that's it! ⌁ what to listen to: bad romance - lady gaga ; yo voy - zion y lenox ; fear of water - noah kahan ; fine line - harry styles ; there is light in us - mathbonus ; the beach - the neighbourhood ; saturn - sleeping at last ; i'm gonna love you - d.o, wonstein. ⌁ author's note: preface: me posting this is not condoning gyucheol's recent behaviors [read my stance on it here + here.] i am fulfilling a commitment i made before they went on the showterview. that being said: i definitely lost the plot several times and i am so sorry for that :( this is officially seungcheol's debut on haologram! also apologies for the smut, i know it's ass. thank you to @camandemstudios for sponsoring this video fic, and thank you to my lovely wonderful amazing betas that didn't even get to read most of this because i'm insane: viv @heartepub ; aeris @aeristudios ; tomo @tomodachiii 💘 as usual, sun dividers by the lovely @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr! enjoy! (or don't....i don't care [as])

"SO YOU GOT LAID OFF. IT'S FINE, Y/N. WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT."

You hate to say it, but you don't think you've ever hated your roommate more than you do at this very moment.

"It's fine? Joshua, I'm fifteen thousand dollars in debt, okay? I have rent, I have groceries, I have to pay my phone bill! How am I supposed to get by without my job?!"

He looks over the magazine in his hand with a confused look, "Y/N, I pay all that stuff and I just sent in a check a few weeks ago for your student loans. We've been on the same phone plan since you cut off your parents, and you pay our light bill. Which is never over sixty dollars, because neither of us are ever home. Don't play with me right now."

"Joshua!"

He sighs, tossing the magazine back onto the coffee table as you cross your arms on your chest. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head, as if his reaction to this information is perfectly valid and you are the one getting your panties in a twist. Granted, it's only been a few hours since you got home from the horrible Friday of sitting at a desk and getting paid to do nothing but answer the phone and book one or two appointments – but you're in distress, damnit!

"What do you want me to say, Y/N? I've got you? Because you know I do." You hate the way your heart warms at that. It was true – Joshua was your best friend through and through. He'd saved you from so many odd situations – including the time you somehow let a pipe burst in your old student apartment, and he found a way to blame it on the university (read: coaxed Yoon Jeonghan to fuck up more parts of your apartment with a promise of letting him borrow his car for dates.) He'd been a huge rock in your years away from home, and when home was no longer home and your relationship with your parents crumbled.

Joshua was the only sense of home that you had left, and you'd be a fool not to recognize the fruits of his efforts: the apartment you both safely inhabited, the food in your belly and the unlimited storage plan he paid for that allowed you to download multiple oddball games of the Doodle Jump and Candy Crush nature. You huff, choosing to plop down on the couch next to him with a pout on your lip.

"But I like having my own money." You mutter. "It helps me feel like an adult that contributes to society."

"You are an adult that contributes to society, Y/N. Don't be so hard on yourself." He reminds you, before reaching for the television remote. You open your mouth to argue when a soft zztt sound is heard, leaving you and Joshua sitting in the darkness. There is a moment of silence before you feel Joshua shift next to you, the only light coming from the setting sun through the blinds. You put your head in your hands, before Joshua sighs.

"You're not serious." You look up slightly, peeking at him through your fingers. From the low light, you can see the furrow in his brows and it only makes you let out a noise of guilt.

"Sixty dollars, Y/N. You didn't have sixty dollars?" "...I spent it all." Your voice is meek, and he runs a hand over his face slowly, a heavy breath from his nostrils sounding in your ears before he crosses his arms.

"On what? What could have possibly been more important than the light bill? You know we can't cook without it, right?" You feel your face grow hot as he gives you a pointed look, and you sigh. You avoid his eyes as you clear your throat. "You remember when you came home last week and you asked me where your green hoodie was? And I told you it was in my drawer and then you…you found the, uh…" You feel your throat grow tight in embarrassment as his eyes widen, and he covers his face with his hand.

"Let me get this straight, okay? You mean to tell me, you spent your last sixty dollars on that stupid vibrator? You didn't pay our light bill because you wanted to…I can't even look at you right now." He shakes his head in disbelief, moving to stand up when you grab his arm.

"I'm sorry! It has sixteen different settings, you wouldn't understand–" "Y/N, why do you even need that many?!" You let go of his arm, crossing yours with a huff as you stare at your feet. "Can't a girl want options?" "When it's between jerking off and paying your light bill, you don't get a choice. How would you feel if I wasted our grocery money on one of those inflatable fuck dolls?" "Embarrassed, honestly. You're a good looking guy, you can do better." He scoffs out a laugh, and you try to swallow the humiliated laugh that's crawling up your throat but it only slips out the moment he turns back around to look at you. He covers his face, crouching by the side of the couch before running his fingers through his hair and giving you a pointed look. "You know what? I was going to take it easy on you, but you've really just left me no choice." He shakes his head, digging his phone out of his pocket as your eyes widen. You lurch forward, knocking him over in your attempt to grab it out of his hand as he wriggles away from you. "Shua, no!" "Shua, yes! Sixty dollars on a piece of plastic, Y/N! I don't even perceive you as a romantic entity and I could do better!" "Hey! It's silicone!" You shove his shoulder as he manages to click around his contacts, before the phone starts dialing. You manage to climb onto his chest, your legs straddling his torso as your thighs pin him in place, your hand knocking the phone out of his hand just as he presses the speaker button.

"Hello?"

Jeonghan.

"No! Jeonghan–" Joshua manages to flip the two of you over, quickly pinning your arms to your sides as he straddles you. You let out a strangled groan, attempting to kick his back as Jeonghan's staticky, cynical laugh rings through his phone.

"Han, please tell me you still need a lifeguard to take over your spot this summer." Joshua breathes out, semi-out of breath as you manage to free one of your hands, reaching up and twisting his nipple through his shirt. He squeals, pushing your hand away and pinning it above you on the floor as you let out an aimless scream.

"Joshua, I'll see you on Monday, alright? Stop torturing that poor girl, she pays your light bill."

"That's the thing, Jeonghan! She didn't, so you have to let her take your spot. Please! I'll even shell out another week of paid vacation time for you!" Another thing about Joshua? Aside from the incredible efforts he put forth into your friendship, your roommate was also known to manage a waterpark with Yoon Jeonghan every summer; just six miles from your apartment was Carat Bay, where he'd been working since you were freshmen in college.

He also worked as a vocal coach from Monday to Friday at one of the local entertainment companies; but that was just for his Pokémon cards, his caffeine addiction, and the occasional ice cream from the convenience store down the street. Rarely did any of that money see the light of day, simply stacking interest in his savings account while he hoarded the money from his job at the waterpark to make last the whole year.

Out of all the odd jobs the two of you took (because Lord knows neither of you were using your degrees all that much) – his job at the company, the waterpark, and your clerical position were the steadiest. You would occasionally find yourself patrolling random hotel grounds on the weekends as security, or slipping into an apron to fill in for your friend Sana at her cafe for a bit more cash to stuff into your rainy day fund.

Sometimes Joshua would come home smelling like fried chicken (and carrying it, too) or with his face covered in grease from swooping in at Soonyoung's auto repair shop. The nights when the two of you were home were restless – scavenging newspapers and Craigslist ads for anything you could find: house sitting, housekeeping, even weekend nannying gigs.

Every penny that landed in Joshua's bank account was frugally spent – but it was smartly spent. Hence why you, not paying for the one thing he put in your name, is a big deal.

"Fine, I'll talk to you on Monday. I need to run some things by you before the park opens. Tell Y/N to get a bathing suit, preferably not that pretty pink one she wore to Junhui's birthday last year." "Oh, fuck off! I was the life of the party!" You scowl, attempting once more to free yourself from Joshua's grasp but ultimately failing. He giggles, like the lunatic he is, your roommate giggles.

"I'll see you on Monday, pretty girl. You and your nip slips." Jeonghan hangs up before you can retort, your sentence caught in your throat as Joshua smiles down at you smugly.

"I hate you." You grumble, before feeling his lips press to your forehead. You move your head to hit his face, but he swiftly moves back before you can make contact with his chin. "You love me. Now, go fetch me the bill from the fridge, I'll pay it." He climbs off you, letting go of your hand as you scowl. You make it a point to kick his hip, your heel meeting the socket and making him scoff before nudging his toe into your ribcage. "Go!"

The night is full of bickering after Joshua pays the bill, with muttered curses as you bump into things and open the front window to let the cooler night breeze flow through the room. You fan your face with the morning newspaper, with Joshua making a snide remark about you looking at the job offers in the Business section.

You retreat to your room for the night as he picks at you, and the lights turn on just as you pass the bathroom. He's finishing shaving his face in the dark, using the light of a candle to look at himself in the mirror. You roll your eyes, sliding into your room when he catches the door.

"What are you doing?" Your eyes are wide as your dripping roommate pushes past you, beelining for your dresser in the corner. He yanks open the top drawer, throwing a few pairs of your underwear over his shoulder. "Joshua!" "Aha!" He holds up the hot pink vibrator you'd spent the light bill money on, tilting it towards you. "You'll get this back after your first paycheck hits the bank, or when you start prioritizing things."

You scoff, reaching for it as he holds it over his head. "Joshua, give it back! I paid good money for that thing!" You grimace, "and you shouldn't be so comfortable grabbing my intimate items! I put that inside me!" "There are many other things you could put inside you that don't cost sixty dollars, Y/N." He rolls his eyes as you claw at his shirt, your fingernails sinking into his bicep as he shakes you off like a leaf. "Me included." "Joshua!" "Either I keep it or you use it in front of me. Your choice." A part of you wants to believe he's joking, but yet another thing about you and Joshua – no conversation topic was off limits, and there had been quite a few conversations that should've never left the sanctity of your sober minds.

Kinks, fetishes and favorite sex positions included. Did Joshua need to know you wanted to be folded like a pretzel? No! Did it matter when you were drunk off three mango margaritas two years ago at the cabana in that fuckass waterpark he manages? Also no!

So he's not kidding. Not in the slightest, and you can tell he knows he's won as you shrink back with a scowl.

"So, that's a no on the peep show?" He has the audacity to tease you as he slinks out of your bedroom, your vibrator bright in his hand as he presses buttons. "Ooh, this is nice~" "Joshua!" "Goodnight, Y/N!"

You bury your face in your hands, a groan from your lips as you contemplate your choices. 

And ultimately, make the wrong one as you follow Joshua back down the hall towards his bedroom.

"Hey, pretty girl."

"Fuck off, Jeonghan." You mutter under your breath, setting your backpack on the table in front of you. Joshua wasn't starting at the waterpark again for another week, but considering you were new and you were taking Jeonghan's spot for the first half of the summer – the three of you were now going to be stuck in the resource office to fill out paperwork for the day.

However, Joshua is out in the park helping the janitorial staff, entrusting you into Jeonghan's devilish hands.

"What happened to the swimsuit? You know we have to test your swimming skills, right?" You sighed, Jeonghan's eyes genuinely concerned as you pulled the hem of your shirt up. You wore an orange one-piece under it, your jeans a little too loose on your hips and held up by a shoestring. "Nice color, but wrong one. We'll give you an official one once we're done here…you're really struggling if you're using a shoelace as a belt, Y/N." Jeonghan snickers, earning a smack from you on his shoulder. He scowls, batting your hand away, "It's not my fault you're here! I'm not the person you pissed off!" "Oh, trust me. He's not pissed anymore." You roll your eyes, your cheeks hot as you shove your hair out of your face. Jeonghan pauses for a moment, the pen in his hand hovering over the first stack of papers in front of him as he stares at you. You avoided his gaze, nibbling on your lip as you watched the hands on the clock tick – before the click of his tongue rings out.

"About time." "It's not the first time, you know that." Jeonghan snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands together. "When will the two of you admit that it's more? No one just takes care of student loans, rent, groceries…there has to be more." "Jeonghan, I don't want to do this right now. Joshua and I are just friends, and we've only hooked up out of sheer desperation. Trust me, I've tried to have feelings for the guy." You roll your eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

"You guys need to stop sleeping together, eventually someone is going to come along and you'll have to explain that weird ass dynamic." He clicks the pen, making you snicker as you lean closer.

"We didn't sleep together this time, not that it's any of your business." You lie as you grab a pen from the cup holder, and he only shakes his head again as your shoulder brushes his. "You're right, it's not. Now, focus. Can you hold your breath for more than two minutes?" The paperwork is easy as you scrawl your signature across pages without reading them. The banter is easy, and the way Jeonghan brings up your nip slip at Junhui's birthday party a year ago makes you shove him into the nearest pool when the two of you step outside. It's way too hot for early May, and you curse yourself as you try to cover your chest with your arms as Jeonghan crawls out of the pool like a demon from a sewer.

"You guys are done already? That paperwork took me hours with Soonyoung." Joshua walks over, his hands tucked into the bright red swim trunks that matched your suit. You roll your eyes, dipping your foot into the pool in front of you. "I didn't read, I just signed. You could be selling me to the Antichrist for a corn chip and I'd have no idea." You shrug, shivering at the cold feeling of the water. He only smiles, sidling up next to you as Jeonghan scowls up at you.

"I hate the both of you, I hope you know that." He mutters, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes and wiping the chlorinated water off his face. "I shouldn't even be here, I should be packing for Bali like I said I would be." "Oh, but we'll miss you so much when you're gone!" You feign a pout, making Joshua snicker as he crouches down next to Jeonghan and offers a hand. "It'll be fast, plus we've got other things to do today, too. We still have to stop by the market and get groceries." He dips his feet in the pool, leaning back on his hands as you bounce on your toes. "On a Monday?"  "The market happens to be the least busy on Monday evenings. Not that you would know, since you spend your Monday nights locked in your bedroom with a vibrator and surrounded by Smiski figurines." Joshua rolls his eyes as you scowl, nudging his thigh with your foot.

"When will you drop it? I said I was sorry!" "When you jump in the pool and give me two laps without coming up for air. Go." Unfortunately, your scowling does nothing as Joshua asks one of the other employees to bring a towel out for you. You lower yourself to sit on the edge of the pool, before getting shoved in by a wet hand on your back. It's freezing, and you let out a strangled scream as you come up for air. "Jeonghan!" "When a kid is drowning in the deep end, you don't have time to acclimate. Now, go! Two laps!"

You swallow the rage building in your throat, and file the idea of deep conditioning your hair to the back of your mind as you sink back under the water. For whatever reason, you don't mind the idea of the waterpark job. It's steady, and Joshua always comes home with bottles of sunscreen that free you from yet another minuscule expense. He would bring you to-go cups from the cabana of their Tiger's Blood snow cone, and the occasional cucumber under-eye patches from the spa that catered mostly to the tired mothers that visited the park.

But when you really thought about it – kids were really gross. Peeing in the pools, snotty, stained with multiple colors of syrups from the very same cabana snow cones you enjoyed when they didn't get paid for by your debit card.

The only two pros were the money, and working with all of your stupid, testosterone-fueled friends. At least you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be entertained.

You spend the rest of the afternoon at the waterpark being pushed into random pools and scenarios, and Joshua signs you up for the morning CPR course the next week. He tells you he'll give you a tour on your first day.

"What does Jeonghan even do besides shove people in pools all day?" You mutter as you walk back to Joshua's car, and Joshua snickers. "Whatever he wants. His job is in the Adults Only section of the park, and we have quite a few regulars. You'll love them, and that's the part of the park that makes the most in tips so just enjoy it." He shrugs, before clicking the doors open. You shuffle in, your hair still wet from the pool and you feel gross in your damp bathing suit. The water seeps through your jeans, making every movement uncomfortable as you shift in your seat.

"If I get a UTI, it's on you, Shua." "First of all, I washed my hands before we started messing around last night–" You reach over to smack his arm, earning a laugh as he slips his keys into the ignition. "I meant from the pool water!" "We have showers, Y/N." "Those showers are crawling with athlete's foot and pinworms and you know it."

He only laughs as you huff, and you cross your arms on your chest as he pulls out of the parking lot. His gaze is soft as he glances at you, holding his hand out for you to take.

"I know it's not ideal, but you can't just stay home all day, you know? It'll drive you mad." His voice is gentle, and you sigh as you mess with his fingers.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry about the light bill, really." "Y/N, I love you. I'm not always going to be around, though, and the light bill…you're gonna have to earn your way out of that one. I mean, a vibrator? Come on." "Sixteen settings! Remember how number seven felt!?" You squeeze his fingers, and he only snorts as he swats your hand away. "Shua!" "Yes, it felt great. Now, do you want dinner? I don't feel like cooking and Lord knows we'll be sick for days if you're in the kitchen." "You love me, Joshua Hong." "I do, now tell me what you want."

Maybe it should be weird.

Maybe it should be weird, that you and Joshua are so close despite the three sexual encounters you've had. Despite the fact that you stupidly made a virginity pact and went through with it, and the fact that he came to you after a breakup and things went left, and last night – sitting on his bed with your back against his chest and his cock sheathed inside you as muffled your whimpers with your shirt between your teeth.

And it's even weirder knowing that neither of you have ever wanted it to be romantic. Many conversations about it, even drunken ones – but nothing comes of it because the idea of romance with each other seemingly disgusts the two of you. You're fine with the three times you've hooked up, you're fine with the way he kisses you, you're fine with all of it.

And you know that Jeonghan is right – there will be a time when someone comes into your life and wonders if. If you've kissed Joshua, if you've slept with him, if you've ever had feelings for him.

But that's a problem for later you.

"YES MA'AM, THE CABANA IS OPEN."

It's only been three days. Three days and you're already appalled at the amount of parents that haul ass to get drunk off mango margaritas and spiked Bahama Mama snow cones at nine in the morning. You're also impressed at the amount of beautiful women that line the Adults Only section of the Olympic-sized pool, all sizes of tanning lotions laid out on the ground and floppy hats strewn about.

You find yourself constantly sipping on something – courtesy of the very sweet cabana boy named Chan – and flipping through a magazine from your seat under the large parasol. You look up every once in a while to take a ticket, or redirect someone – but the worst part is dealing with college frat boys who try to flirt and make comments about your swimsuit. You almost want to let them run around the pool – maybe they'll slip.

The job was easy – you walked around every hour, reapplied sunscreen, even snacking on something one of the lovely park mothers decided to slip you. Oreos, handfuls of pistachios, even heavily stacked sandwiches with crunchy chips slipped inside – and you'd had so many over the course of your first three days at the park.

You even dipped your feet in the hot springs at the end of the day before shoving your flip flops on and making the bike ride home – no use in bringing your car all that often, right? Waste of money and gas! Gas that Joshua pays for, but hey. Who are you to waste it?

The owner of the car.

"Jeonghan didn't tell me there was a pretty new girl." You don't bother glancing up, flipping the page of the magazine in your lap with one hand before speaking.

"Yeah, well. Jeonghan didn't tell me all the guys here are either sleazy, fathers, or both." You roll your eyes, stopping your finger over a photo of Zendaya at the Met Gala. "Welcome to Carat Bay, this is the Adults Only section. Any children brought with you must remain supervised outside of the sector. The Saunas and the Hot Springs must be reserved before usage. Is there anything I can help you with?" You absently fish through the coir basket in front of you, before grabbing a lanyard and holding it up. It gets taken out of your hand gently, fingertips brushing yours as you thumb another page of the magazine. "Y/N, you have to actually look at the customers when you greet them." You hear Joshua's voice in your ear, but don't look up as you skim through the outfits on the page. "Y/N." "Mmh, yeah. I hear ya." You nod, sighing as you flip the magazine closed and throw it onto the pile of towels next to you. Glancing up, you see a tall man sizing you up – his eyes a dark brown, lined with thick lashes and the strongest brows you'd seen since you broke up with Wonpil after three years.

Don't leave your girlfriend alone in her apartment right after you fuck, dipshit.

"Y/N." Joshua calls again, and you tear your eyes away to look at your roommate giving you a hard stare. His arms are crossed on his chest, "You said you'd try. This isn't trying." "I'm showing up, aren't I? And the MILFs–" "The mothers, Y/N." You roll your eyes, "The mothers love my nonchalance! They're just here to tan and get drunk, how is…sorry, what's your name?" You blink up at the man in front of you, and he only smiles softly as Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Seungcheol, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Seungcheol, and he's one of our regulars. He's the only one who really uses the hot springs, so they're already booked out for him." Joshua taps the tablet in front of you, and you narrow your eyes as his name slips off your tongue.

"Seungcheol? Like…Choi Seungcheol? Like…No. 95 on the soccer team at SNU, Choi Seungcheol?" It's slightly bitter in your mouth, and Joshua runs his hand over his face in frustration. Choi Seungcheol looks oddly impressed, maybe with a hint of smugness hidden behind his smile as Joshua speaks.

"Yes, Y/N. All that and also, Jeonghan's roommate. Now, does it matter?" "It does when he broke my roommate's heart freshman year." You cross your arms on your chest, and Choi Seungcheol gives Joshua a seemingly knowing look as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Could be anyone." "Whore."

Joshua gapes at you as you mutter and lean back in your chair, but Seungcheol only smiles, shaking his head. He tucks the lanyard in the pocket of his pink swim trunks before shrugging.

"They do say that your reputation precedes you." He runs his eyes over your shoulders lightly, before they flicker back to your face. You scowl, splaying your hands over your exposed skin as he tilts his head. "But I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about." "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did you just call me ugly?" You huff, and Joshua muffles a sigh with his palms over his face. You look over at him, "Your friend just called me ugly, Shua." Seungcheol smiles mischievously, before letting himself through the gate. He flicks the brim of your floppy hat, squealing softly as you reach your hand back to swat him away. Joshua peeks at the two of you through his fingers, and you frown as you see the hint of a smile start to show on his lips – before you feel Seungcheol's breath on the shell of your ear.

"Don't let what I do or don't think about you keep you up at night, pretty girl." "Joshua!"

You swat Seungcheol away, who only hums something reminiscent of La Vie En Rose as he practically skips away. Joshua is pursing his lips, trying to hold back his laughter when you throw the magazine you'd been flipping through in his direction. He catches it, before rolling it up and smacking your leg with it.

"Y/N, Seungcheol is a customer. Whether you like him or not, you have to treat him with basic decency. Remember what you're working towards here, and all sixteen of its settings." Joshua turns up his nose as he tucks the magazine under his arm and walks away. You scoff in disbelief, before turning back to see Seungcheol very much doing what whores do – flirting with one of the younger mothers, her leopard print bikini catching your eyes as he crouched next to her. 

She's blushing – or maybe it's the heat from the blazing summer sun.

"Ugh." You feel a sour taste fill your mouth as his eyes flicker to meet yours, your own rolling as he winks. Tonguing your cheek, you face forward once more, now burdened with actually having to do your job when you hear Joshua call out to you over his shoulder from a few feet away.

"And you're not even friends with Jaehee anymore!" "A friendship may fade, but girl code never wanes!"

"What do you mean, he's in our friend circle?" You're sitting in the park's office, eating your lunch when Joshua drops the stupendous bomb on you. You've got mayonnaise on your lip as you look up at him, who rolls his eyes as he swipes his thumb over it. You scowl, swatting his hand away before wiping a napkin on your face, swallowing the bite of your sandwich.

"Y/N, Cheol has been in our friend group since college. How do you not know this?" 

Mingyu – long-time friend, the group's stoner chef, and waterslide operator for the last three years – butts into your conversation, holding a cup of yoghurt in his hand as he sidles up next to you. You scoff, dipping one of your chips into the salsa Joshua brought from home, before shaking your head.

"I don't hang out with scum." "Because he was always at practice, Y/N. Not because he wasn't part of your life." You chew silently, pursing your lips as you shake your head again. "Because I don't need that sort of energy in my life. I have enough with Soonyoung whoring around, I don't need another one who also broke Jaehee's heart. I don't need another so-called 'friend' that has slept with all my girlfriends and thus left me in the hands of this stupid group of testosterone and Dude Wipe users that make fun of me when I have a nip slip." "Soonyoung slept with all six of them?" Mingyu gapes, and you snort as you shove the last bite of your sandwich into your cheek. Chewing carefully, you nod as he spoons peach yoghurt into his mouth. "Impressive."

"The point here, Y/N, is that Seungcheol is involved in your life. He's a regular, he's Jeonghan's roommate, and he's my friend, our friend. You've never been around him simply because of divine intervention. He's been in our apartment, he knows who you are–" "He knows about the nip slip at Junhui's birthday party that he missed because he stayed running drills on the field." Mingyu snorts, making you frown as you take another chip between your fingers. "I told him not to do it, you know. Now he's a fucking regular here to heal himself because he won't let the other masseuses at his job touch him."

Your ears perk, "What do you mean, heal himself?" "He frayed his hip labrum during practice in college, and he just kept playing. He got hurt during nationals and it was a pretty bad tear, and he had surgery. The heat of the water helps the pain he gets, which isn't all that often but it likes to act up during the summer because that's when he's the most active. He was super bummed about it, and didn't talk to anyone for literal months while he was in physical therapy." Joshua explains, and you feel your chest ache slightly. 

You do remember seeing something about his departure from the soccer team through the campus forums, with people sending flowers and gifts to the recovery center he had been at. People talked about it like it was nothing, but even with your disdain for Seungcheol – you listened. You knew he was one of the best players on the team, everyone in the sport-playing world at Seoul National knew that if anyone went pro: it was going to be him.

So you weren't surprised to hear that it hit him like a truck.

"That's…really sad, actually." You murmur, "But it doesn't change the fact that–" "Oh, give it a rest! Jaehee has long gotten over it, trust me." Joshua rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his Topo Chico. You narrow your eyes at him, watching the way a guilty blush coats his cheeks as he sets the bottle down. "What?" "What do you know about Jaehee, Shua?" "Nothing." "She's been off social media for years, and she only posts updates on her birthday and after she got her master's. So how, my good sir, do you know she's over it when she didn't date for the rest of college?" Joshua clears his throat, and Mingyu snickers next to you as you point a chip at your roommate. "Spill." "I saw her a few weeks ago. We just bumped into each other at the market, no big deal."

He tongues his cheek, his forefinger tracing the spout of his drink as you cross your arms on your chest. The door opens, revealing one Kwon Soonyoung in a hideous tiger-print Speedo and sunscreen swiped on his cheeks. You grimace, covering your eyes with one hand before you speak. "Joshua Hong." He scoffs, presumably rolling his eyes. "Can we not do this here? You know I'm a man of my word, I don't kiss and tell." 

"That means they hooked up." You hear Soonyoung's voice in your ear, and you jump, your elbow jabbing into his side. He scowls, swatting your hand away. "What? It's not like the two of you are exclusive." "Who isn't exclusive?"

You peek through your fingers, seeing the very same mop of shaggy brown hair now slicked back and dripping onto the break room floor. Pursing your lips, you ignore the way Joshua smiles inwardly before taking a sip of his drink, taking the initiative to say something as said mop of shaggy brown hair shakes and sprays onto Soonyoung – who squeals like he's never been wet a day in his life. "What are you doing here? This is for employees only, you need to leave." "Ooh, what's with the attitude? Clerical Barbie takes over as Lifeguard Barbie and suddenly she loses that customer service voice?"

Seungcheol's brows jump as he pops the cap off a bottle of Topo Chico, and you feel a surge of annoyance flood your stomach as Joshua shakes his head. "Knock it off, Cheol."

He shrugs, strolling around the counter against the counter where you and Mingyu are sitting. You feel your jaw tight as you lean back in your chair, watching him bump his hip to a smiling Mingyu's. You give Joshua a hard look, who only shakes his head as you speak loudly.

"You're not allowed in here, Choi." "Are you going to remove me from the premises? Is that part of your job description, roughing me up a little bit?" 

You glare at Seungcheol, who only winks. You manage to hear how Soonyoung bites back his laugh, opting to turn around and face the open fridge and crossing his arms on his chest. Seungcheol sips his drink, pouty lips slightly glistening before you look away.

Mingyu groans, "I don't want to hear this. You're fighting a losing battle over someone you're not friends with anymore, Y/N. You're friends with Soonyoung and he's a bigger slut than Cheol." "Mingyu has a point." Joshua agrees quietly, before an offended scoff fills the air as Mingyu slides out the break room door. "I am not a slut! Why are you slut shaming me?" Soonyoung slams the fridge shut, and you scoff.

"You also slept with Jaehee! Don't think I forgot, I'm still mad that you cleaned up with my shirt! My shirt, Soonyoung!" "She told me you'd be out! I wasn't going to stop mid-stroke because–"

You only raise your hand, cutting him off before you wave it. He tongues his cheek, silently turning his nose up at you as he slips out of the breakroom.  Joshua sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as he speaks. 

"You have thirty minutes left of your break. Seungkwan is at your station until that's up, and then I need you to be present. Please." Joshua pleads, before reaching for the containers on the table and carefully packing them up. "I know you don't want to be here, but it's really not the end of the world. And…" You let your eyes flicker up to him, his own pointed and stern. "You are to treat everyone like a visitor. You're to be nice, to be helpful and this…" He gestures between you and Seungcheol. "This? This is stupid. You run in the same circles, you work here and he's a regular. Respectfully, Seungcheol is literally just a whore. I know you're loyal, I know you care…but Jaehee and Cheol are a thing of the past. They've moved on."

Your cheeks grow hot and you don't bother to say anything back, feeling the room fill with tension thicker than the caramel on the sundaes at the Cabana. Joshua gives you a soft look, a gentle smile on his lips before he turns and slides the containers into the fridge.

"Thirty minutes, Barbie."

You nod silently, picking at your nails as Joshua slips out the door. Seungcheol hums from two feet away, and you feel your jaw tight as he slides over a minuscule amount.

"I don't bite." "Have you ever heard the saying: if you run with dogs, you'll get fleas?" You slide off the chair, pushing your hair out of your face. He doesn't reply, only running his eyes over you as you walk towards him. You stop right behind him, your arm brushing the wet compression shirt on his back.

"It doesn't have to be about Jaehee. It doesn't have to be about any of the girls who would talk about you at my sorority parties and the games you would play. At the end of the day, the common denominator is you." He turns around, his nose nearly brushing yours from how close he is. You can smell the chlorine mixed with sunscreen and a hint of something sultry, something that would make you weak in the knees if it weren't for the odd animosity brewing in your belly.

"What are you trying to say? That I can't have fun?" You furrow your brow, "That you're a dog, Seungcheol. And all dogs…they bite."

His eyes flicker around your face, before leaning even closer to you. His lips almost brush yours, the glitter of your lipgloss nearly the only barrier between your lips and his. Something inside you makes you angrily attracted to the proximity, and you force yourself to keep your gaze frozen in place. "Trust me when I say this, yeah?" He nods, your eyes only narrowing. "I don't bite, but you'd love it if I did, sweetheart. The high horse isn't too good of a thing to ride, you know; there are better things."

You feel your chest hot as he moves back, the insinuation of him being the better option trying to force itself into your brain. A ring clinks against the bottle as his fingers circling the spout of his drink as he moves away. Scoffing, you roll your eyes, moving to walk away when you hear his voice in your ear. "Nice swimsuit, by the way." "Fuck off."

"YOU CAN'T BE FUCKING SERIOUS."

It's been two weeks since you started working at the waterpark. You pulled it out of Joshua that he did, in fact, sleep with Jaehee after graduation and that's how he knows she's fine. You don't particularly care, either, because you're still leeching onto it as your reason to hate Seungcheol – for lack of better reasons. 

As for the waterpark, things are incredibly easy; it's become even easier to sneak spiked Tiger's Blood snow cones and jalapeño margaritas from Cabana Boy Chan – he's cute and you had been determined to land a date with him by the end of the summer. 

Emphasis on had been.

You were all smiles and twirling your hair, making him laugh shyly and dig his chin into his chest. Winks, subtly flirty comments, anything and everything – and he couldn't help but let his cheeks flush something awful, his words stuttered out as you bit your lip and pushed your chest out. He couldn't hide any of his reactions, especially not the way his eyes followed the movement of your tongue when you licked the spiced rim of a jalapeño-mango margarita after hours.

All good things end, though – because Chan hasn't been able to look you in the eye for the past weekend. He kept his head down while making your drinks, apologizing quickly if he moved too fast and your drinks sloshed over the edge of the cups he served them in. Cheeks still red as ever, eyes still shy and roaming – but not a laugh, not a coherent conversation.

Why? Seungcheol.

He'd been making your days a living hell. From requesting a towel or sunscreen every time he saw you – meaning you'd have to trek the entire park to get them for him – to openly flirting with the mothers and students that hung around the park, he was a constant in your newfound day-to-day life. He never directly bothered you, he made it a point to only mildly inconvenience you – but it's much, much easier (and convenient) to say that he was ruining your life by merely existing in your perimeter. Joshua was starting to get sick of your complaining, but couldn’t really do anything because you were still doing your job, exactly as he’d asked.

However – you were not blind. At times like this, at these truly, incredibly trying times: you wished you were – just for Seungcheol. To have him become a blur of a being that crossed your path, maybe even mistaken for those floaters that your optometrist always talked about; would be a blessing in and of itself.

Because unfortunately for you, Lifeguard Barbie, Seungcheol is hot. He's stupidly hot, all broad shoulders and thick thighs and the longest lashes you'd ever seen. The brows and the lips and the arms, Christ, he's a walking wet dream and you hate it. You hate it like you've never hated anything before and for that very reason, you kept each and every forced interaction short and dull.

Until he noticed, and you know he noticed, that you flirted with Chan every chance you got. He saw the way Chan tried to hide his blushing cheeks, your teasing smile that dropped every time Seungcheol neared the Cabana; replaced with a pursed lip as Chan slipped away to take his order. He noticed the way you smiled softly at Chan (and everyone that wasn’t him) and he felt a weird pang in his chest every time – not that you knew about that, though. 

Nor did you have to.

After the realization settled in his mind, he kept you longer. Kept running his eyes over you just to see you bristle, kept talking about your swimsuit fitting you just right – even went as far as snapping the strap against your shoulder in passing, just to piss you off. He liked to rile you up, saying flirty things that made your cheeks hot and thoroughly enjoying the way you clenched your fists at your sides as you feigned interest in his needs as a customer at the park. It felt so stupid, and so derivative of the idiotic theory that boys are mean to girls when they like them – it's simply not true.

Despite not getting a word out of Chan unless it was a muttered apology for the weekend, you managed to ease your way back into his brain and ask him what the problem was just as he announced last call. He avoided your eyes, often looking over your shoulders and keeping his lips pursed until you jutted your lip out in a pout and made your way behind the bar. You kept your arms crossed, pressed tight against your chest as he tried to explain through stammered sentences before he just blurted it out.

"Listen, you're great, okay? You're so funny and smart but I can't…we can't do this, Y/N. You have a boyfriend, and I just got out of a relationship...it's not going to work." Chan had rubbed his hands over his face at that moment, your eyes widening at the wild accusation slipping from his mouth. "You…you're so hot, please don't think I didn't–" "Chan…I don't have a boyfriend. Joshua is my roommate." You tried, but his brow furrowed. "No…I'm not talking about Shua. You guys live together? Isn't that weird?" He tilted his head, making you facepalm as he scrambled to correct himself. "I mean, that's not…I'm talking about Seungcheol. He said you two were a thing. Aren't you?" You froze then, your shoulders tensing under the moonlight as you tried to process what he had said. You glanced up at him, your brows knitted in the middle as you asked him to repeat himself.

"What?" "Seungcheol, the Hot Springs regular. He said the two of you have been dating for a few months." You choked on your spit at that, before looking across the park and seeing said stupid, idiotic, sexy Hot Springs regular having a casual conversation with Mingyu. The moonlight bounces off the water, the park nearly empty aside from a few tipsy students enjoying the lazy river under Soonyoung's supervision. Seungcheol was nodding along to whatever Mingyu was saying, before he suddenly tensed and looked over his shoulder – locking eyes with you. And that led you here – telling Mingyu that Chan needed his help filling the Cabana stock and leaving you alone to grit your teeth at Seungcheol.

"Mmh, serious about what?" He plays stupid, eyes all wide and lips pouty and he is so fucking stupid. You scoffed, "You've seriously got some nerve to think I'd ever date you. The weight of the sheer audacity you carry around must be fucking with your brain, because you had no right to lie to Chan and tell him we're together." Seungcheol hums, taking a sip from the contraband beer bottle that wasn't allowed near the bodies of water. You reach down, snatching it from his hand and tossing it into one of the recycling bins haphazardly before putting your hands on your hips. His face is feigning boredom, but his eyes are teeming with mischief and excitement as you scowl.

"Go tell him that you lied!" "And have yet another competitor in the running for the fair maiden's hand? Oh, I'd rather die of listeria." He shrugs, and you crouch down with a look of disgust on your face. "You'll die by my fucking hands if you don't make this right. I don't even like you, much less do I need you meddling where you don't belong." "With your hands, huh? You'd just love to touch me, wouldn't you? Look at you, lean a little more and you'd be on your knees for me." He rolls his eyes, and you clench your fist at your side so as to not smack him upside the head. "Just relax, sweetheart. He's not all sunshine and rainbows, anyway. The kid just got his heart broken, it wouldn't end well." "I think I deserve to find that out on my own!" "And I think you need someone who can handle all this lip you like to dish out. Chan is just too sweet, you'd bulldoze him."

"What, like you could? Please, try stand-up in your next life, not this one." You roll your eyes, and he leans over the edge of the hot spring with yet another bored look on his face.

"Are you done whining? Because I'm trying to relax." "Relax when you're dead, I'm trying to score and you're blocking my shot! Chan is cute–" "So are you, even when you're doing all this talking." You scowl, opening your mouth to tell him off when he lifts himself against the edge of the hot spring. He's eye level with you now, and you try not to look down at the soft muscle of his chest bulging against his shirt as you scoot back.

"Chan is not what you need, Barbie. Sure, he's cute, he makes you your fun little drinks, he's a great guy. I know, I practically raised the kid." Seungcheol leans closer, and you make the mistake of letting your eyes dart to his arms. His fingers are wrapped around the edge of the hot spring, biceps flexed as he holds himself up to you. He doesn’t speak until you force your eyes back up to his, the scowl on your lip only growing deeper as he smirks.

“You made all your assumptions about me around my hookups in college. Whatever they said is law, isn't it? Let’s not forget that you know nothing else about me, and you treat me like you hate me because of someone who isn't even in your life anymore. You could be on fire and Jaehee wouldn’t cross the street to piss on you, sweetheart.”

"And what, you would?” You mutter, and he actually laughs. The bastard chuckles like something is funny and it only makes your skin prickle.

“If that’s what you’re into—” “Fuck all the way off, would you? You think you’re hot shit and everyone wants you, well I don’t. What I want—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, because Seungcheol catches your arm and yanks you into the hot spring in one swift move. You can feel rage bubbling in your throat as you swipe water off your face, seeing him resting his cheek on the heel of his palm.

“Slipped?” “I fucking hate you.” “Why?”

You don’t answer him, grimacing as you push your hair off your face. He swims closer, cornering you slightly. “Why, princess?”

“Don’t call me that. You’re a jerk, Seungcheol.”

“Am I a jerk because you hold onto battles that aren’t yours to fight or because I actually did something to hurt you? Because last I checked, we’ve spoken a total of zero times before you started working here, so it can’t possibly be the latter. Give me a good reason as to why you dislike me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t need to explain shit to you. You’re purposely ruining my chances with Chan because you’re a dick. You call me Lifeguard Barbie, you make comments about my swimsuit—”

“You call me a whore because I slept around in college. If you took the time to talk to me and get to know me, you could have actual ammo to shoot at me. But everything is girl code this, girl code that, right?”

He’s too close for your senses to process, your stomach fluttering as you instinctively push a hand into his clothed chest. 

“Back up.” His eyes glance down to your fingers splayed on his shirt, before flickering back up to your face.

"Name one thing you know about me besides the fact that I slept with Jaehee." "That you dumped her." "Wrong. She dumped me." You try not to react as you push your palm into the stone of a man. He doesn't budge, eyes searching your face before your fingers hover over his nipple with the intent to twist it – his fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. You could start something you know you can't finish." His voice is significantly lower, before letting your hand drop to your side. It splashes in the water, and you feel pathetically small as he towers over you. "Not everyone is who they were in college. Just because you might've peaked there, doesn't mean all of us did."

You feel a pang in your chest, your throat tightening slightly as you peer up at him through your lashes. He tilts his head, eyes soft as he speaks. 

“You might not like me now, but you didn't give me a chance to begin with. Just let me know if you need someone to take care of you, hm?”

"You two better not start making out, Y/N is on the clock." Joshua's voice rings in your ears, and you feel your limbs fill with gratitude as you scowl. "As if."

Seungcheol lets you push him out of the way, not bothering to watch you pull yourself out of the hot spring as he strikes up a conversation with your roommate. "Are we still having a bonfire for Junhui this year? I managed to get his birthday weekend off, my coworkers are pissed." Joshua laughs that genuine laugh that you'd found comforting for so many years. You squeeze your hair out, fury still lingering in your throat with just a hint of hurt. Something felt weird in your chest, like the acknowledgement of you even existing in college and all the things that happened then makes your heart ache.

You'd agreed to host Junhui's birthday weekend at the cabin your grandfather left you in his will. He'd been there, still; when your parents made it a point to stretch the family ties so thin, even a gust of wind would tear through them and end them forever. You visited him often, going home with Joshua in tow with crates of fruit and cuts of meat he'd get up to grill on wobbly legs. He taught Joshua lots of things, but taught you the most valuable of all – your heart is to be guarded, but not to be solid.

To love and let love, lightly and deeply. To gather affection, to spread it, to be soft and understanding. To be complicit in the bettering of the world, and soften those who have become solid – while not understanding it to the point of solidifying yourself.

To listen, and give the benefit of the doubt.

You feel your heart sink as you walk past Joshua and Seungcheol without a word, not bothering to turn around when you hear Joshua calling after you – when you hear the announcement that the park was closing in five minutes. You beeline for your station, pulling a trash bag out from under your chair and silently moving around the park; picking up half-empty tanning lotions, mini sunscreen bottles, empty snow cone cups while you think about the fact that Junhui's birthday is in two weeks and you're going to have to house thirteen men once Jeonghan gets back.

Which (unfortunately) doesn't include girlfriends aside from Junhui and Minghao, because all your friends are bitchless. 

The night ends without you reporting back to Chan, your arms crossed on your chest as you walk into the parking lot silently. You see Joshua and Seungcheol still talking, both men leaned against the back of Joshua's car. Joshua is twirling his keys in his hand, a move you stop by taking them out and sliding into the driver's seat without a word. You rest your head against the seat, sighing before you hear Joshua's voice cut through the slightly rolled window.

"What did you say to her? She's never that quiet. I swear to God–" "Relax, I didn't say anything that didn't need to be said. She wants to believe that I'm the big bad wolf, when you and I both know Jaehee dumped me because she didn't want to be with someone on the soccer team after she dated Brian. Jaehee herself said it would look bad, I was crushed but of course, Y/N doesn't know that. And she doesn't need to know."

Your name sounds so foreign on his lips…but it sounds sweet. Like a cold drink after a long day…like he liked the taste of it on his tongue.

And you think about those words as Joshua makes you move to the passenger seat and drives the two of you home. You remain silent, staring out the window, eventually mumbling something about a shower and finding refuge under scalding hot water and minty shampoo. You find yourself in bed before the clock even hits eleven, your arm draped across your eyes – and you can't sleep.

Unfortunately, the flame of shame due to hating someone that you hardly know over someone you used to know is starting to lick up your back. Someone that has been vouched for over and over again by several people…and they can't all be wrong. 

"Merry Christmas." You look up from your pillow to see Joshua toss the same pink vibrator on your bed with a soft smile. He holds up a paper check in his hand, and you just shake your head as you pull your covers higher. You sigh, before feeling the bed dip and Joshua's aftershave fills your nose.

"What's eating you, hm?" "You know what." He scoots closer, his fingers swiping stray curls out of your face as he hums. "He's not a bad guy. I have never steered you wrong, have I?" "You've steered me into your bed a couple times." "The first time was in your bed." "Same difference." He snorts, holding himself up on his elbow as you chew on your cheek. You let out a breath, closing your eyes as you rub a hand over your face. He nudges you, a sigh slipping from your mouth.

"I know he's not a bad guy. Somewhere…deep down, I understand." "Then?" "He's still a guy who slept around, and with a lot of my friends. I've heard more about his stroke game than about him as a person." "So the objectification of Choi Seungcheol is going to be your demise?" Joshua jests, making you snort as you shake your head. "I…You remember my old man? When he would start a fire in the pit and we'd all sit around with beer and he'd make us split one because we weren't supposed to be drinking it anyway?" You smile fondly at the memory, glancing up at Joshua to see him doing the same thing.

"Yeah." "And you remember what he said to me? Every time you and I would get into a weird scuffle or something?" He nods again, "Your heart is to be guarded, but not to be solid. I still think about it sometimes." "I don't like Seungcheol. He's…arrogant." "He's not. He's confident, but even the mighty fall." You shake your head, "Maybe I was wrong to hate him from the start, but he's only proven I was right to do so. You know he told Chan that he and I are dating? I was so close to hitting that, Shua. So close!" "Chan just got out of a relationship, and you know how you are. You'd want more, and he wouldn't be able to give you that." Joshua laments, patting your shoulder as you pout.

You think about how you’ve never wanted more with Joshua for a split second, before an odd feeling of guilt settles in your lower belly. "Yeah, but it still would've been good." "I don't want to think about that, Y/N." He snorts, and  you let out a weak laugh as you shake your head again. "I don't want him at the cabin, Shua. I know he's…I know you guys are friends, and I know Junhui is flying in for this but I just…I can't shake the feeling that something might happen." He sits up, brow furrowed. "Something might happen? Like what?" You wince, gazing up at him meekly. "I throw a piece of lit firewood at him?" He bites back his smile, hovering over you. "You're not going to do that. You're too nice." "Are you saying I'm all bark? Because I'll have you know–" "Oh, I know you can bite, trust me." You don't like the glint in his eye, scowling as he snickers. "But you know better, and you'll behave yourself because Junhui is flying in to celebrate with us when he could very well stay home. This is important to all of us, and you're going to be a gracious host. Stuff him full of those jalapeño poppers you make and everything will be fine."

He pats your head, "And if anything, I'll be there. You know I've got you."

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline before pulling your duvet backup over your shoulders. "Get some rest, okay? Stop worrying about Seungcheol, any more thoughts about him and you might start liking him." "As if."

Joshua quirks a brow, "We both know he's exactly your type. All big arms and thick thighs and he can put you in your place." You scoff, sitting up on your elbows, the strap of your tank top falling down your shoulder. "He is not my type! My type is nice boys who blush when I flirt with them and Chan giggles, Shua! He giggles and now I can't fuck him because I refuse to be a man’s rebound!" You groan as you fall back on your pillows, only hearing Joshua laugh as he slides off your bed. He grabs your foot over the blanket, nearly cackling as you jerk it out of his hold.

"You'll live, Y/N. And remember," He grabs the pink vibrator from where it landed between your legs. "No more of this nonsense. Sixty. Dollars. Set them aside, take them out of the bank, but you're paying that bill." "Ooh, don't arrest me officer. I might like the cuffs." Your voice is full of sarcasm as you move to take it from him, his hand catching your wrist. You raise a brow, only for him to give you a pointed look. You roll your eyes, biting back a smirk as you speak. 

"Alright, alright! I'll just use your money, instead." "Like hell you will, I already pay your student loans." He snorts, letting you go and holding the toy out. You take it, shoving it under your pillow as you snicker. "And I am ever so grateful, my wonderful provider. You're such a man, rawr." "You're something else." He rolls his eyes, turning on his heel. “I have the weekend off to start prepping things for the party, so please be civil if you bump into Seungcheol.”

You sigh, bringing your duvet to your chin and turning on your side.

“Goodnight, Shua.” “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Joshua wasn’t lying — he was ‘out of office’ on Friday and Saturday. You had a closing shift on Sunday, so you managed to snag a few episodes of Gossip Girl with him before he made you write down everything that would be needed for the party. Not a peep from Seungcheol, just a grim nod that made you wonder if Joshua had said something to him – and you noticed he arrived only moments after you clocked in.

Almost like he knew your schedule.

“Do not drink, I’m not sure how late I’ll be and I don’t want you driving tipsy.” Joshua had been stern earlier that afternoon, holding your keys high above your head as you tied your coverup around your hips. He handed your keys over, hopping back into his car with a Costco-stock of beer and liquor before pulling out of the parking lot with a soft wave.

And now, you are here. Twenty minutes to closing, not a single interaction with Seungcheol tonight aside from checking him in. You had a bit of a scuffle with a group of friends from the local college, but you easily stood your ground and kicked them out of the park. Aside from that, you had no distractions and you were not flirting with Chan. It seems as though the universe made the decision for you, and all suggestive comments and blushy cheeks went out the window; replaced with Chan mentioning Junhui’s party after you asked if he would be busy that weekend.

“You know Junhui, too?” “You’re not serious, Y/N.”

As it turns out: Seungcheol is not the only person you were unaware of in your friend group, though he had a deeper connection through Jeonghan and Joshua. Chan was apparently a floater — sometimes too busy for the gathered group activities but still an integral and valued part of the friendship. You were just too in your own head half the time to notice, and the other half you spent shotgunning beers with Mingyu.

You told Chan about the plan to host at the cabin, and that you’d come by in a few days with the address and any final requests for food and drinks. You talked until he closed the Cabana, before bidding him a good night and strolling through the park with your hands behind your back. It was empty for five minutes before you reached the Hot Springs, seeing Seungcheol with a grimace on his face as he eased out of the water.

You stopped, feeling his name heavy on your tongue before you cleared your throat – but he beat you to it.

"You here to save me, princess?" “Here to tell you the park's closed, dipshit. Gotta go, Choi.”

He only smirks, leaning back on his hands. The moonlight shines on the pale skin of his thighs and arms, still dripping with water. You wonder how he doesn’t prune up — but it’s Choi Seungcheol. He probably made some deal with the devil to remain perfect forever.

“Five minutes.” You call over your shoulder as you continue your stroll through the section, peeking around every wall and even circling the lazy river twice in case there’s some odd couple making out under the Lover’s Bridge in the corner. You make your way back to the Hot Springs, seeing Seungcheol has disappeared.

A bit of disappointment fills your chest, but you continue on your way back to the entrance of the section and slip out, making your way to the office. You grab your bag, pulling a pair of shorts over your waist and ditching the coverup into the depths of your bag. You fumble with your keys, checking the logs to make sure everyone’s signed out before doing the same thing yourself.

You murmur soft goodbyes to the custodians that you pass while making your way towards the parking lot, swinging your keys around your finger as you slide out from behind the gate. There are only two other cars in the lot aside from yours — a white pick-up truck that’s way too lifted for a city car with two guys lounging in the bed, parked right in front of the water park. There is a sleek black car parked a few spots from your little Volkswagen, someone leaning against the passenger side and facing into the empty parking lot. You make it a point not to make eye contact with the pair who are smoking cigarettes on the truck. Your car is only a two or three minute walk, and you keep your eyes forward.

However, the sound of their lighters flickering isn’t enough to distract them as you make your way past their truck. A whistle is heard, and you see the person leaning against their car flinch slightly before a slurred voice rings out.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can I get your number?”

Your shoulders tense, but you don’t look back as you tighten your hand around your keys. Silence fills the air before you hear feet hit the ground. You feel your legs move slightly faster, before the person leaning against the black car turns around and locks eyes with you.

Seungcheol.

“I said hello.” “I have a boyfriend. Leave me alone.”

You’re lying. You’re lying like a fucking dog and you're sure he can tell by the tremble in your voice; but it doesn’t matter because Seungcheol’s eyes narrow slightly as he pushes off the side of the car. His hands are tucked inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, and he rounds the front of the car. He walks towards you, his jaw tight as he keeps his eyes trained on whichever of the men decided to trail behind you. You practically run to him, your hand instinctively gripping the front of his sweatshirt as his arm wraps around your shoulders.

You appreciate the way a feeling of security blankets over you, his fingers brushing your neck as he nestles his hand across the back of it. He pulls you close, the footsteps that had been behind you stopping. You hear his tongue click above you, before he speaks..

"Juwon? Cha Juwon?" Juwon makes a sound of confusion, "How do you know my name?" You glance up to see Seungcheol's eyebrows furrow, "Because I know your father. I also know you play soccer for Yonsei and you got a full scholarship to their engineering program. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you think the committee would be happy to know you're being a fucking creep?"

You peer at Juwon, his eyes wide as he takes a step back. "I don't want any problems–" "It's a little late for that, don't you think? You can kiss your scholarship goodbye. Stop being a fucking loser that makes girls uncomfortable and can't take no for an answer. Get the hell out of here and don't come back." Seungcheol barks, your fingers tightening on the material of his sweatshirt as the man's jaw drops. He quickly turns on his heel, sprinting back to the pick-up where his friend is staring open-mouthed. Juwon doesn't wait for the guy to get in the car, cranking the engine and speeding out of the parking lot as he manages to close the tailgate.

You watch in silence, before realizing how hot your face is. Clearing your throat, you awkwardly pat the spot on his sweatshirt that you'd been gripping and start to pull away.

"Are you okay?" He murmurs, his hand not moving from the back of your neck as he peers down at you. You shift, "Yeah. Fine, sorry." "You're not the one that should be sorry." He shakes his head. "Do you want me to tail you home? Just so I know you got in safe, because I know Shua's not home."

"How do you know that?" "He asked me to keep an eye out for you. I haven't left the park before you have until tonight."

He shrugs, and you feel a frown tug at your lips. "He's such a dad." "He cares. So…yes or no? Either way I'm gonna do it." He shrugs again, a small smile on his lips as you sigh. You nibble on your lip, before running a shaky hand over your face and nodding reluctantly. "Fine." "Or…I could just take you home. I'll have someone pick up your car, free of charge." There's a lilt to his voice, and you tongue your cheek. "We can drive around or something while you wait for Shua to get home. I'll feel better about it, and I'll know you're safe." "Why are you being nice to me? We're not friends." You mutter, looking at the ground. He hums, his shoe nudging the toe of your sandals making you look up. "I don't think you understand that you're the only one with a problem. I have no issue with you, much less do I focus on any of the negative things I've heard about you. So what if I was a slut in college? If you bothered to get to know me, you'd know I'm California Celibate." You snort, feeling the release of tension from your chest as you shake your head. "That's not a thing, and that doesn't make it any better." "It is so a thing! And there's no way it doesn't make it better, especially if that's your main issue with me." He tilts his head, eyeing your face gently. "I know you can't really be that mad that I slept with Jaehee. There has to be something deeper." "Like you ruining my chances with Chan?" "Like me bugging the shit out of you because you're cute when you're angry." You scowl, hating the way your stomach flutters as he smiles widely. "Come on. And then you can actually get to know me, instead of basing all your feelings about me on a failed relationship from college." He doesn't give you a chance to refute it, because some glint in his eye makes your face grow hot as you cross your arms on your chest. "That sounds a lot like a date." "If it were a date…you don't seem like you'd be too opposed." He chides over his shoulder, and you're foolishly following behind him. You frown, and he only shakes his head as he rounds the front of his car once more, opening the passenger side swiftly. Of course – of course Choi Seungcheol is a fucking gentleman.

"I am opposed." You grumble, before slipping into the seat. The car smells so nice – hints of patchouli and bergamot and the sweetness of pineapple. You reach to close the door, only to be stopped by Seungcheol's hand on the outside handle. He peers down at you, before crouching down to meet your eyes.

"I can change that." "I have a boyfriend."

"Yeah, me, apparently." He smirks, before standing up right and closing the door gently. You run your fingers through your hair, closing your eyes as you lean your head back on the seat. He gets in the car quietly, shoving his keys into the ignition and turning the engine over before you open your eyes.

"Why'd you even start working at the park? Joshua always said you'd never work here." He asks softly as he makes a quick turn out of the parking lot, and you sigh. "You can't laugh if I tell you." "You can always lie, because I can't promise you I won't laugh." He jests, making you snort as you tiredly cross your legs at the knee. "I got let go from my job, the clerical one. He wasn't upset, Shua, but I was. And then we had somewhat of a fight because I forgot to pay the light bill in favor of buying myself a little something." You shrug, and he rolls to a stop at a red light. "A little something?" You give him a pointed look through tired eyes, "A big something. Hot pink, battery powered with sixteen settings that make you see stars and suddenly everything is okay in the world. Melatonin with a twist, I'd say." He bites his lip, his eyes crinkling at the corner as he looks away. You snicker to yourself, shaking your head as you look out the windshield. The sky is clear, the moonlight very bright through the dense trees that line the road leading back to the inner city. "What is California Celibate?" You ask suddenly, tilting your head to look at him as he tongues his cheek. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, before shrugging.

"It means I only do what I like." "Oh, so you're just annoying by choice. Got it." He chuckles softly as you roll your eyes. "Casual sex just isn't my thing; it wasn't even in college. It's just…the general foreplay. I like the build up, oral and whatnot. Kissing is fun, too." "Oh, you're such a whore." "Mmh, I like it when you talk dirty. But, I haven't slept with anyone since before I went to nationals and got hurt. I just…stopped, I didn't have the energy to do anything. Much less have sex that made me feel…used." You don't let him see the way your eyes widen. You make an exaggerated gagging sound as he snickers, his fingers flicking his turn signal.

The drive is quiet for a little while, the road winding as he takes you through the wooded area you'd grown up in. You don't mind it, the map on his dashboard GPS still showing your house as the destination no matter the turns you take.

"I'm sorry about your hip, by the way." You speak up, and he shrugs. "Thanks. It's just life, though. It took a lot for me to get over it, but I could either wallow in the resentment or get off my ass and do something with my life. I chose the latter." "Mmh. What are you doing now? What did you major in?" "I'm in grad school currently, and I'm working at a massage spa for the time being. I'm trying to open a business in the future, I think I'd do well in sports therapy and shit like that. I want to work with athletes who have the same situation as me. I don't want to get sappy but it's one of the harshest realities that can hit someone who thinks their life is set in stone, you know?" You feel your heart warm a bit, and you can't bite back your smile as you cover it with your hand. He glances at you, brow raised. "What?" "Nothing. That's nice." He brakes gently, pulling over before putting the car in park. "Tell me."

"It's just cute. To see you care, I guess. Having fuckboy tendencies and a big heart sounds kind of like it's out of a movie. It's not real." He tilts his head, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. "Cute?" "Don't let it get to your head." You warn, running your hands up and down your arms. His eyes follow the movement, before he unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls his sweatshirt over his head. He holds it out to you, and you shake your head. "I'm fine." He silently presses the button to release your seatbelt, making you huff as you take the sweatshirt and tug it over your head. "It's gonna smell like chlorine." "Washing machines exist." "So does turning the heat on." "But you'd look so pretty in my clothes, sweetheart." You tongue your cheek as he winks, leaning back into his seat and buckling himself in. He moves to fiddle with the shift gear, before pausing and looking back at you.

"Would it make you more comfortable if I wasn't at Junhui's birthday celebration next weekend?" Your eyes widen, "Did Joshua say something to you?"  He shrugs, tonguing his cheek. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, especially in a place you've grown up in and have good memories in. I'd hate to sully that for you, if–" "Oh, I'm sorry." You interrupt, rubbing at your face haphazardly. "I'm just in my own head sometimes. I was telling Joshua that I was worried about it because I…" His eyes are soft as he searches your face. "Because you…what?" "I don't like being wrong." You mumble, picking at your nails. "I hate being wrong, actually. So much so that I've had arguments with Shua that last weeks so I don't have to apologize. And if you went, and I saw that everyone vouched for you the way Shua and Jeonghan do, I'd have to give you a chance. I'd have to admit that I jumped the gun, and it's just not something I'm good at. Especially not in front of Shua, because…well, he's Shua." He twists in his seat, "What if you apologize now? Just you and me." You roll your eyes, "What, and you won't tell anyone? I'm not five, Seungcheol." "Cheol." "What?" "Call me Cheol. Seungcheol feels too…formal. Choi Seungcheol, too. Don't like it."

"Anything else, Your Highness?" You scoff, and he smiles as he leans over the center console. "I mean, I'm partial to baby. Honey, even, if you're feeling nasty."

You roll your eyes, looking at him with a brow raised. He returns the look, shamelessly looking at your lips before tilting his head. "What's going on with you and Joshua?" "Nothing." Your answer comes out too fast, and it makes him smile. "Nothing? Or nothing you want to admit to?" "I have nothing to admit to. The guy is my roommate, he pays my bills and signs a fat check for my student loans because he loves me. That's my guy." You shrug, feigning nonchalance as he leans slightly closer, his cologne filling your nose slightly. Same patchouli…same bergamot and sweet, sweet pineapple. He doesn't look like he believes you, and you sigh. "Just ask. Go on." "You haven't slept with him?" "I have." "How many times?"

"I'll answer your question with another one. Why does it matter?" You lean into him, and he shrugs. "It doesn't. Just curious." "Mmh." You hum, your cheeks growing hot as his tongue swipes over his lips again, his eyes trained on the soft pout on yours. "Do you want to kiss me or something?" He smiles, "Depends on if you'd kiss me back." "No." He immediately feigns disgust, turning his nose up, "Ew, who would ever kiss you? That's so gross, and you smell like chlorine. I bet you don't even know how to kiss!"

You gape, a laugh bubbling from the back of your throat as you cover your mouth to muffle the sound. Your shoulders shake as you hold the laughter in, only to look over and see him smiling, almost fondly.

"But I could teach you."

"Like hell you will. Take me home." You manage to spit out, his face contorting into one of disappointment as he scoffs. "You could take me to dinner first, you know. I'm not just a good fuck–" "To my house! I'm sure Shua is home and I have to be up early for my shift." You huff, fanning at your face with your hands as he puts the car in drive with a grin. You wipe at your eyes as he pulls back onto the road, a soft blush on his cheeks as he follows the GPS to a T. It's silent, but it's comfortable – even as you make it to the apartment in twenty minutes to see Joshua still hasn't arrived.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to face him.

"I'm sorry for making assumptions about you and being a jerk. It was unfair of me." You admit softly, and he only shakes his head. "It is what it is. You had your reasons." "They weren't very justifiable reasons, I think. Either way, I'm sorry." "Mmh. Do you want me to wait? I don't like the idea of you being here alone." "Nothing's going to happen to me, you know. I know how to defend myself, but I'll stay for the sake of your sanity." You roll your eyes, and he smiles softly. "I'm sure you do, princess. Thank you for being so considerate." You scoff, "I do! And for the record, I'm an excellent kisser. I don't need you to teach me shit."

The smirk on his lips makes your cheeks warm as he shakes his head.

"Mhm." The car is quiet, your head leaned against the seat before you turn to him. He's staring at the front door, almost as though he's expecting someone to walk through it.

"Is Jaehee the reason you started sleeping around in college? To mend your broken heart and whatnot?" He doesn't stiffen, or seem bothered as he turns to look at you. His eyes are conflicted, and he shrugs.

"I was sleeping around before Jaehee. All the newfound freedom being away from home paired with the fact that some sorority girls really, really like athletes…it got to my head. I got ahead of myself, and I wasn't really looking for a relationship. Jaehee was, but she realized it wasn't the best idea to keep dating within a certain circle. That was the end of it." You nod, clasping your hands in your lap. "I wonder what that's like." "What?" "Sleeping around. Does it make you feel…I don't know, icky? Used, like you said?" "It did. I mean, I was in the mindset of just needing that rush of recklessness, I guess. But the sweat dries, and you still feel like shit after." He nods, tonguing his cheek. "You…dated Wonpil, right? On the baseball team?"

You nod, a soft frown donned on your lips as you scrunch your nose at him. "For three years. Two in college and one after. We broke up for a multitude of reasons, but life goes on and you find other things to worry about, and I missed the freedom I had before we got together. I spent so much time just hanging around and going to movies, to concerts, I even worked at a fried chicken place with Soonyoung and gorged myself on biscuits. In a relationship…you have to answer to somebody and it takes a lot of your time." "Isn't that the best part of it all, though? Spending time with someone you know cares?" "I have friends who care, and I spend my time with them." "What about your family?" You stiffen slightly, your jaw tight as you clear your throat. "I uh…I don't talk to them. Haven't since after high school graduation." "I'm sorry."

You just shake your head, shrugging before turning in your seat. "It's just a sore subject, not your fault. I think…I'm gonna head inside now. I'm sure Shua will be home any minute and he'll start asking too many questions if he sees me get out of your car." He nods quickly, "Sure. Have a good night, I'll get your car here by morning." 

You smile, popping the door open slightly. You let it hang open, before leaning over the center console. "Thanks for helping me out back there, and for the ride…Cheol." He turns to face you, eyes widening a bit when he realizes how close you are but he doesn't back away. His smile is soft, glancing at your lips before he speaks. "Anytime."

"Goodnight." You mumble, pressing your lips to his cheek quickly before slipping out of the car and shutting the door. You don't look back, your cheeks hot as you fish your keys out of your bag with shaky hands and shove the house key into the lock.

The air in the apartment is cool – but it's not cool enough as you lock the door behind you and slide down it. You groan, gently banging the back of your head against the wooden door. You don't hear Seungcheol's car pull out of the lot, you're sure he's waiting for Joshua to arrive before he leaves.

You don't want to hear anything from the mouth of your roommate – so you push off the floor and beeline for your bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror – before putting your head in your hands.

"So stupid."

"ARE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP IGNORING ME?"

It's been four days since Seungcheol dropped you off at home – and you feel weird.

You can't focus for shit and your heart races a mile a minute every time you see him wink at you and you can't breathe if he's in the break room. Why the fuck is he even in the break room? Who let him in? How do you get him out? How do you get him in your bed? Stop.

"Mhm." You hum, nodding your head as you flip through yet another magazine. The sector was unusually empty for a Thursday night; but you were on break, laying out on the edge of the pool. Your foot was dipped into the water, swirling around as you used the magazine to block out the rearing moonlight – and he was oddly floating by your side, his crossed arms on the edge of the pool and nearly touching your arm. "Tch, that's too bad, princess. I would've asked you to get a drink with me." You try not to smile, cracking your gum as you flip onto the next page of your magazine, "I wouldn't get a drink with you if you were the President."

"I would hope you don't like wrinkly old men, but I digress. Come on, at least look at me."

You put the magazine on your chest with a groan, crossing your arms over your eyes before speaking.

"Seungcheol, if you're going to keep bothering me, you're going to have to get out and go to another pool." "Or, you could get in." "Seungcheol." "Come on, just a dip. We can talk, get better acquainted." He whines, and you snort. You lift your arm up, your heart catapulting it's way to your ass as you scoff. "I'd get better acquainted with a rock." 

"Jeonghan has a rock he keeps in his room. Says it's his pet."

"Ugh, Seungcheol." You groan, splaying your arms out as he chuckles. "Sound so pretty when you say my name, princess. Let me hear it again." You scowl, sitting up on your elbows. "You're fucking insufferable." He feigns offense, a hand on his chest as he turns his nose up. "I'd never make you suffer at my hands, pretty. Pleasure pool only."

You gape, before rolling your magazine up and smacking his shoulder with it. "Leave me alone! I'm supposed to be on a break from my grueling job and you're over here drooling like a dog. Go away!" "But I'll miss you when I'm gone." He sounds so pitiful, you almost believe it until you see the hint of a smirk on his lips. You hit him with the magazine again, before scrambling to your feet and huffing. "Leave me alone!"

His laughter fills your ears as you walk away, a whistle making you throw the magazine at him. You don't really mean it. You don't, and you hate that in less than a month, he managed to get under your skin and implant himself in your brain. You don't like the fact that you so willingly got into his car on Sunday night, you don't like the fact that he made you laugh so hard in his passenger seat, and you don't like that you let your intrusive thoughts let you plant a fat one on his cheek before you ultimately ran from the problem (him) and into the sanctity of your apartment where a certain battery powered object awaited you and your running mind.

Joshua had been in and out of the park for the last few days, and hadn't gotten a chance to catch you alone despite his pointed looks. He was the one who signed at the door when your car was delivered by whatever mystery tow company Seungcheol had, and he even called your phone twice before finding you passed out in your bedroom with your phone on the nightstand. You managed to slip out of the apartment before he could ask any questions since Monday, and you could tell he was growing frustrated as you spotted him across the park.

"Y/N!" His voice rang through the park just as you turned on your heel, eager to return to the odd solace of Seungcheol's teasing. You grimace, running a hand over your face as you turn to see him walking your way with a look on his face that says what has gotten into you?

And you don't know, but you certainly know what you'd like to get into you.

Stop it.

"Hey, Shua. What's up?" Your voice is tight, but the way he crosses his arms makes it seem like you're in trouble. "What's up? Is that really what you're leading with?" You clear your throat, "What are you talking about?"

He rolls his eyes, leaning closer, "You like Seungcheol." You gasp, "How dare you! I would never like a scum-sucking harlot like Choi Seungcheol." "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Barbie." You hear Seungcheol's voice near you, scowling as he winks before making his way past you to the cabana. You scrunch your nose at the deliciously broad expanse of his shoulders, before looking up at Joshua – who looks skeptical.

"Right…anyway. Junhui and Jeonghan are flying in tonight, and I'm leaving early to pick them up." He starts, and you watch the way he looks over his shoulder at the cabana. "You can…get a ride home, right? I mean…don't think I don't know that you hitched one with Cheol on Sunday." You groan, running your hand over your face. "I had no choice." "Your car was running perfectly fine when you went to work on Monday." "Maybe I got it fixed and that's why it got delivered." "Maybe our Ring camera showed the two of you sitting in front of our apartment for twenty minutes before you kissed his cheek." The Ring camera.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling your face grow hot in embarrassment as Joshua chuckled above you. "You like him." "I do not! I was merely apologizing for being a jerk, okay? God forbid a girl apologizes to her…to…you know what I mean!" "I don't believe I do, sweetheart. But, I'll leave you to it, and I expect you guys to be safe." "I am not going to fuck Choi Seungcheol, Joshua." You grumble, but the confidence in your voice is questionable as Joshua envelopes you into a soft embrace. You begrudgingly wrap your arms around his waist, "Drive safe." "I will. I'm really sorry to leave you like this, but at least now I know he'll get you home safe." He murmurs in your ear, before planting a kiss on the side of your head. "I'll see you at home, okay? I'll be late, so don't wait up." "Bye, Shua." You pull yourself from his arms, before feeling his hand pat your back as he skirts around you. You sigh, not managing to catch the way Seungcheol's eyes had narrowed at the prolonged contact between you and your roommate. Not that he cared, he didn't.

You spend the rest of your shift avoiding Seungcheol more, scrunching your nose at his winks and smirks and stupid fucking shoulders that you wanted to sink your teeth into.

You want to say you don't know where the 180° came from, but you do. You know that the jokes in his car, the soft discussion of what he wants for the future and what he aspires to inspire…the understanding that he was human, too…all of it. All of it contributed to the weird buzzing in your limbs when you caught a whiff of his cologne as he passed by or the way your shoulders tensed when you heard the lilt of flirting in his voice as he snuck up on you. 

It's only worsened by how well he fills out his stupid clothes, the material of his shirts straining against those arms that make you want to pass out. Your skin prickles when you hear the intercom crackle, announcing the park has officially closed just as you start making rounds to see if there are any stragglers. Your pace is quick, your feet bare against the hot cement and rounding corners with a speed only God could rival.

…Until you slam right into Seungcheol's chest.

"Shit, sorry–" "What are you running from?" 

He winces, rubbing the heel of his palm against his chest where your shoulder hit. You have a sheepish look on your face, "Sorry, I'm doing rounds." "I can tell. Warn a guy." "Well if you had left like everyone else did–" "You wouldn't have a ride home. Let's not play this game, beautiful."

You tongue your cheek, crossing your arms when you feel his fingers under your chin.

"Are you really going to ignore me like this? I thought we were forming a connection. You wound me, babe." "I am not your babe."

You swat his hand away, only for him to catch your wrist and pull you close. "You could be." You let out a noise of frustration, "If you're going to stop me from doing my job, I can't go home. If you really care, you'll go wait in the car." He smiles, your stomach fluttering like an idiot as he runs his eyes over your face. He tilts his head, his voice soft as his fingers loosen around your wrist. "What if I want to walk with you?"

"Seungcheol." "A little louder, princess." You smack his chest, "Get out! Let me do my job!" He laughs as he squeezes your wrist gently before dropping it. "I'll be at the gate." "Fine, whatever." You cross your arms as you skirt around him, your chest tightening as you realize that come tomorrow afternoon – you'd be stuck in a cabin with him and all your friends. Him, and his shoulders and his lips that are so plump and kissable and his stupid thighs that look like they could crush a watermelon–

"Stop it, Y/N. Jesus Christ, it's like you're a Victorian man." You mutter to yourself as you round the Lazy River, your eyes darting all over it. "Stupid man and his stupid…hot body and his dumb face and I hate him." The grumbling doesn't stop as you make your way into the office, grateful that today was a day you stayed out of the pool (aside from your leg) and you duck into one of the bathrooms to change into a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, nearly tripping as you tug a pair of underwear over your ankles. Your eyes fall on Seungcheol's sweatshirt at the bottom of your bag, and you tongue your cheek before pulling it out and tugging it over your head.

You clock out accordingly, making sure to greet the custodians as you walk by them, shoving your hands in the pocket of the sweatshirt when you hear soft whistling at the gate. Your eyes flicker up to see Seungcheol leaning against the brick wall, swinging his keys around his finger and typing a text with one hand. He shoots it off, tucking his phone into his pocket when you open the gate. "Who was that?" You ask abruptly, locking the gate behind you as he raises a brow.

"Who was who, babe?" "On your phone, and I'm not your babe." You turn back to see him smiling, running his tongue over his teeth as he shakes his head.

"No one, sweetheart." "Right…no one." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms on your chest as you start walking into the empty parking lot. His car is a few feet away, and you quickly make your way over to it when you feel your phone start buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing Joshua's contact flashing across the screen. You answer it, putting it on speaker and static noise fills the air.

"Yo." "Hey. Did you get a ride with Cheol like I said?" Seungcheol tilts his head at you as you lean against the hood of his car. You roll your eyes, "Yeah. He's standing right here, looking like an idiot as usual." Joshua's laughter is heard through the static of the call, "Be nice to him, he's doing you a favor. I just got to the airport, this place is fucking packed. I'll call you when I'm on the way home, okay?" "Yeah, Shua. I'll see you." "See you, sweetheart. Be nice!" You hang up, shoving your phone back into your pocket and looking to see Seungcheol's jaw a bit tight. You raise a brow, but don't manage to speak as he opens the door. "Hop to, princess. I've got to deliver you home before this carriage turns into a pumpkin." "Do you also turn back into a rat or is that just my wishful thinking?" He snorts, "Get in the car."

You smile inwardly as you do so, his hand softly shutting the door behind you. You watch as he rounds the front of the car, before slipping into the driver's side and cranking the ignition. His fingers fiddle with the dashboard, before you hear the click of the doors locking and his seatbelt being clicked in. Your eyes close as you lean back onto the headrest, crossing your legs at the knee.

You expect him to pull off, but you open one eye to see him fishing his phone out of his pocket. He tongues his cheek, reading something on the screen before turning it off and tossing it into his backseat. "What's that about?" "You really are the jealous type, huh? Cute." 

He smiles cheekily, pulling out of the parking lot as you frown. 

"I am not jealous of anything. I am…merely concerned." "Aw, you care about me, princess?"

His pout is mocking you as you scowl, "I cannot believe I'm going to be locked in the middle of the woods with you for the weekend. Junhui better appreciate the ground I walk on for the rest of his life." Seungcheol smiles softly, "It is very kind of you to put up with so many people for a weekend. Especially when a handful of them saw that nip slip last year." "Oh my God, they will not let that go. So what, I have nipples. Shua has literally…" You trail off, seeing his brows slightly furrowed as he flicks on his turn signal. You clear your throat, "They're just boobs. They act like we're virgins from the 18th century." "Mhm." He nods, tapping the gear shift at a random rhythm. You follow his fingers, only to see his other hand white-knuckling the bottom of the steering wheel. "What made you room with Joshua, anyway?"

You shrug, "He's all I have left, I guess. My family and I…are complicated, and Joshua helped me through all that. All our friends are still waiting for us to get together but it's literally never going to happen. Just because we slept together–" "Right, right." He interrupts, and you raise a brow. "Anyway, there is nothing romantic there. Shua's great and all but we both admit that desperate times called for desperate measures." "Mhm." His lips are pressed into a tight line as he turns into the same road lined with dense trees. You tilt your head, before leaning forward in your seat.

"Are you alright? You're gripping the wheel awfully tight." "Ah, sorry. Sometimes I don't notice."

He clears his throat, loosening his grip on the wheel. You lean back cautiously, before closing your eyes. The car is silent, before you hear the click of his tongue.

"If you have something to say–" "Are you sure there isn't anything romantic between the two of you? I mean, I wouldn't room with a girl and take care of her like Shua takes care of you unless I had feelings for her."

You try not to let a frown fight its way onto your lips, remembering Jeonghan's voice in your head.

"You guys need to stop sleeping together, eventually someone is going to come along and you'll have to explain that weird ass dynamic."

"Yeah, you have a point." "So?"

You feel the car jerk to a halt, before you notice you're now pulling over into the same spot from Sunday night. The trees hide the car perfectly but you still get a stream of moonlight, and he puts the car in park to face you, unbuckling his seatbelt. You do the same, before you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips and a sigh slips out.

"Shua is the only person I have that has seen me go through it all. He met my grandparents, he helps me out more than anyone ever has. He helps me just turn my brain off and not worry about anything. I appreciate him as a roommate, and a friend. There is nothing romantic, and it's only been three times that we've slept together. I don't think we'll sleep together again, it's going to be too hard to explain if anyone were to come along and want to be with either of us romantically. 'Hey, my best friend that lives with me, pays my student loans and all my bills also fucked me on the couch you're sitting on. Isn't that funny?'"

He nods, tonguing his cheek. His fingers trace the grooves in the gear shift, PRNDL.

"Why did you kiss me on Sunday?" "Lapse in judgment. Don't make it sound like we made out, you literally said I'd be a bad kisser." "You said you weren't."

He leans on the center console, chin in his hand as he peers up at you through his lashes. You don't like the way your throat feels dry at the pleading look, possibly intentional…possibly not.

You force a scoff, "Because I'm not."

He tilts his head, "How do you expect me to believe that without proof?" "You want me to prove to you that I'm not a bad kisser." "Mhm." "And you want to do this right before we're going to be locked in a cabin together for a weekend with all our friends?" His smile is soft as he nods, "Who said they have to know?" "They will. They always know when someone in the group is getting some, that's how bitchless everyone is." "You're not getting anything, I just want to see if you're a bad kisser." "This is exactly how Jeonghan got Jeon Minseo to date him for three years, you know." "You just love talking about other guys." He rolls his eyes, and you scoff. "And you're putting the moves on me! You don't even like me! How are you not still a whore that I should be wary of?"

"You don't know if I like you or not." He says, "you don't know how to ask questions, only make assumptions based on dated misinformation." "Why would I ask you if you like me when I don't like you? Let's not forget, you cockblocked me! I could be getting the pipe of my life right now!" You scold him, and a small smirk pulls at his lips.

"I mean, I could break my celibacy–" "Don't piss me off." "Then shut me up."

You only realize how close he is when you look back at him, his eyes still wide and watery and stupid as you rub your face in contemplation. A huff escapes your lips as you click your tongue, before you turn and lean into his face. His eyes flicker to your lips, shifting in his seat.

"If you tell anyone–" "I won't. This is just for you and me, I promise." 

You and me.

His hand is warm as he cups your cheek, and you struggle not to roll your eyes at the way your skin prickles. His breath is minty against your lips, and you let your eyes meet. Your face feels hot as he smiles softly, his thumb brushing the skin of your cheek.

"We don't have to–" "I want to." "Yeah?" You don't respond, opting to close the gap between you and slotting your lips with his. It's soft, it's natural – how easily you fall into rhythm with him. His lips are soft, tongue skilled as he slips it into your mouth. You didn't realize how much you were leaning into him as you sucked on his tongue, a soft groan from his throat making your heart race in your chest. Your hands grip the edge of the center console as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you against him as he nips at your lips. You move back, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips before clearing your throat.

"Proof enough?" "I think I need more, actually. Insufficient data and whatnot–" "Oh, shut up."

You scoff inwardly, feeling your cheeks hot as you move to pull away further, but he only follows. "Just one more." "Seungcheol–" "Please."

You roll your eyes, letting him slot your lips to his once more. It's like he's addicted, the way he leans over the center console even further just to be closer to you. Your hands grip his shirt, keeping him close as you move back. He chases your lips, but you move your hand to cover his mouth as he furrows his brows.

"Joshua's going to wonder where I am–" "Ugh." He falls back into his seat, running a hand over his face. "I forgot about him. It's not like he's your keeper." You snort, before awkwardly shoving your hands back into the pocket of the sweatshirt. "He's not, but he does have access to our Ring camera. If I show up with your spit all over me–" "We can wipe you down." "Seungcheol…this is just not a good idea." "Why?" You nibble on your lip, crossing your legs at the knee. Your thighs are tense under your shorts, clamped together as you try and push any thought of arousal to the back of your mind. You can feel him looking at you, and you pick at your nails inside the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Just…take me home, please." He doesn't respond, only watching as you pull the seatbelt over your chest. The heat of his stare suddenly disappears, and you hear the click of his own seatbelt as he clears his throat. He doesn't say anything, even as you peer at him out of the corner of your eye, his hands fiddling with the shift gear before you feel the car steer back onto the road.

For a moment, there is nothing to say – but you feel small. You feel like you've done exactly what you'd been telling yourself you wouldn't, falling for charms that shouldn't have worked on you the way they did on all the other girls. You think about the way your sorority sisters fawned over him – his body, the way they bragged about being folded like a damn lawn chair at his leisure, the way his tongue made them lose their minds and almost always crawl back for more.

Sure, he's…honest. He told you he didn't like casual sex, he told you he didn't like the way it felt after.

But you know that only means he pushed the feeling aside time and time again, because he still did it. You knew more about how well he ate pussy than anything else, and you felt odd as your heart sank in your chest. You don't know of a single girl that he ever intended to be serious with – so what makes you any different? And why do you give a flying fuck about being different to him – you don't even like him.

Of course you don't like him. He's arrogant and annoying and…profound. And gentle, and smart and funny and flirty and so fucking stupid. He's so stupid, Choi Seungcheol.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" "I don't want problems this weekend, Seungcheol." "You won't have any. Don't worry about it." His voice is slightly tight, but you turn to look at him. He looks fine to the naked eye, his jaw relaxed, shoulders set back as he flicks on his turn signal. You nod slowly, feeling the car roll to a halt for a stoplight. He glances up at the red light, before his eyes flicker to yours. He raises a brow, and you just shake your head. "Sorry." "Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N." You don't like the way your name rolls off his tongue, it's nothing like the first time you heard him say it. He says it like there is nothing else to be said, your name being the stamp that ends the teasing, the trolling…and his brand of flirting. You shift in your seat, before seeing the gate of your apartment complex come into view. "You can stop here, I'll just walk the rest of the way." You murmur, and he tongues his cheek. He waits for the gate to open, the two of you peering over to see Joshua's car parked in front of your apartment. He's home, and you hear the familiar sound of thunder rolling overhead.

Seungcheol stops the car, the air thick like he has something to say. He doesn't, his finger unlocking the door and you mutter a thanks as you push it open. You set your foot out, but feel rooted in your seat. Your hand is tight around the handle of the door before you put your leg back into the car and close the door. Seungcheol makes a sound of concern, leaning forward slightly in his seat. His finger taps the center console, and you glance up at him.

"Cheol?" "Yes?" "Do you like me?" The words taste like metal in your mouth, but you chalk it up to chewing on your cheek too hard. He's silent, his fingers tracing the stitching of his center console before sighing.

"It's hard not to." He starts, and you feel your brows furrow on your face as you turn to face him fully. "You based yourself on what you heard about me, but if I had done the same thing…I think I still would've liked you a bit." "What?" "Joshua talks about you a lot. So does Jeonghan, Soonyoung…Mingyu, even. Just because I didn't get a chance to befriend you the same way they did because I was stuck in my own world…doesn't mean I don't know things about you. I know a lot about you, down to the fact that you learned how to swim in a lake after your sister threw you in. I know you don't like it when your food touches, I know you like to lie and say you're an inch taller than you actually are." "What's one inch?" You grumble, before shaking your head. "You're avoiding the question." "No, I'm answering and simultaneously telling you why you should give me a chance." "You lied to Chan–" "And you lied to Joshua when you said you said you'd never like a, what was it? A scum-sucking harlot like me? You're no better." "I don't like you, Seungcheol." You grit, "And I didn't lie. I said the truth, I could never–" "You're wearing my sweatshirt. You stare at me like you've never seen a man before in your life, don't think I don't notice the way you literally follow me with your eyes. Not to mention, we just kissed, not even ten minutes ago. You want to act like I'm not even worth the time, like I'm not worth your time but you act so differently when it's just me and you. You tell Joshua one thing, but you bite back your smiles when you talk to me. I was honest with you about my past, and what I want for my future. It's not enough for you to even try to change your mind and I can respect that, and I think whatever game you're playing needs to end now because I'm not strong enough for this seesaw. So, I'm getting off. How's that for never?" 

His jaw is tight now, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he closes his eyes. "I'm not coming this weekend, so tell Junhui I'm sorry. Please, go inside. It looks like rain."

You don't know why your nose burns as your jaw clenches, your hand gripping the strap of your bag so tight anyone would think you'd seen it run away before. A drop of water hits his windshield as you run your tongue over your teeth, a tear falling onto the light grey fabric of his sweatshirt before you haphazardly tug it off. You throw it into his backseat before pushing his door open, slamming it behind you as you get out and make your way to your apartment door. 

He doesn't pull away even as you get inside, and you feel your chest tight as you throw your keys into the bowl on the foyer table. Joshua's voice can be heard stopping abruptly in the kitchen as you toe your shoes off quickly, and you see the flash of a blond head as you hide your face and practically sprint to your room as tears flow down your cheeks.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You don't respond as Joshua calls after you, slamming your way into your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SINKING FEELING IN YOUR CHEST AS YOU SAT IN FRONT OF JEONGHAN'S APARTMENT – AWAITING HIS ARRIVAL INTO THE RENTED VAN THAT WOULD PAVE THE WAY TO THE CABIN.

"Hey, honey." His voice is soft as he leans in the passenger window, and you hum in response. You don't look up from the book in your hand, even when you feel his cool fingertips thumb at your earlobe. "You don't look very happy." "I'm fine, Jeonghan." You spent a few hours sobbing silently into your pillow the night before, before Joshua and Junhui took your doorknob off to get in. You didn't tell them anything, only apologizing to Junhui for being a mess on his birthday weekend – and you almost threw up as you let Seungcheol's notice slip past your lips. Joshua's eyes had narrowed then, and he'd disappeared from your bedroom as Junhui hugged you tightly with whispered assurances that you were going to be okay.

Junhui wound up falling asleep on your bed next to you, your face swollen when you woke up the moment the morning sun started peeking in through your blinds. Joshua had taken it upon himself to pack your bag, leaving the green duffel at the edge of your bed in case you wanted to put anything else in it.

You spent an hour dunking your face in ice water to minimize the swelling, but it wasn't going down. Joshua only smoothed your hair and told you to get in the car after brushing your teeth. You told yourself that you'd be fine, that everything would be fine – until you saw Seungcheol's name flash across Joshua's phone screen the moment you got in the van and felt a sinking pit in your stomach.

Yearning is a bitch.

"Well…you might wanna go pee or stock up on something. You know the drive is very long, and I don't think Shua's gonna want to stop anywhere." He says softly, and you look up to see a very gentle look in his eyes. Almost like he knew something, and you had no doubt that he did as he opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt. "Come on." You obliged, quietly dog-earing your page and slipping out of the car. You cross your arms on your chest as you follow Jeonghan up to his apartment, not seeing Seungcheol's car anywhere nearby and feeling a bit of a weight off your shoulders. Jeonghan opens the door for you, following closely behind as you wander into the kitchen. Joshua and Junhui are packing things in coolers – sliced fruit, sandwiches…

And Seungcheol is quietly cutting things up for them in the corner, his hands covered in fruit juices and the kitchen covered in bottles of orange juice that seemed to be freshly squeezed. You can't see his face, covered by the shaggy mop of hair you'd gotten used to seeing dripping wet. Mingyu is hovering above the sink, furiously washing dishes as you slip past him – hearing him ask about Junhui's girlfriend and why she's not here.

You don't manage to hear the answer as you sidle up to Joshua, your hand gripping the back of his shirt as he peers down at you.

"How are you feeling, honey?" "Fine. Don't call me honey."

"Noted. How are you feeling, hoe?" You snort, pinching his side as you peer into the cooler. Grapes, sliced oranges, a few yoghurt parfaits you know aren't going to make it past the hour – not if Mingyu was anywhere near the coolers. You feel something cold against your cheek, and flinch to see Jeonghan holding a cold spoon to your face. You take it, silently patting it around your eyes as Joshua bumps his hip to yours.

"You're in my way, sweetheart." "Joshua." "I've called you these things for years, what's the deal? Scoot." You roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him before skirting back out of the kitchen. You hadn't been to Jeonghan's apartment all that often, only twice to sleep off one too many tequila shots and you were gone by morning. You wandered a bit before making your way down the hall. A few doors are left open, and you spot the bathroom when you stop. The other door left open is a bedroom, and you look over your shoulder before tucking the spoon in the back pocket of your shorts and peeking inside.

A large bed is in the middle, dressed in black bedsheets with a forest green comforter. There's a throw blanket bunched at the foot of the bed, and the smell of the room is familiar…patchouli, bergamot…sweet, sweet pineapple. Seungcheol's bedroom. You glance over your shoulder again as a laugh erupts from one of your friends, before you slip into the bedroom. You keep your hands tucked behind your back as you look around – framed photos of him, Jeonghan and Joshua, of the soccer team at SNU, of his family. A small white dog with a cherry clip in the fur has a small shrine all to herself on his dresser, Polaroids of her tucked into the mirror labeled Kkuma with dates. The walls are lined with awards, his degree placard, and a framed piece of newspaper from the SNU Hawk Review Committee. Star Soccer Captain Choi Seungcheol takes SNU to Nationals!

You feel your heart sink a bit, seeing his smiling face printed in the corner. There was yet another Polaroid stuck into the frame – him, holding the silver semi-finals trophy of the same year. Your fingers tremble as you take it into your hand, wiping the caked dust off the photo. You place it back, wiping your fingers on your shorts before sniffling inwardly.

You glance up to see everything else scattered across his desk – textbooks, open notebooks with scrawled notes and his laptop open to an anatomical sketch of the human hip. You read a few of the notes, not understanding anything on the page when your eyes flicker up to see a piece of paper sticking out from one of the folders on his desk. You carefully pull it out, feeling your nose burn as you read the familiar SNU headline.

Ex-soccer captain Choi Seungcheol loses scholarship due to injury.

You remember this article. It had been printed without authorization from the committee, and you remember the editor lost her mind. All copies were to be returned to the yearbook office by that afternoon, but it seems he managed to keep one. You run your finger down the photo of him in the corner, a black-and-white version of the Media Day photos that everyone looked forward to from the Athletics Department.

"You really shouldn't look through people's things. It's rude." You feel your skin prickle at his voice, but you don't bother looking up as you carefully slide the article back into the folder it came out of. You clasp your hands behind your back once more, your eyes scanning over the medals that lined the wall. Most Valuable Player, Best Forward, Best Leadership…

Most Likely To Go Pro. 

"Y/N." "I don't like it when you say my name like that." You don't look away from the wall, your eyes glued to the picture of his graduation. His mother is holding his cheeks tightly, his face pink from the summer heat and holding a large bouquet of flowers in the crook of his elbow. You reach for it, tracing her face with your fingertip.

"Your mom?" "Yes." "She's beautiful." "Thank you." He's closer now, his hand taking the photo from yours and placing it back on his desk. Your eyes move to his face, his eyes slightly swollen as he clears his throat. You feel your stomach knot up, your lips parting as he stares at the photo.

"They're waiting for you." "Come with us. There's room in the van, I'm sorry–" "I'll meet you there, don't worry about it."

I'll meet you there.

He tongues his cheek, and you feel your face grow hot as he peers down at you by the slope of his nose. He tilts his head, "Junhui and Jeonghan asked me. I'm not going to give you any problems, so don't–" "I'm sorry." You interrupt, "please, don't act like this. I don't like it." "You don't like me, so what does it matter?" His voice is soft, and you try not to react as the sting of tears fills your eyes. A honk makes you jump, his laugh tired and hollow. "Go on, Y/N. They're waiting for you." You blink up at him, "Cheol–" "Just call me Seungcheol. They're waiting, and you'll be late. Go, hurry." 

You ignore the pang in your chest as you listen to him, not feeling the heat of his gaze as you slip out of his bedroom.

Seungcheol feels like a fish out of water.

His car is silent, the grey sweatshirt you ripped off last night still thrown in his backseat. His duffel sits in the passenger seat, where the scent of your perfume mixed with sunscreen lingers. He feels his chest heavy as he maneuvers his way through the paved roads of the woodlands, the sun setting in the distance.

He can still feel your lips on his. He spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, feeling his chest ache every time he thought about the sweet taste of the cabana mocktails on your tongue. He ran his fingers over his lips constantly, the smell of your shampoo on his fingertips. He held the tears in as long as he could, but even the mighty fall – and he cried silently, trying to hold his sobs in so as to not wake up Jeonghan in the next room.

He remembers the first time he met you – a time you probably don't remember. It was in passing, though, and you hardly managed to speak to him so he didn't expect you to – at a party. It was Jeonghan's birthday, and it was being hosted at his fraternity's sister sorority house. All of your friends were there, and you greeted everyone eagerly while taking presents and hiding them in your bedroom. You were wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a red halter top, your hair flowing loosely as you bounced around like a spider on crack. 

It was just after Jaehee dumped him. He attended at the incessant begging of Jeonghan, who wanted him to get out of his slump; and wound up being introduced to you by Joshua before you sheepishly apologized and ran over to tend the drink station. He remembers the way your eyes were sparkly with excitement, your smile wide and lips glossed to high heaven. He wasn't even sure you registered his name, but he certainly knew you thought he was cute. You peered at him over the top of red solo cups, even pointing every time you thought he wasn't looking to ask about him to whoever was around you.

Seungcheol remembers the way your earrings swung as you danced, the way you sang the loudest for Jeonghan when you wheeled the cake in…the way you snuck off with Joshua in tow and a joint in your hand. And he remembers how sweetly you bid him goodnight when you found out he was leaving around midnight, even walking him to his car barefoot. You smelled of tequila and sweet almond oil, and he remembers filing you away to the back of his mind, purposely never to be thought of again lest he lose his mind. Everything he knew about you was from your friends. He made it a point not to bump into you, not to run in the circle all that often because he truly believed that crushes cannot be healthy in a friend group. He saw the way you narrowed your eyes if you saw him when you would attend soccer games to support Wonwoo and Junhui, the way you scoffed if you saw him after Jaehee must've told you something.

He saw how guarded you became, even if you didn't know him. He wasn't sure you knew who he was before Jaehee – but you also seemingly didn't care to hang out with him. You were always busy doing something else when he would hang out with the group – your mutual friends rolling their eyes when you'd call to bail because Wonpil wanted to hang out, or because you wanted to spend the night in (read: sleep with Wonpil), or because you simply didn't feel like hanging out.

It was truly, truly divine intervention that the two of you never saw each other – and he thought he'd escaped the idea of ever even being in the same room with you. He thought he'd tricked life, until he walked into the waterpark and saw you sitting at the gate in that bright red swimsuit – and all his memories of that first night came rushing back. He didn't consider anything but dishing back exactly what you served; the idea of sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thighs and covering the expanse of your neck with his lips only flooding in when he walked into the break room and saw you arguing with Soonyoung. You were so standoffish and mean and he didn't understand why he liked it. For years, girls fell to their knees without him even saying anything. Girls threw themselves at him left and right simply because he was on the soccer team, or because he was cute, or because they'd heard about him through the grapevine. But you? Claiming girl code, actively trying to make it a point not to be too available for him even as an employee at your job – he loved it. He loved how you scowled inwardly every time you walked past him, only to smile quickly at any passing mother or coworker. He loved watching the soft swing of your hips as you did rounds at closing, your soft humming to the loud cabana music incredibly cute.

He liked seeing you squirm, too. Calling you Barbie, calling you princess and seeing the way your brow would furrow and your nose would scrunch before you told him off…he lived for it. He felt a bit of pride in his chest when he saw you checking him out, even more so when you did it the night he pulled you into the hot spring. 

And he remembers the odd, rolling boil of jealousy in his stomach when he found out the dynamics between you and Chan; and it only got worse when he came across the knowledge that you and Joshua had slept together. He felt his throat tight as you spoke about it, your voice shy and he felt the ugly head of comparison trying to rear its ugly head in; and he felt stupid to feel so jealous, because you weren't his and you were pulling every move in the book to make it known that you would never be. He remembers the fury he felt in his chest when your eyes were full of fear that same night, the way your fingers gripped his sweatshirt as he told off that stupid guy in the parking lot, and he hated it. He tried not to think about what could've happened if he hadn't stayed the way Joshua asked him to.

He hates the way the title boyfriend referred to him temporarily, and falsely. He wants it, the real one; to be awarded the title of your boyfriend and never have to let it go, only upgrade. He wants to make you laugh and brush your hair for you and hold you against his chest during thunderstorms. He wants to hold your hand and kiss your cheek and pay your student loans and Seungcheol wants to make you proud. 

He thinks about how he hasn't dated or slept with anyone in years, calmly rejecting women and carefully avoiding situationships. He thinks about how he aimlessly flirted with the mothers at the park with zero intention of doing anything, just to feel the heat of your jealousy-fueled glare on his back. He thinks about how for the first time in ages, he wants to. He wants to date you – he wants to take you out to dinner and take walks on the beach and fill his room with framed photos of the two of you and take you home to meet his parents. He wants to embarrass you in front of them by kissing you like a mad man and he wants to serve your plate at family dinners and he wants to fill your cup every time it starts running low. He, admittedly, wants to sleep with you – he wants to make love to you, to feel you fall apart for him, to hear you moan and whine and make you cry on his tongue. He wants your shampoo to permeate his bedsheets, he wants the room to smell like you forever and he wants to run his hands over your hips and thighs and just kiss you until you can't breathe.

He wants you to kiss him, to touch him, to ruin him until he can't think of anything but you and all that falls from his lips is your name.

He can't shake the feeling of your lips. Soft and slick, the taste of you lingering in the back of his throat driving him absolutely insane. He pulls over twice on the way to the cabin to get himself together, breathing through his mouth just to see if the taste is still there despite his toothpaste and mouthwash. He palms at his shirt, hoping his hand feels anything like yours, hoping if he thinks about it long enough; you'll reappear. You'll reappear and he'll hear the choked laughter you bite back, he'll smell the chlorine and sunscreen and citrus…he'll feel the warmth of your tongue sliding into his mouth with your fingers bunching up his shirt and it'll settle his heart that feels like it's about to fall out of his chest. You'll reappear and he won't have to think about anything but you, granting him the once-in-a-lifetime chance to kiss you and have you to himself – even if it's just for the moment.

He's dipped his toe in the stormy whirlpool that is falling for you, and he's not so sure he wouldn't like to drown in it. In everything about you, the way you smell and how you fight your feelings back with a bat riddled in rusty nails and how you love. He sees it, your love in all your friends – your excited eyes when you would talk with Joshua about Junhui flying in for his birthday, your laughter ringing through the air when Mingyu chases after you after you steal his drinks at the cabana, your soft suggestions that Soonyoung stop wearing that fucking tiger-print Speedo. Only to turn around and look at him with wide eyes that narrowed just as fast, plump lips that pressed into a thin line with curt nods – that turned into bitten smiles, a soft glint in the back of your eyes and he wants you so fucking bad. He feels pathetic to want you so bad, it's only been a month. A month.

Fools love rushing in, though.

"Stupid. Get a grip." He mutters to himself, his GPS telling him to take a left turn. He does it, seeing the rented van come into view, the cabin towering three stories in the middle of the tall trees. The lights are on, but he can hear laughing and smell the smoke of a fire as he pulls in next to the van. He turns the car off, before hearing someone start screaming about being thrown in the lake. A splash is heard as he opens the door, momentarily pausing before reaching behind the seat and grabbing his sweatshirt. He tugs it over his head, grabbing the strap of his bag before climbing out and slamming the door shut.

He's quiet as he walks towards the door, hearing rustling inside as he treks the steps. He knocks on the door, hearing a soft laugh as someone makes their way to the door. As it opens, he hides his subtle disappointment when he sees Minghao's girlfriend smiling brightly.

"Cheol! Come in, come in. Everyone's out back, I'm just getting some more beers with Hao. Uh, Shua said your room is on the second floor to the left, baby blue door." She gives him a one-armed hug, and he greets her quietly. Minghao calls his greeting from the kitchen, his girlfriend quickly skirting back as Seungcheol makes his way to the stairs. He toes his shoes off, quietly making his way up the steps and looking around before seeing a baby blue door with his name taped on it. The surrounding doors have Minghao, Joshua, Jeonghan…Y/N.

He steps inside, immediately hit with a wave of the citrusy perfume you wear. He sees the entire room covered in memorabilia – you and Joshua, you and your sorority sisters, you and…your grandparents. He sees a singular photo of you, a girl who has a striking resemblance to you and two adults. It's caked in dust and shoved in the back of all the photos, and he sets his bag down on the dresser before tucking his hands in his pockets and looking around. There is a hand-drawn map, easily having been done by a child, of the woods surrounding the cabin. 

"Hey, you made it."

He turns, seeing Joshua standing in the doorway. He nods curtly, before Joshua takes a step into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. "What's going on with you?" "Hm? Nothing, I just needed some time alone." Seungcheol shrugs, and it's not entirely a lie. Joshua sighs, setting his beer down next to Seungcheol's duffle on the dresser. He takes a seat on the foot of the bed, crossing his ankles as he leans back on his arms.

"I know you have feelings for Y/N. It's okay, Cheol." He scoffs, not bothering to face the younger man as he looks at the soft trinkets lining the shelves on the wall. Small angel figurines, religious elements that he's not too sure you subscribe to, a white maneki-neko…a picture of you at graduation, alone. Your smile was too forced, your eyes brimmed with tears and your hands holding your degree so tight, your fingertips looked pained. Tucked in the frame was a Polaroid of you and Joshua sitting in front of a cake that said Congratulations, Graduates!

"Y/N and I aren't romantic." Joshua speaks up, and Seungcheol feels his back tense as he shrugs again. "Don't shrug me off, I know it bothers you. I know you care, Cheol, so let me talk about it." "I don't care." "Yes, you do! Jesus Christ, the two of you are fucking idiots! It's like neither of you understand that you can put your pride aside and feel the things you want to because suddenly it means you're admitting to being human!" Joshua pushes off the bed as Seungcheol peers over his shoulder at him. Joshua runs a hand over his face, "I've known Y/N for over a decade. I've seen her through everything; through grief, in love, in financial crisis, on vacation, and throwing her guts up after drinking too much. I know that girl from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and trust me when I say that she's just not good at admitting her feelings. Do you know how long it took for her to admit she had feelings for Wonpil? Two years. He graduated early and she was still pining after him, I had to tell him myself. And now, I'm telling you." Joshua walks over to Seungcheol, his hand on his shoulder as he leans in.

"I love Y/N, more than anything. She is my best friend, she's my rock and I have no problem taking care of her. But if I have to mend her broken heart because you can't be a man…Seungcheol, I can't imagine it will end well for you."

"It's not me who doesn't want her." Seungcheol speaks softly, tonguing his cheek. "I told her in the car…when I dropped her off last night. I told her that it was her that was pushing me away, because she can't let go of who I used to be. I explained, and I told her I've changed. It's up to her, Joshua, because she tries to convince herself of feelings she doesn't have. She tries to convince herself she doesn't like me. Not me."

The younger man's eyes soften, and he sighs. "She's just scared." "I don't bite." Seungcheol whispers." No matter how much of a dog she thinks I am."

"She did not say that." "She did. And it's fine. I'm not here to cause a scene, I'm here to celebrate my friend's birthday and get wasted. So…let's go, Shua." Seungcheol forces a small smile, seeing the concern lace in the back of his friend's eyes as he pushes past him. He slips out of the bedroom, barreling down the stairs of the cabin with Joshua in tow. He slips his shoes back on, making his way towards the back of the cabin.

"Is everyone here?" He speaks over his shoulder, and Joshua makes an affirmative noise. Seungcheol peers out over the shaded back porch, seeing all their friends scattered around the fire and you, silently sipping a beer as Junhui tells a story Seungcheol can't quite make out as he steps out.

"Cheol!" Junhui yells, "you made it!" The two men slink out of the cabin, Seungcheol forcing yet another smile on his lips as he greets almost everyone with a quick hug. Someone hands him a beer, someone else shoves him in a chair and Chan is sopping wet from (presumably) being thrown in the lake – but all he can think about is how hard he wants to mistake the heat of your eyes for the flame of the fire.

He tries to be in the moment, to listen to Junhui's excited stories about being overseas. He tries to focus when Jeonghan talks about his solo trip to Bali and how he got scammed into buying cat food by a cat. He tries to laugh when they laugh, he tries to ignore the sinking pit in his stomach when you softly ask if anyone wants s'mores; and he's unsuccessful as he notices the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides, thumbs shoved into the front pockets of your shorts.

He feels his heart ache when you return with your arms full of things; marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars and he can't help but let his body take over and help you. He takes the ingredients from your arms, your eyes watery when your hands brush his wrist with a soft thanks. He tongues his cheek as the lump builds in his throat, rapidly blinking the tears that build in his eyes away. He doesn't respond – only breaking the cracker box open and laying them out on the tray you'd tucked under your arm, portioning the chocolate out accordingly. He watches as you sit and roast your marshmallow in silence, smiling quietly at Junhui as he talks about Minghao visiting him during the winter holidays. 

He knows the group is aware something has happened between the two of you when you take a cracker from Seungcheol, only to offer it right back with your blazen marshmallow. He knows you know the group is aware when you blow the fire out on the melting sweet treat, placing another cracker on top before putting it in his hand and casually continuing the conversation.

He knows you want him to know you're glad he's there, when you pass him a beer and whisper in his ear: I was worried you wouldn't come. No one was looking at the two of you then, rummaging through the coolers for drinks or sneaking off in all directions to pee in the forest when there are three free bathrooms inside the cabin. FOMO, he assumes, but he only looks up at you and gives you a small shrug – trying so hard to ignore the way your eyes flicker to his lips before you slink away and into your chair four feet away.

He aches to reach for your hand, nearly crushing the beer can in your grip. He aches to hold you close as Joshua smooths your hair down in passing, shoving a slice of watermelon in your hand and telling you to eat. He aches to slip in the chair next to you, close to you, the way Hansol does when he asks if you're okay. Your voice is only soft as you say I'm fine, just tired.

He decides to turn in early, claiming a headache when Seungkwan, Seokmin and Soonyoung start bothering you. Joshua tells him to rest well, and set an alarm for eight-thirty because the group was going to the waterfalls in the morning. He nods, but he's sure your shriek from being picked up by Mingyu and thrown into the lake could've been heard all the way back into the city. He could hear music start playing outside through the wall of the cabin as he slipped inside, his thoughts not drowned by the hot water of the shower pelting the back of his head; in the bathroom that he realizes is a Jack-and-Jill with your room as he hears slamming on the other side.

He pretends not to hear your grumbling and the schlop of your wet clothes being taken off as he pulls his shirt over his head, walking out into his bedroom for the weekend. He pretends not to hear you say ouch! when he hears a shampoo bottle clatter on the bathtub floor as he's pulling his sweatpants over his hips.

…And he lets a singular tear fall when he hears a soft sob through the bathroom wall, pulling the duvet over his shoulder and staring at your graduation photo with his heart in his throat.

It's nearing two in the morning, and you can't sleep. 

It's raining, and you're sitting on the back porch in your underwear. Everyone had long gone to bed, feeling stupefied by the heat of the fire and the side effects of too many beers each. Your friends had a wonderful first night at the cabin, and most of them didn't notice the carefully timed sniffling or the way you quickly wiped any stray tears from falling down your face. You could tell they sensed something was off though, going as far as having Mingyu throw you in the lake fully clothed to shock you out of it. It didn't, and you stormed upstairs and cried your eyes out in the shower. You only went back downstairs to help Joshua to his room after your shower, his cheek rested on your head as you hauled him into his bed before he spoke to you.

"You're not going to be able to sleep until you and Seungcheol talk things out, you know. Just…listen to me, for once. Yeah?"

And the words lingered in your mind before you came outside. Your knees to your chest as you sat in the wooden swing that belonged to your grandmother, just watching the rain pelt the lake. The wet air felt gross against your bare legs, your underwear barely peeking out of the oversized shirt you donned before bed. However, the feeling was drowned out by the tears that filled your eyes again – and you felt stupid, because it's not like you and Seungcheol had been together. It wasn't like he and you broke up or anything, so it didn't really make sense to feel the way you did. You were angry at yourself, knowing he'd carefully taken down every brick of the wall you'd set up faster than a New York minute the moment you saw him. He'd chipped away at you, pulling you closer and closer, only for your words to say something you didn't mean – words you had meant only a month earlier, and now it felt like your heart was going to come out of your throat.

Maybe it's all a side effect of refusing to feel something and losing everything he is in the process.

And you just sit and think. You think about your past relationships – really, just Wonpil. He had been a good guy, really…he just had a tendency to leave right after sex. The dates were lovely and long-winded, carefully planned. He made so much time for you outside of his busy work schedule, even when you told him you understood dating a college girl wasn't exactly ideal for someone with his workload. He made you feel seen, just for a moment – and the sex itself wasn't all that bad, either. But you did feel a bit empty. Eventually, the bits of empty became a lot of feeling empty – and you ended it quietly over a final time in his apartment together. He tried to apologize, to make it up to you, he even begged – but you'd stoically pulled your jeans on and left without another word. 

It bothered you. You didn't know how to bring it up and you'd only really had sex for the last year of your relationship, so it didn't seem worth it, anyway. However, it did leave you confused when Joshua didn't do the same thing. You'd physically kicked him out of your bed the last two times the two of you slept together – but not before you realized that the gentle caresses, the warm towel wiping you down, the hot bath…it didn't make you feel empty. You didn't feel empty.

Sighing inwardly, you let the tears flow freely, taking a quick drag of the joint in your hand. Soonyoung had managed to get a few before you and Joshua picked him up in the van, and you stole one from his suitcase when you snuck outside; snatching a lighter from Minghao before he and his girlfriend settled in for the night. You smushed your cheek in the crook of your elbow, before you heard the click of the back door opening.

You glance up, seeing Seungcheol's eyes wide as he spotted you. You felt your throat dry, swallowing hard before clearing it.

"Hey."

He gives you a curt nod, before slipping out and closing the door gently behind him. He has a beer in his hand, his forefinger flicking the tab cautiously as he looks out in the forest. You glanced up at him, before he met your eyes.

"You can sit." You patted the cushion next to you, and he looked hesitant before doing so. He leaned back slightly, before pushing the swing to rock lightly. You clear your throat again, hearing him crack the beer open before seeing him hold it out to you. You look at him with a confused look, before his cool fingertips swipe at your wet cheeks. You don't move away, and he sighs, lightly brushing his knuckles against your skin before pulling back.

"You need it more than I do." He shrugs, before plucking the joint from your fingers and shoving the beer into your hand. You click your tongue, before taking a small sip. It's cool down your throat, and you set it down between the two of you. "How was the drive?" "Good. Quiet." He nods, flicking the ash off the end of the lit joint before taking a quick drag. "Got lost a few times but…here I am." You snort, "Yeah, she's hard to find. My old man did it on purpose."

Seungcheol nods, a small smile on his lips as he blows the smoke out carefully. He holds it back out to you, your fingers brushing his as you take it gently. He hums, reaching for the beer and clicking his tongue.

"Joshua talked to me, you know." He starts, and you nod silently. You already knew, based on Joshua's demeanor when he walked out of the house with Seungcheol earlier. His shoulders were too rigid to have not scolded someone. "Said that you're a crybaby princess who can't talk about her feelings or you'll combust into flames and engulf us all." "He did not say that!" You huff, and the small smirk on his lip says you're right. You scowl, kicking his thigh softly when he catches your foot. He pulls you toward him, your hip bumping his as he drapes your leg over his lap, his hand high on your bare thigh. You feel your face hot as he stares down at you, eyes full of what you're sure you've mistaken as fondness. "Stop looking at me like that." "I can look at you however I want." He murmurs, his fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. "Do you remember when we first met?" "...You mean a month ago?" "I mean freshman year on Jeonghan's birthday."

You blink, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders. "What?" "Mhm. We met freshman year at Jeonghan's birthday party. It was right after Jaehee dumped me but before you knew it, because it was like you'd never heard of me before. You had this red top on with gold earrings and you looked so beautiful." He sighs softly, before his fingers drum onto your shoulder. "I was so convinced I'd get a crush on you that I actively avoided the group after finding out how close you and Joshua were to Jeonghan. I wasn't going to ruin a friendship of over a decade with Jeonghan and Joshua by dating their friend. And then the circle just kept getting bigger and I was adamant I wouldn't get close to you, I didn't want to sully anything if I wasn't what you wanted." You look up at him, but he keeps talking. "And I saw how you acted when you'd see me at games after Jaehee told you whatever it is that she did. I saw you cheering for Wonwoo and Junhui all the time and I remember how I felt my knees weak every time I saw you in the stands just sipping on a lemonade." He snorts, "I saw you at all of Jihoon's recitals, and you always had a huge bouquet of flowers. But I knew you were friends with Jaehee, and I knew that that was why you acted the way you did. So I wasn't very surprised to find out that you don't remember meeting me after disliking me for so long without even so much as remembering my face." "I remembered your name, that was enough." You weakly argue, and he laughs softly. It's softer, it's real as he squeezes your shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Seungcheol. I've been such a jerk–" He doesn't let you finish, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. You frown as he pulls back, your hand moving to the back of his head and pulling him down. Your lips meet his continuously; soft, damp kisses that taste like beer and weed and I'm sorry.

"You don't need to apologize, okay? If anything, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was wrong to talk to you the way I did. I felt too much at once and that's my problem, not yours and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should've talked about it and then maybe we'd be in a different position right now. But if I dwell on the maybes, on the what ifs, on what I should've done, I'll never get anywhere."

His hand is warm against your cheek as he keeps you close, your lips pouted as he sprinkles kisses all over your face. His teeth nip at your cheek playfully, making you scowl as you attempt to move back when he soothes it with a brush of his lips.

"I like you a lot. You don't have to like me back, but I just wanted you to know. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and it's ruining me. You are ruining me."

"Come sleep in my room." You murmur, your cheeks hot and feeling him nod as he presses another kiss to your lips. 

"Whatever you want, baby." You both slide off the swing, your hand instinctively taking his as you put the joint out in the ashtray. You toss it into the beer can, throwing it away in the porch trashcan before pulling the cabin door open and slipping inside. He's warm against your back as you go up the stairs, his hand squeezing yours as you lead him into the bedroom you chose for the weekend.

You lie across the bed as he takes a seat at the head of it, his shoulders resting against the headboard. He gives you a quizzical look, patting his lap before you crawl over to him and swing your legs over his. Your thighs lock him beneath you, and you bury your face in his neck. You feel his hands run up and down your hips as he peppers kisses along your hairline before planting a kiss on your shoulder. The closeness isn't nearly enough, and you're practically vibrating out of your skin as he presses another soft kiss to your neck.

"You never told me if I was a bad kisser or not." You mumble into his skin, and you feel the rumble in his chest as he laughs. He slides his hands up your back, stroking it gently before you feel a teasing smile against your cheek.

"You didn't give me enough data." You gape, pulling your face back to see him smiling cheekily. "Yes I did! You're just greedy."

"Oh, incredibly. Greedy, jealous…all of it. Nice underwear, by the way." He snaps the waistband against your hip, and you swat his hand away with a frown. "You're really are a whore." 

"I can show you how much of a whore I am, keep it up." He scoffs, and you roll your eyes despite the surge of heat to your cheeks. "What happened to California Celibate? Liar." "Mmh. It's still there…somewhere. Can't find it right now. You're so warm." He hums, nosing at your face as your hand grips his shirt. "Stop it, you're embarrassing me." "Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart, but I guess we'll never know if you're a bad kisser or not." "I am a good kisser, I don't need to prove that to you again."

"But you want to, don't you?" You don't like the way your skin pickles so noticeably at his smile, before he softly buries his face in your neck. You feel his lips brush against your skin, his fingers squeezing your hips softly. He's nipping at your neck gently, your eyes fluttering shut as you bite down on your lip. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his tongue trails up your neck, your breath coming out in a shudder as his teeth catch your earlobe.

"Can we take this off?" He tugs lightly at the hem of your shirt, and you scoff, your fingers moving to tug the hem up. "I thought you just wanted to see if I'm a bad kisser."  He smiles against your jaw, pressing a kiss on it before pulling you higher on his lap. "You're an excellent kisser, and we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, okay? Just wanna see you, pretty." You roll your eyes, your cheeks heating as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it behind you. You dip your head down to kiss him and he eagerly meets your lips, his fingers tightening around your hips as yours card through his hair. You tug slightly, his hips jerking up involuntarily and making you moan into his mouth. His arm moves to wrap loosely around your hips, his other hand stroking your hip gently before sliding up to the base of your neck. He gives a soft squeeze, chuckling lowly as he draws a whimper out of you.

"So cute." "Shut up, take your shirt off." He obliges, letting you pull the hem up. He slips it off, throwing it to the side as your hands shamelessly run up his soft chest, the glint of a silver bar through his left nipple catching your attention. You lightly dig your nails into his shoulders, noting the soft blush that coats his cheeks as he looks away, his hands roaming your thighs aimlessly. Raising a brow, you keep your eyes on his face as you dip your head into the curve of his neck; your lips brushing along his skin as he shivers. Your hands run down his arms, and you move back a bit to see his cheeks and ears burning red. His lips are swollen from kissing you, and you stupidly clench around nothing as you tilt your head at him. "Don't look at me like that." He murmurs, his fingers tightening slightly against your thighs. You smile inwardly, "Like what?" "Like you're going to eat me. Just do it." You nod slowly, hearing Joshua's voice in your mind – Seungcheol was exactly your type: broad shoulders, thick thighs…tries to put you in your place. You tongue your cheek, your fingers tracing circles into his chest as he watches you intently; he flinches as your palm swipes over his pierced nipple, your brows raising slightly. You rub the pad of your thumb over it again, feeling his hips twitch beneath you. You do it again, slightly harder with a gentle pinch, his jaw tight as you smile inwardly.

"So that's what you meant." You murmur, before leaning down slightly. "What if I…do this?" You run the tip of your tongue over the bud, hearing him suck in a breath. You smile against his skin, before flattening your tongue against him and slowly swirling it around. His hips grind up into your core, and you feel a flood of arousal seep into your underwear as his dull nails dig into your skin with a shaky breath. You suck lightly, his hands pressing you down against his hardening cock with a grip so tight, you hope it'll bruise.

“Shit—”  “Oh, you’re so fucking cute.”

You peer up at him, his head thrown back and cheeks ruddy as you gently scrape your teeth against the nub, pulling at the jewelry — when you hear a soft whimper fall from his lips. His hand moves to card through your hair, your tongue still out of your mouth as he pulls you back gently before crashing his lips to yours. It was the opposite of all the others so far; it was desperate, messy, horny, as he held you pressed to him, the feeling of him rutting against your flimsy underwear making you ache with want.

Your fingers stay splayed on his chest, slowly sliding down his stomach as he whines into your mouth. He pulls away, trailing his lips down your jaw, his hips dragging agonizingly slowly against you.

“Touch me.” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Please, touch me.”

“So pretty when you beg, hm?” You nip at his neck, your hand palming him over his sweatpants and earning a shiver. You squeeze your hand around him, his hips bucking up into your palm as you smile into his skin. “So sensitive.”

He's blushing hard as you press your lips to his again, kissing him slowly; your fingers pulling at the strings of his sweatpants. His hand is still settled at the base of your throat, pulling you impossibly closer as he slides his tongue into your mouth with practised ease. You tug at his waistband slightly, his fingers flexing around your neck pulling a whine from your throat – and you dip your fingertips below the waistband of his sweatpants, feeling his stomach cave in slightly as you brush the tip of his leaking cock.

"You don't have–" You cut him off with a chaste kiss, your hands pulling at the fabric again before speaking against his lips. "I want to. Take your pants off." 

"Take them off me." He sinks his teeth into your lower lip lightly, pulling it before kissing you deeply. You don't break the kiss as you pull his sweatpants down slightly, and he lifts his hips a bit to get them off. You push them down, leaving them bunched at his knees before he leans forward and pushes them off the rest of the way – his hands sliding back to settle on your ass with a soft squeeze. You pull away from his lips, resting your forehead low on his as you peer down, your eyes widening slightly at the sight against his lower belly.

"No underwear, hm. Slut." You mutter under your breath as your fingers wrap around his hard cock, warm in your palm as you glance down. Thick, with a few pearls of precum dripping down the shaft that smear when you run your fingertip through it.. "Yours." He murmurs back, your eyes flickering to meet his. He's staring at your mouth, cheeks red as he nibbles on his lip. You squeeze your hand around him, making his lips part with a soft exhale. "Hm?" "Yours. Your slut." He whispers, a slight shake to his voice as you feel your face grow hot. You tilt your head, nodding slowly before leaning forward and letting a wad of spit fall from your lips onto his tip. You smile inwardly at the way he bucks into your hand as you smear it around, pressing the pad of your thumb into the slit before glancing back up.

His eyes are low as he shudders, tucking his lip beneath his teeth as his fingernails dig into your hips. You slip your free hand up his chest as you pump his cock, the wet sound accompanied by soft pants from his lips as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your hand brushes over his nipple, his lips parting as you roll it through your fingers. You can feel the way he holds himself back from thrusting into your hand, his fingers tight around your waist when you press a soft kiss to his lips.

"So needy." You coo against his lips, feeling his breath hit your lips as he pants against you. "You're not even looking at me, maybe I should stop–" He whimpers in response, burying his face into your neck and mouthing at the skin. His sounds are incoherent, almost as if he's trying to form words as you pinch his nipple. The groan he lets out is loud, and you part your lips to say something when you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder. Your hand squeezes him tight, a moan right in your ear as your own falls from your lips, turning into a pitchy whimper when he runs his tongue over the marks of his teeth on your skin. 

"Please…" He breathes out, like he's not even sure what he's asking for. You push him back gently, his back hitting the headboard as your hand splays on his chest. His eyes are watery, lips swollen as you try not to think about how painfully turned on you are. You quicken your pace, feeling him shiver as his stomach caves in slightly; pitiful whimpers from his throat as he lets his head fall back against the headboard, lashes wet.

You shift slightly, the uncomfortable feeling of your underwear sticking to you as you glance down at his cock. So heavy in your hand, twitching uncontrollably and making your mouth water. His thighs are trembling slightly, and you move his hands off you before scooting back on his legs and dipping your head down. You press the tip of his cock on your tongue, his hips bucking up involuntarily with a soft moan. 

"You don't have to–" His voice is so breathy you almost don't catch what he's saying until a punctuated fuck rings in your ears as you wrap your lips around him with a soft suck. His fingers card through your hair shakily, gathering it in his hand as you take him deeper. Your nails dig into his thighs, drawing yet another whimper from him as he shallowly fucked into your mouth. You bob your head up and down slowly, swirling your tongue around the tip and curling your fingers around whatever doesn't fit; hearing his breathing get ragged above you. You swallow around him, feeling his hips still and his grip on your hair tighten a bit as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. You groan around him, the vibrations enough to send him over the edge with a soft whine.

He scrapes his fingernails on your scalp gently, incoherent grumbles as your tongue overstimulates him. He pushes you back slightly, making you slide off his cock with a pop. A bit of his release dribbles down your chin, his tongue swiping across it before you can even reach to wipe your face. He doesn't let you, kissing you hard as he leans into you, his hand your belly pushing you onto your back gently. He pins you against the mattress by sliding his hand to lightly rest on your neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as you slide your tongue into his mouth. He groans at the taste of himself on you, sucking on the tip of your tongue before you feel his cock press against your thigh. You let your hand circle his wrist, pulling away from his lips and looking up at him – the same empty feeling getting ready to settle in your lower belly, and you don't want it to. He meets your eyes, pupils blown as you swallow carefully. He tilts his head, scanning your face as your fingers card through his hair, silently tracing the shell of his ear before resting on his cheek. He leans into it, pressing a kiss to the heel of your palm before his eyes look questioning.

"This…you're not going to leave after, right?" Your voice is so quiet he has to lean down a bit, and you clear your throat. "You're…you're going to stay, right?"

He furrows his brows as you look at the ceiling above him, his hand slipping up from your neck to hold your jaw. He makes you look at him, your vision slightly blurry through tears as he rests his forehead to yours. You cover your eyes with your hands, breathing in shakily before dropping them to your sides and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Of course I'm going to stay, Y/N. I'll stay forever, if you let me." He presses his lips to your cheek, and you roll your eyes as a tear manages to slip out. You wipe it away quickly, "Sorry. It's stupid." "No, it's not. Don't be sorry, baby. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He runs his fingers over your cheek, squishing the fat between his knuckles before tracing the shell of your ear. "We can stop here. I'll just–" "I want you to touch me." You interrupt, your voice almost too loud as his eyes widen. You feel your face hot as you avoid eye contact, the uncomfortable feeling of your underwear sticking to you becoming unbearable. You shift, thighs twitching when you feel his cock brush over your ruined panties. "I want you, Cheol." He hums, his own question slipping out carefully.

"You like me, right?" His voice is no higher than a whisper, "You want to be mine, right? More than this, more than tonight?"

You nod silently, your fingernail moving to trace shapes in his chest. His fingers slide between yours, pinning them to the side of your head. "I need to hear you say it, pretty." "Want to be yours." You utter softly, "as long as you'll have me." 

You don't get to say much else before his lips are on yours again, his hand slipping out of yours to cup your jaw. He trails off your lips, kissing down your jaw and snaking his tongue down your neck, relishing in your soft sighs. "So beautiful." He mumbles, his lips messy across your chest, his fingers moving to hold your hips as he makes his way down your body. His tongue is swirled against your left nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking softly as you push your chest up with a choked groan. He smirks against your skin, pulling off with a wet sound before his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. His lips stay on your chest, nipping all over it as he carefully tugs it down. He sucks a soft mark onto your collarbone, your skin prickling from the cool air as he tosses your underwear over his shoulder. He glances up at you as he slides his hand between your thighs, your own shyly covering your cheeks and lips. He spreads them, the air making you flinch slightly as he presses a soft kiss to your right nipple; before you feel his fingers slip lower, gathering your arousal with his tongue circling the hardened bud.

Your hand slides into his hair as he traces tight circles into your clit, making your room fill with bitten back whimpers, and your thighs tremble pathetically. He only smiles against your body as he moves down your belly, leaving careful nips of his teeth on the softness of your skin. He spreads your thighs further with his shoulders, and you feel your face heat up as he presses a kiss to your hip and circles his arms around your thighs to pull you closer. 

His tongue slides slowly through your wet folds, flicking against your clit in a tentative lick; you feel a breathy chuckle against your skin as your hands claw at the bedsheets. You squirm against his tongue, feeling his lips pull your clit into his mouth and give a soft suck. A guttural moan rips through you as he laves his tongue over your clit, your fingers carding into his hair with a tight tug. He groans into your pussy, your body involuntarily rocking your hips on his tongue as he laps up your arousal like a man starved. You hate how quickly you can taste your impending orgasm on your tongue, your thighs snapping shut around his head as he traces your hole with his finger.

"Wanna cum on your cock," You whine, pulling at his hair. He looks up at you, pouty lips not stopping their sucking as you pant out. He hums, replacing his mouth with his fingers as his raspy voice fills the room. 

"I don't have any–" "I don't care. Please, please–" "Shh, shh. I got you, okay? So greedy."

You huff, his laugh only making you lightly kick his thigh with your foot as he towers over you. He scowls, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the edge of the bed as he slides off. Your squeal makes his lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything as he  leans over, placing a soft kiss on your lips as his hand slips between your legs. 

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist, "No, wanna feel you. I'm ready." The blush on his cheeks spreads to his ears, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he shakes his head, "Baby, I–"

"Please."  "Who's begging now?" "Shut up!" He only laughs, his hands sliding down your thighs and hooking behind your knees; pushing them to your chest. He lets go to press his thumb against your clit, your thighs threatening to clamp shut around his hand as he rubs slow circles into it. He pushes them apart, holding you to his hips so his cock rests on your dripping center.

He grunts, your legs shaking with oversensitivity as he grinds his cock against you, tip bumping your clit messily and smearing your arousal all over his shaft. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, kissing the side of your foot as you feel his fingers splay on your lower belly.

“Here.” He runs his thumb just under your navel, “you’re gonna feel me here.”

Your eyes widen as he teases the tip of his cock around your hole, your hips bucking up at the sensation before he sinks in slowly. You let out a shaky breath, his hand massaging your thighs as you watch his face. He pushes in a bit further, his eyes nearly fluttering shut at how warm and wet you are.

His hand squeezes your thigh, burying himself in fully with a soft fuck from his lips. Your mouth waters at the stretch; feeling his thumb toying with your clit as your walls flutter around him.

“So perfect for me.” He mumbles inwardly, giving a careful thrust that makes you let out a sob. He leans over, his hands running up your body as your legs wrap around his waist, his lips finding yours in a needy kiss. “Mine, right? Just for me.”

“Yours.” You whine, watching the way his cheeks flush and he bites down on your lip, watching it spring back before sliding his fingers into yours. He buries his face in your neck, your hand digging your nails into his shoulder as he gives another roll of his hips. You feel him smile into your skin as your eyes roll back with a soft whimper, your thighs tightening around his waist. His fingers are bruising, his breath hitting your neck as he mutters praises into your ear.

"Look at you." He whispers, giving a hard thrust that makes your voice break as you drag your nails down his back. “My pretty angel takes my cock so well, hm?”

Your mumble of oh my God is interrupted with whimpers falling from your lips as his hips snap into you like he hates you. You throw your head back against the sheets with a choked groan as he moves to pin your wrists to the mattress with one of his hands. You close your eyes in embarrassment, tilting your head away from him when you feel his lips on your jaw.

“Don’t hide, baby. Wanna see your pretty face.” He trails his mouth to your lips, pressing chaste kisses to your open mouth. His hand moves to hold your jaw, keeping you in place as he kisses you sloppily and smiling into your lips as you struggle to keep up. He slides down your jaw once more, brushing his lips to your neck and nipping at the skin. He sucks a small mark just below your ear, his skin prickling as you moan in his ear.

"M-more, Cheollie..." You mouth messily at his neck, sinking your teeth into his shoulder; a hard thrust of his hips making your belly cave in as it brushes the stupid spongy spot that makes you see stars. You clamp down around him, hearing a pathetic whine into your neck as he does it again and again and again; making your eyes glaze over with tears of pleasure as your pussy flutters around him, the coil in your lower belly threatening to snap.

He pulls away, his hands moving to settle on your hips. His cheeks are flushed, lip tucked under his teeth as he fucks into you. He furrows his brows, feeling your gummy walls tighten around him before snaking his hand down to play with your clit. Your thighs threaten to close around his hips but he forces them apart as your fingers wrap around the base of his throat to pull him into you. You ghost your lips over his, taunting him before he bridges the gap when your fingers give a soft squeeze, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

"Want you to fill me up," You pant out, "Want to feel full."

He only whines into your mouth, his hips stuttering slightly as you clench around him, your orgasm making your limbs feel fuzzy and making you clench around him. He buries his face in your neck before spilling into you with an audible whimper. He doesn't stop rocking his hips into you, your nails dragging down his shoulders with breathy moans in his ear.

He presses a kiss to your skin, moving to pull back before you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. "Don't leave." "M'not going anywhere, sweetheart. I'm here." He presses his forehead to yours, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm here." 

"You're sweaty." You mutter, and he gasps with a squeeze to your hips. "And you aren't?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. You…smell nice." You bury your face in his neck, "I like it." 

He only laughs softly, before feeling your hand snake down to his chest. You run the pad of your thumb over his collarbone, before you peer up at him through your lashes. "Hi." "Hi, sweetheart." "Will you shower with me?" "You mean will I hold you up because your legs feel like jelly?" "I mean will you go down on me against the shower tile." "So I am just a good fuck to you. No dinner, not even a drink." He turns his nose up at you, and you bite back your laughter as he carefully slides out of you. Your face scrunches with a wince, "At least you were good." He snorts, carefully wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling you off the bed. You let him carry you to the bathroom, and you lean your head against his shoulder when you pass by the mirror. You look like a couple; his thick fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he holds you close to him, the swell of your lips and his….the bite marks littering your upper bodies marking each other as lovers for the night.

And you feel your chest tight when you wonder if it's just for the night, feeling your eyes burn when his lips plant a kiss to your hairline.

The morning is quiet, and Seungcheol doesn't know what to do with himself when he sees you're glued to his side like gum to a shoe.

He can't imagine being able to peel himself from your embrace, your cheek squished against his chest and a bit of drool dripping from your puckered lips. Your neck and shoulders are littered with marks from his teeth, the duvet low on your back where his shirt is bunched up and your arm thrown over his waist. Your hair is in disarray, sticking up in some places when his hand moves to smooth it down.

He peeks at the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers showing 7AM sharp. He closes his eyes, running his fingertips along the side of your face as you grumble noises into his skin. 

His mind fills with the night before — the way you begged to be filled, how you touched yourself, the way your nails scratched into the muscle of his back and marked him as yours. The way you kissed his cheek and told him how pretty he was – all for you – right before you fell asleep.

He feels his chest warm as he recalls your tired groans when he massaged your hips, digging his fingers into your sore muscles after wiping you down. The way you kissed him softly, the way your hands brushed his shoulders as he held you against him in the shower, and he bites back a laugh as he remembers your sleepy voice telling him to never wear a shirt again.

He remembers your insistence that you were his, even when he didn't beg you to hear it. 

“Time?” 

He looks down to see you still resting against his chest, but your hand has come to wipe at your eyes. He watches you silently, before you pat his stomach lightly. “Seungcheol.”

You stretch your arms out, pressing a kiss to his skin. He loves the heat of the blush that coats his face as you press your cheek to his chest again, closing your eyes. "Time?"

“Seven. You slept two hours.”

“Shit. I lost rock-paper-scissors on the way here and said I’d make breakfast.”

He shakily runs a hand over your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear and tracing the shell of it. You hum softly, "We have to get up." "You're the one who still has her eyes closed." "I'm tired. And sore. Fuck you." "You have. No notes, by the way."

He squeals as you dig your fingers into his side, swatting your hand away and pulling the covers up to his eyes as you sit up. There's a scowl on your lip, your hair matted to the side of your head as you tug on the cover. He holds it tighter, smiling beneath it when he sees you tongue your cheek in efforts to hold back a grin. You cross your arms on your chest, his cheeks warming as you raise a brow at him.

"Get up." "Oh, I'm up. Trust me."

You gape, your fingers yanking the cover off him. He yanks it back, pulling your hand with it and wrapping his arm around you as you fall into his chest with feigned annoyance. He smiles as you try to push yourself out of his embrace, only tightening his hold around your waist as he manhandles you to sit on his lap. Your brow is furrowed, your hands wrapping around his wrists as he settles them on your hips. You frown as you feel him hard against your inner thigh, and you let your eyes flutter shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"You're a fucking freak." You mutter as you let your hands fall to his chest, running them up his skin before shaking your head. "We can't, Cheol. I have to make breakfast and the drive to the falls is an hour. There are a few natural hot springs scattered around, though, if you want to go for a dip." "Will you go with me?" He tilts his head, and you nod slowly. You look at your hands, toying with the drawstring of the shorts he shoved on when you fell asleep. You're nibbling on your lip, and he sits up slowly to meet your eyes. "You can talk to me, you know." "I know." "Then?" "You…are we…" You rub your hands over your face in frustration, and he bites back a small bubble of laughter that crawls up his throat. He slides his hands over your hips, pulling you close to his chest as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders. He feels his chest warm as you bury your face in his neck, lips brushing his skin before you press a chaste kiss to it. "Are we what, sweetheart?" "You know…" "Mmh, I don't believe I do." "Ugh, Cheol." You grumble, and he lets the laughter rip through him as you smack his shoulder lightly. "It's not funny! I'm nervous!" "Don't be nervous, baby. It's just me." "Yeah well…you make me nervous." "Just say what you wanna say. Judgement free zone for my pretty girl."

You stifle a squeal into his shoulder, your arms tightening around him as he snakes his hands under your (read: his) shirt. His fingers trace your back lightly, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You think I'm pretty." Your voice is soft, your fingers tracing circles into his back as you hold him impossibly tighter. "You want me to be your girlfriend so bad, don't you?" "Well, yeah–" "Fine, fine! I'll do it, jeez. Don't have to beg."

You roll your eyes as you pull back, but he feels the way your nails dig into his skin slightly. There is a hint of insecurity laced in your face as you press your lips to his forehead, and he rests his chin on your chest, looking up at you through his eyelashes. "Y/N." "Don't say my name like that, I feel like I'm in trouble." "Look at me."

You glance down wearily, and he watches how you carefully card your fingers through his hair as you nibble on your lip. "Mhm?" "I thought you understood that I was serious last night." "I…I didn't want to get ahead of myself, I guess. I didn't want to assume–" "I mean what I say and I say what I mean. I like you a lot, Y/N." His hands travel to your shoulders, holding them gently as he feels your heartbeat start racing under his palms. "I'm not leaving, I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you, more than just last night. You said…you said you wanted that, too." "I do! I do…I just…" You run your hands over your face, a noise of frustration sounding from your throat as he wraps his arms around your waist. "I just have issues." "So do I." "I have a lot of issues, Cheol. More than Vogue." "I like to read. Hit me." You snort, letting a sigh out as you drape your arms over his shoulders again. "I need to go downstairs and start breakfast. I…I like you, too. We can figure out the logistics later."

"Or you can seal your fate with a kiss." "Oh, you're corny. I hate that." "You'll get over it. Kiss me."

You lean over slightly as he puckers his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to them when a knock makes the two of you jolt. The door opens before you can climb off his lap, his hands tightening around your body as you twist to see Joshua and Jeonghan with mussed hair and toothbrushes in their hands.

Joshua's eyes dart between the two of you, before a sly smile creeps onto his face. He covers it with his hand, and Jeonghan scratches the side of his head before looking Seungcheol dead in the eyes. He feels you tense in his hold as Jeonghan rounds the bed, opening the nightstand and fishing out a new box of floss. "What are you guys still doing in bed? Nip Slip Nancy lost rock-paper-scissors, she has to make breakfast." Jeonghan's voice is gravelly, and you slump in Seungcheol's lap. You pat his shoulder, moving to get up when he holds you against him.

"Can you guys get out? We're trying to have a conversation." He frowns, and Joshua snorts. "Downstairs before seven-forty-five. We have to load the van and we have to eat breakfast. That includes the two of you, no matter how…preoccupied you are." Jeonghan shrugs, leaving an obnoxiously long string of floss between his teeth as he pivots back out of the bedroom. "If you're not down in five minutes, I'm airing your business out."

He tugs Joshua out with him, who gives the both of you a thumbs up before shutting the door behind him. You pat his shoulder again, "I have to–" "I want you. I want you to be mine, right now. I don't want to wait to figure anything out, I know. I. Want. You, Y/N." He punctuates the words with a squeeze to your sides, watching you bite back a shy smile. "I know we haven't gone on a date or anything, but we will. We will when we get back in town, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go and we can do whatever you want; I promise." You hold your pinky out to him, giving him a pointed look until he hooks his with it. "You know Joshua will kill you if you hurt me, right?" "Ooh, don't arrest me officer. I might like the cuffs." He rolls his eyes, and you gape. "I said that to him and he said I was something else! What does that even mean?!"

"That you'll say yes to being my girlfriend." "And if I say no?" "I'll tell everyone you're a bad kisser that has morning breath." "Yeah?" You smile softly, and he feels his stomach flip as you rest your forehead against his. He can't help but grin back, "Please? I'll wait if you want–" "I'll be your girlfriend. But I have rules, Seungcheol." "If this is about me not wearing shirts–" "Please stop wearing shirts. I need to see you all the time." "You're objectifying me." He grumbles, feeling you laugh into his chest before you press your lips into his. He allows it, kissing you back deeply when the smell of waffles starts wafting into the room. You pull back, your brow furrowed when you hear the banging of pots and pans – and Jeonghan screaming 'Y/N and Seungcheol sitting in a tree!'

"We'll get back to me objectifying you later, when you're naked in here again tonight. I gotta shut Jeonghan up." You twist yourself out of his hold, sliding off the bed and grabbing a robe off the bedpost. He pouts at the loss of warmth, leaning back on his hands as you skirt out of the room. He sighs, falling back onto the pillow and rubbing his hands over his face before the bed dips again and he feels your hand on his chest. You kiss him softly, "Come eat when you're dressed, pretty boy. And we can fool around in the hot springs later."

He swears he doesn't think he's ever going to get over you.

"HEY, SWEETNESS."

You struggle not to roll your eyes, feeling the cool sprinkle of water being flicked onto your thigh by a certain someone. You look away from the magazine in your hands, your boyfriend pouting at the edge of the pool you're laying by. Your foot is in the water, keeping you cool in the hot August evening; and you feel his fingers circle your ankle.

His form of foreplay, you've learned over the course of the last month and a half.

"Sir, the park is closed. You have to get out of the pool." You sit up on your elbows, the magazine splayed open across your belly. He scrunches his nose, pressing a kiss to your knee before resting his cheek on it. You bite back your smile, his cheeks ruddy and warm from the heat as you lean forward to brush wet strands of hair off his forehead.

"I miss you." "I'm right here." "Get in with me." 

"Mmh, the park's closing. There's no lifeguards." You shrug, pressing your lips into a thin line so as to not laugh when he huffs. You roll your eyes, tossing the magazine onto one of the chairs before turning and lowering yourself into the pool. He pulls you into him, holding you to his chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"No making out on the clock!" Joshua annoyingly reminds you as he walks by, still being the little shit you and Seungcheol know and (fortunately for Joshua) love. You snort, pressing a kiss to Seungcheol's jaw before wrapping your legs around his waist. He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at it gently as his hands circled your thighs under the water. 

"I miss you. Come over tonight. We can watch Fight Club and kick Jeonghan out." "You wouldn't kick Jeonghan out to watch Fight Club." "No, but I'd kick him out to make out with you on the couch. I haven't seen you in three days. Do you hate me?"

You snort inwardly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm planning your birthday party; I don't hate you, dipshit. I…" You trail off, your eyes widening as you feel the heavy words on your tongue. He stilled, before lifting his head up to raise a brow at you.

He had long said them. He said those words many, many times already – the first time being a week or so into the relationship; holding you close to him and whispering them in your ear, mumbling them in the mornings where you'd be stuck to his chest because you just loved stripping him of his shirts. He said it in front of Soonyoung in the break room just last week, who made it his mission to tell the entire friend group – they lost their minds with that one.

And he made you feel special, Seungcheol. You knew, you understood that he wasn't just saying it to say it. It held weight to him, it meant something to him. It was real and he wanted you to know.

"You…what?"

You don't respond, carding your fingers through his wet hair and thinking about the pain in the ass he'd been when you got back to town after Junhui's birthday. He sat on your bed and made you pull out every red shirt you owned to see which one he saw you wearing the first time the two of you met – the red halter immediately catching his eye, making its soft-launch debut on his Instagram story two hours later on your first date.

The mothers at the park were truly disappointed when the pretty boy with the thick brows abandoned any and all flirting attempts for Lifeguard Barbie. Though they all agreed that seeing him pine after you while you were on the clock was pathetically cute – you left a sour taste in their mouths when he'd leave with you after your morning shifts; no more half-naked eye candy who flexes to make their mouths water, instead shy and reserved.

Well, not that they didn't know he was spoken for – the drags of your nails in his back were very noticeable when he took his shirt off. If that wasn't enough, your loud whistle from wherever you were in the park when you saw him take it off certainly was. He stayed to himself, he was quiet, he was needy – constantly giving you those puppy eyes and begging you to sit with him or give him a kiss. 

Sometimes you caved, sometimes you didn't – but on nights that you got out late, you could count on Seungcheol to drive you around and pull over in that same spot from before to kiss you stupid. He made it a point to have his lips on yours any chance he could – even if it was in front of your friends, who gagged like idiots and eventually made you and Seungcheol retreat to a different room if you wanted to continue. He made you feel wanted, he listened, he held you close any time you allowed it and he practically suffocated you in his adoration.

The relationship wasn't smooth but it was genuine – and the two of you were slowly working through things. He understood how Wonpil had made you feel after you were intimate, and made it a huge point to coddle you and cater to your needs any time you allowed. He smothered you with his affection and attention, and your friends loved to comment on the dynamic shift between you and him. Sure, you still called him a whore; but he was a whore for you, so you weren't exactly complaining. 

Seungcheol made himself a constant, he made himself dependable, he made it known he cared about you in every way you would allow – even if Joshua insisted he keep paying your student loans, that he was almost done anyway and it made him feel useful. Seungcheol began littering himself in every part of your life – there were an abnormally large amount of photos of the two of you sprinkled around your bedrooms, his sweatshirts and your t-shirts strewn in drawers, a spare key to apartments on your keychains, his credit card in your wallet and a nude Polaroid of you in his…

…A new, baby blue vibrator in your bedside drawer with twenty settings and the light bill connected to his bank account on auto-pay.

And you realize that maybe you didn't need to dip yourself into the steaming hot spring that was Choi Seungcheol. Maybe you didn't have to acclimate, because he was a tumultuous being of love and light and speckles of jealousy that made your skin prickle. Maybe you didn't have to understand your feelings about him right away, because either way – he knew what he wanted and he had no problem proving to you that you were, in fact, worth his time. 

Your heart is not solid, but it's no longer guarded by you, either – it rests in the safe embrace of Choi Seungcheol's hands, at his mercy.

"You what, Y/N?" He tilted his head at you, the glint in the back of his eye giddy as you tongued your cheek. He peppered kisses all over your face as you feigned annoyance, but ultimately you sighed as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. "C'mon, pretty girl. Say it. Tell me you love me." "You're such a Leo." "And?"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as your boyfriend smiled into your skin. "And I love you."

"Suddenly the sky is brighter–" "Don't start." "I can hear birds singing–" "You are so dramatic!"

He only laughs, his hands squeezing your thighs again as he presses his forehead to yours. "You remember when you said when you run with dogs, you get fleas?"

You roll your eyes, nodding reluctantly. "I do." "How's that working out for you?" "Don't piss me off, Seungcheol." "I love you."

"I said no making out!" Joshua's voice crackles through the intercom, and you scoff as you give Seungcheol a soft, brief kiss before pulling away. 

"Come on, I'll clock out and we can make out in your shower." "And the couch?" "Even on the floor, if you're a good boy."

"You love me." He murmured as you tried to untangle yourself from him, his hands keeping you close. "Tell me you love me, sweetheart." "I love you, Cheol." "I love you, too, Lifeguard Barbie."

haologram © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part two.

part one. | part three. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 11.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; much more intense violence/gore/death than in part one, suicide, self-harm, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, mentions of pregnancy, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; the support so far has been so sick guys! thank you so much! i initially wanted to cover all the events of the movie in two parts and move on to avengers tower type of stuff in the next part but i decided this part was already long enough and was itching to post LMAOO regardless, i hope you all enjoy!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

There was rarely a time in your early life when you weren’t being under surveillance. Cameras, everywhere. Nurses making their rounds. Scientists probing you. Surgeons with their hands on you, over you, inside you. 

But once, when you were sixteen, there was a black-out in the facility, which you later learned to be a total power outage through the entire city. No cameras to watch you. The nurses who had been drawing your blood scurried out with owlish eyes, spooked. Moving gingerly, you pulled the needle out of your arm, bandaged it with the gauze on the medical cart, and glanced out of your barred window. The past few weeks, the scientists had been trying to use your DNA to perfect biological cloning technology. As revolutionary as it sounded, you really didn’t like the idea of someone having to live your reality, death and pain constantly hovering over your shoulder.

For a few minutes, however, you got to be alone with yourself. Nothing but you and your own thoughts. You began to shake, but you didn’t register it. The only thing you clearly remembered was the scalpel on the medical cart. A pale silver, but reflecting the hazy green of the emergency exit signs from outside your cell. You’d always thought the sign taunted you. Exit here, just in case you have to, even though you can’t.

The blade was cold in your touch, cutting the warmth of your skin. 

You watched the blood drip down the first arm, and then sliced through the next. It hurt, of course it did. But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and it would all be over. 

Your shaking had intensified so much that the bed frame rattled like bones. Then, you began to split. Whether it was subconscious or your body’s natural, instinctive reaction, you weren’t sure. You sobbed, a mangled noise caught in the back of your throat, trying to merge back together. But this had never occurred before—you had never tried to stop yourself from duplicating. Typically when you split, you carried forth the same wounds as the original, but that wasn’t the case this time. 

It was as if your body had stored a clean, woundless back-up in case of a singular copy’s dire emergencies. You still felt it—the throbbing, searing pain on your arms—but no signs of the gash on you at all. You were wiped clean from your choice. A fresh restart. 

That was the first time you had to watch yourself die by your own hand. You tried to give your copy some sense of comfort during the last few moments, but it felt futile knowing you craved the very same thing. You never tried committing suicide again. Mostly because, well, you were a walking paradox. Unkillable, yet you’ve died a thousand and one deaths.

And so—when you watched Valentina’s cavalry pierce poor, innocent Bob with round after round of bullets, a guilty, nasty part of you thought about how lucky he was to be able to die so quickly. Of course, you felt terrible as soon as the thought entered your mind. You rather liked Bob and his warbly doe eyes, his skittish but considerate demeanor, and his eagerness to help. It was an awful shame you didn’t get to know him better. You were still reeling over seeing him in your nightmare—was that your mind playing cruel tricks on you or was Bob less innocent than he came off to be? 

His sacrifice certainly wasn’t going to be in vain. Walker had begun to drive the truck out of the compound down winding, sandy paths. 

Except—it seemed Bob was a lot more similar to you than you thought. When someone shot you down, another cropped right back up. Bob, to your relief and utter confusion, did just the same.

The streaking figure across the sky was no star. It was flailing about amongst the grey clouds and bore the pale, baggy silhouette of hospital clothes. 

Bob. Your Bob. He was alive!

“Palindrome,” you whispered in awe, face just about pressed up against the warm glass of the truck’s window. It was only a few seconds that he was suspended up in the air, but it felt like ages. Then, he began to plummet back down to the earth. “Oh, no.” 

His landing was not a graceful descent—in fact, the impact was so massive that it sent a strong gust of wind billowing across the base, knocking your truck clean off its path. The vehicle tumbled in rotation as it made its way down the sandy slopes. You would’ve likely gotten a concussion from being jostled about had you not split yourself into as many copies as you could fit, which was nearly forty, and stayed nice and tight amongst your own nervous copies.

It landed on its side, and you reabsorbed all the duplicates into one body. Moonlight spilled into the vehicle when John hacked at the truck’s metal with his shield. It caved noisily beneath the initial strikes, then eventually split. You might not have liked the man, but he was impressively strong. Was he super-serumed up just like the previous Captain America? The scientists in Madripoor that had been working on you were sure as hell trying their best to make their own formula of super serum, to no avail. 

“Oh,” he said, peering into the dark belly of the truck and seeing your deer-in-headlights expression. “I was worried you’d died in here. Good.”

“Xerox,” Yelena had said, helping you climb out of the truck. You took caution to avoid the sharp edges of the gap Walker carved for you. “Are you okay? Did you see that?”

You nodded. “That was Pal—Bob. Right? I wasn’t just seeing things?”

“Not unless all of us had a collective hallucination,” Ava put in. The group began to walk away from the totaled truck. There was no point in trying to get it up and running now—it was ruined beyond saving from the crash.

“Weirder things have happened,” you said, looking around the great expanse of nighttime desert. “Where did he land? Maybe we can help him.” 

“On the other side of the base. We couldn’t possibly get to him in time before Val and her crew,” Yelena said. Then, she handed you a file. “Valentina did this. To test on someone like that… it’s inhuman. She plans to use him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, then you looked down. It was designs of superhero suits—a collage of striking gold and blue, all sharp angles and bold flares. Lacking all the soft gentleness you would’ve attributed to Bob. It even had a cape. 

“The power of a thousand exploding suns? Golden Guardian of Good?” Ava read over your shoulder, scoffing. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Sentry,” said Walker, taking the case file from you, to your annoyance. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he took a quick gander. “Very shiny. I didn’t think any of them were still around.”

“Did you know about this?” you asked. 

Walker shoved the file back into your awaiting hands. “There was a rumor that O.X.E. had some kind of big breakthrough. I don’t know much, but whatever it was, it was apparently way too extreme. Test subjects were dying. And then when the government looked into it, Val shut it down, and she put me on clean-up duty. I was meant to take care of him.”

“Take care of him,” you scathingly echoed. “Kill him.”

“Well, yeah,” John bit back. “We all were sent to kill each other. Haven’t you gotten over it by now?”

Your eye twitched. “I’m sorry I haven’t warmed up to the idea just yet!”

Ava drew a large, heaving sigh. It seemed she had no energy left to bicker. “Let’s just get home without getting caught.”

John, to your delight, found cactus berries for everyone to eat. You were starving. When you thanked him, quietly, he twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. Not embarrassed, not prideful, but… something more muted, as if he wasn’t sure how to accept gratitude. 

The rest of the group ate and walked in relative silence, save for the occasional complaint, grumble, and irritated tongue-click. 

The Red Guardian—and Yelena’s adoptive father, which you later came to find out—had come to pick her and everyone else up in the middle of the desert, waving his arms about and screaming like a madman. He was a giant of a man, so large that he had to drive his beat-up limo hunched over the steering wheel, despite putting his seat as far back as it would go. His shoulders were broader than the sticky leather seat itself. He donned a shoddy red suit that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to decades-old artifacts. And he was terribly loud, always spouting out something about collaboration, family, and the terrific rag-tag team the lot of you made. He seemed intent on calling the group the Thunderbolts in honor of Yelena’s peewee soccer team.

You found him rather amusing, even if he was obnoxious, overstimulating, and smelled of stale tortilla chips.

Both Yelena and Alexei were arguing about the next course of action—the former wanting to hunker down and hide, while the boisterous latter seemed intent on defeating Valentina with the power of… friendship. You decided to stay silent on the matter. You couldn’t deny that going home sounded like a brilliant idea. But… so did saving Bob. 

Before a proper conclusion could be reached, Walker announced a convoy approaching the limo from behind, three chunky vehicles gaining speed. Alexei tried to engage “defensive measures”, but he’d forgotten which of the several buttons to press, and instead engaged a “party mode”, where the lights turned flashy pinks and purples, and a ridiculous EDM song began to blare from the built-in speaker system, nearly shocking you into splitting. 

And then the gunshots started firing. Walker made himself useful by deflecting the majority of the bullets with his shield. Ghost tried to climb out one of the windows, only to be met by a piercing blast of concentrated, high-frequency sound waves, instantly disabling her suit’s phasing abilities. Yelena currently had nothing but a gun, and Alexei was busy driving. That left you.

With a determined puff of breath, you multiplied once, then climbed out the car window. Distantly, John barked at you to stay behind the shield but he went largely ignored. 

This was going to hurt like hell. But, on the plus side, you never really knew if you had a limit to the number of clones you could produce before you exhausted yourself. Maybe today you could find out. Within the blink of an eye, there were a hundred of you, growing exponentially by the second. 

Yelena realized what you were doing before the others. You were forming a human wall. 

One of the military vehicles plowed right through the weakest part of the wall, your blood and guts splattering every which way, staining the sand a deep shade of crimson. Another tried to swerve around, but ended up skidding too quickly, tipping over and crashing to the side, tires moving fruitlessly in the air. Your copies, still multiplying, swarmed the vehicle like angry, hell-bent ants, slipping into the open windows and pummeling the few soldiers in there. You could feel the bullets empty into your body, but you swallowed down the pain and kept going. But exactly as you told Yelena before—limited bullets, inifinite of you. And good Lord, did it hurt like—well, like you were being run over a thousand times over because you quite literally were. 

The remaining car was taken care of by an explosion so loud that it seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Initially, you wondered if someone from the car had thrown back a grenade, but when you caught sight of the sleek motorbike, you knew it was a newcomer. 

You heard Walker distantly yell, “Bucky!”

And true to his word, It was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You reabsorbed your copies—the few remaining that were still alive—and watched from a distance as he swerved past the last car’s gunfire, pinned a cable to its underbelly, and fell back to hold the wire down with his metal arm. The car flipped in the air as if it were an omelet on an oiled skillet. You blinked, impressed. 

Then, to your dismay, Bucky took off his sunglasses, and proceeded to shoot an explosive disk at Alexei’s limo. Similar to the previous car, it did an uneven pirouette before crashing onto the road upside-down. You winced, hoping none of them were killed in the crash. Even if they weren’t your friends, you thought that killing them went a step too far. 

Bucky was a little ways ahead of you, but he turned and fixed you with an expectant stare. Was he going to shoot you, too?

But you should’ve known—Bucky Barnes was smarter than that. He pulled out a different gun—and when he shot, electric ropes shot out as if they were sticky webs. You came crashing to the ground as they wound about your body, spasming with the sharp current frying your skin. To your panic, duplicating was not an option if you were bound. 

“If—” you choked out as he drew nearer to you. “If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.”

The ex-Winter Soldier looked down at you with a cocked head. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re evidence.”

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he woke up in a nice bed. In fact, this was probably the nicest bed he’s ever been in. His fingers twitched beside him—silk sheets. Just from that, he knew that this wasn’t his home (thank God for that), nor was it a hospital. He sat up.

There was a woman sitting by his bedside, watching him.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and meticulously tender. “How are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”

He stared at her for a moment before awkwardly saying, “Yeah.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good, good. My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

The name immediately had Robert backing up to the headboard, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “No, you—you tried to kill us!”

She began shushing him as if he were a child throwing a fit. On the glass table beside her, she put down what looked and sounded to be a metal plate.

“Let me explain. Would you like that?”

Bob stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his hands fidgeting with the silk. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

As she spoke, Bob took to looking around. The room was rather empty save for the bed, the glass table, and the chair Valentina was sitting on. Where was he? He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long… he didn’t like empty spaces very much. The blankness of the walls always made him worse than usual. When he was younger, he wasn’t even allowed to put up posters because his father would tear them down the minute he saw them. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Valentina was saying.

“Where—where is everyone?” he asked, interrupting her long-winded explanation. “Xerox? Yelena?”

“Xerox?” she repeated, pulling a distasteful face. Bob frowned. “Yelena… Oh, Bob, those people you were with… they’re not honest people. They’re criminals. Villains, really.”

Bob inched closer to the headboard until his back was flush against the leather. “No, but they… they helped me.” 

Well, if they weren’t here, he hoped everyone managed to get to safety. That he was useful for once in his damn life and not just… in the way.

Valentina stood up from the chair and sat down on the bed, inches away from him. Bob stiffened at the sudden movement.

“Let’s just forget about them for a bit. Let’s focus on you,” the woman said, “and how perfect you are.”

Perfect? Him, perfect? Perfect Bob. It sounded like an oxymoron. An embedded contradiction.

“You always thought of yourself as the victim. But you overcame it! You went to Malaysia—you were lost. You were searching for something, someone to help you. And you found me,” she crooned. 

Bob could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “How do you know about that?” 

It was embarrassing—mortifying, even—that someone found out that he was looking for help because he was a pathetic loser who couldn’t do anything on his own, as if he even deserved help to begin with. And now she was confronting him about it! Bob wanted a hole to open in the ground so he could crawl inside of it and hide away for the rest of his stupid life.

“I know all of it,” Valentina assured, though it wasn’t very reassuring. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record, and, you know—I even know about the times your father—”

Bob felt his insides seize at the mention of his father. “Stop!” he said, hands immediately coming up to cup his ears. “No, I didn’t say you could know that.” The lights began to flicker, a dangerous hum filling the room.

Valentina shook her head, scooching even closer. “Robert, I know everything about you—and I still want you to be my guy! All the bad things you’ve done… and I accept it. I accept you. Isn’t that what you want? To be chosen? No one else sees it. But I do. I see you. And I think, Robert, that your past is what makes you so special.”

At this, Bob could feel a small part of him cave. She wanted him. Out of all people, she thought he was capable! Capable of what? Did it even matter? He was picked. Wanted, chosen, special, needed, valuable, a true asset!

That was what he wanted. Yes, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind. She’s your ticket out. You won’t be a useless fucking loser anymore. 

Then, Valentina took his hand. His eyes narrowed a fraction. He dove into her mind and he saw it all—her father, the tears on her chubby nine-year-old cheeks, the bullet in his chest. When he pulled away, he regarded her with a mixture of pity and confusion. 

This woman was just as sad as him. Was everyone equally messed up in the head or did he just attract like-minded people?

Valentina cleared her throat, trying her best to give him a warm smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. “Would you excuse me for just a moment?” she said, getting up from the bed. She looked a bit frazzled. Bob supposed being forced to live your most traumatic memory again did that to someone. 

Before she could leave, she picked up the metal disk. He caught a glimpse of the shiny golden S engraved on the front side.

Your ticket! the dark voice hissed. You fucking idiot.

“No,” he croaked out, scrambling away from the headboard. “No, wait!” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “I can control it.”

She smiled, victorious. “Great,” she said. Then, she turned and left, leaving Bob alone in the empty room.

Bucky Barnes was very good at ignoring you. He only seemed to listen after tying the super soldiers up with bent metal rods, and you, Ava, and Yelena with special power-defusing cuffs. And even then, he dismissed everyone trying to tell him about Bob, Project Sentry, and how Valentina betrayed all of you. He made a scathing remark to John about his wife and kid deciding to leave him—it was clear the two had a tense, troubled history. 

Finally, after about half an hour sitting around and wasting time, Bucky got a phone call. Who with, you didn’t know. Someone close to Valentina, maybe. But she mentioned Bob, and suddenly Bucky straightened. His scowl deepened upon realizing that this group of misfits and criminals—were telling him the truth all along.

“So…” he said after hanging up the phone. “Bob.”

“Bob,” the rest of the group echoed in both exasperation and relief.

“We have to help him,” you said, emphatically wriggling your wrists and shoulders to indicate the cuffs. “Valentina is only going to hurt him or use him to hurt others.”

“Or both,” Ava chimed.

Bucky thought on it for a long second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he stalked over and uncuffed you, Yelena, then Ava. He unwound the metal pipe around Alexei as if he was snapping a string. He paused behind Walker, clearly unhappy to let him back on his feet, but he also broke him free of his bonds.

“You guys know Valentina,” he said. His eyes met yours. “Like you said—people are going to get hurt. And if your knowledge of this Bob can help… then you’re coming with me.”

“Us?” Yelena said, incredulous. “Bucky, you have the wrong people. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Thor?”

“Off-world.”

“Captain America?” you asked, venturing a glance at Walker.

“Busy. Out of the country.”

“The Hulk?” Ava asked.

Bucky shook his head, patience wearing thin. “Listen. I’ve been where you are. You can run, but it catches up. It doesn’t go away. I’m giving you guys the opportunity to do something about it now. It’s either you come with me, or it’s a prison cell. Take your pick.”

Alexei needed no convincing. “This is great!” he roared. “All of us will be fighting together, like a team!”

More reluctant, Yelena drew in a breath. “Stop Val. Save Bob.”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

Walker pursed his lips. “Fine,” he gruffed.

Ava nodded, solemn. “Come on, then.”

Alexei looked around with a wide, oafish grin on his face. “YES!” he yelled. “Come on, then, you slowpokes! What are we waiting for?”

The plan to save Bob was really no plan at all—which was to be expected from a group of mercenaries and assassins who were typically used to working alone. 

Crash into the Avengers Tower. Beat up the guards. Find Valentina. Take care of her (you still weren’t very sure what this bit meant). Save Bob. Easy, right?

Well, crashing into the tower and beating up the guards certainly were a piece of cake. Finding Valentina, which you suspected to be one of the harder steps, turned out to be handed over to you on a silver platter. 

Her voice echoed on the intercom, effectively halting everyone mid-punch or mid-kick. As for Bucky, he dropped the guard he’d been strangling. “Jesus, you guys,” Valentina sighed. “I literally just had a new drywall installed. Should’ve known you lot would mess that up, too. I left the door unlocked for you. Come up.”

Yelena stood beside you, chest heaving. “Think it’s a trap?”

“Probably,” you said. “But do we have a better plan?”

“We didn’t have one to begin with,” Ava retorted. She gestured to the elevator. “Come on.”

The elevator took the group up to one of the very top floors of the tower. You stepped in with wide, scrutinizing eyes. Most of the original Avengers were dead now, weren’t they? Dead or retired. A vague memory of heroism and destruction. You were gone during the Blip—and you thanked God for that—so the Avengers bringing you back was more of a curse than a blessing on your end. 

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina greeted everyone from behind an island counter. There was the pop of a champagne bottle as she poured herself a glass. “Think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly where you’re standing. I mean, I don’t really care—the place wasn’t cheap, but it’s got good optics.”

That’s all she ever seemed to care about, wasn’t it? Image. Branding. It was no wonder she always sent you on undercover missions. You weren’t marketable. No little girl or boy would buy your figurine when there was an Iron Man or Black Widow to pick from. 

“It’s over, Valentina,” Bucky said, expression stoic. “This ends now.”

“Congressman Barnes,” Valentina greeted, voice snippy. “I never thought you’d have a promising career but—you managed to disappoint even the lowest of expectations. Not even half a term, huh? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker interrupted. 

This made her laugh, though it was inauthentic and hollow. “I don’t think so… junior varsity Captain America.”

His hand fell on his gun, and he only paused when Bucky said his name with a warning tone.

“It’s good to see you, Ava. Yelena. You look awful, by the way. You sure you’re really ready for that public-facing role you asked me about?” 

“Eat shit, Valentina.”

“Where’s Bob?” you said, feeling the tensions creeping up until it felt near suffocating. “What did you do to him?”

“Xerox. I thought you wanted to leave… And yet here you are. Just makes me wonder why you haven’t left. You had every opportunity to. Are you getting attached already? That was always a weakness of yours, wasn’t it?” She took a long sip from her champagne flute. “You know, he asked about you. Even mentioned the little nickname you gave him. Palindrome, right? It’s a little bit of a mouthful, but that’s just me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Why were you still here? You didn’t owe Bob—or anyone else in this group—anything. 

Your evident hesitation made Valentina’s eyes light up. “Just look at you guys! So adorable, really. I sent you all down there to kill each other… but you made nice, and you form a team. Who would’ve thought?”

To your relief, Bucky cut through her condescending tirade by asking for Mel, who you assumed to be the person he was on the phone with earlier. 

“Oh, Mel,” she said, dismissive. “She’s having loyalty issues. But I’m just so grateful that she stuck around long enough to lure you all in—”

As she spoke, Bucky took the flute of champagne from her hands and placed it onto the island with a resounding tink. His hand then moved to close around Valentina’s throat.

But it never got there.

His hand froze mid-air, vibrating with strain. Bucky stared down at his arm with furrowed brows.

With a sharp, satisfactory grin, Valentina hummed, “I’m not alone. Robert?”

You turned to see a pair of dark boots descend down a flight of stairs. Each step revealed more of him—flashy golden suit, cinched blue belt, a dark, flowing cape. Blonde hair. A confident stance. A set jaw.

“Oh, my God,” Yelena said. 

“That’s Bob?” Bucky asked, words laced with disbelief.

“He looks… a little different from when we last saw him,” Ava said.

You stayed silent, watching him with what could only be described as a crestfallen expression. This wasn’t the Palindrome you remembered. What did Valentina do to him?

“It is my great honor to introduce to you… the Sentry,” Valentina beckoned to Bob as if he were a shiny new car she was parading. 

Bob nodded at the rest of you. “Hey, guys.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, but he was quick to look away. Your insides felt as if they were curdling.

“All powerful. Invincible. Stronger than all the Avengers combined—and soon to be known as Earth’s mightiest hero,” Valentina announced. 

Ava narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob blinked. “Yeah. It was—”

“My idea,” Valentina nodded.

“I preferred the dark hair,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it to spite Valentina or because it was the genuine truth. Perhaps both. “Brought out your eyes.”

Bob looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“People love a classic hero,” Valentina said. “All the strongest and most beloved were blondes. The original Captain America, blonde. Thor, blonde. Hawkeye, blonde-ish. Black Widow… blonde for some time.”

The mention of her sister made Yelena flinch. Valentina didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said. He wasn’t here to discuss frivolities like hair color.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, Bucky? Geez. Did all that time in the freezer slow your brain down? At least you’re kinda cute—you have that going for you.” 

“You’re not going to hurt people?” the Guardian intervened, his inflection cautious and mildly confused. 

“Oh, no! No. I’m not going to hurt people. I’m going to hurt you—or, well, Robert here will. You see, the press is on their way here now. They’re going to witness the magnificent power of Sentry as he takes down this group of ruthless, rogue agents. Thus beginning a new era where I decide how to keep the American people safe, answering to no one. I’ll be unimpeachable.”

“Cool,” you snarked, lips curling into a snarl. “You got the villain monologue down and everything.” Then, you turned to Bob, trying your best to ignore Valentina’s presence right beside him. Your expression softened considerably. “You told her about Palindrome?” 

Bob froze, as if pondering if he’d done something wrong. “Ye–yeah. I thought—at first, I thought it would be a cool hero name. But yeah, uhm… Sentry is… better. Rolls off the tongue.”

You nodded. “Okay. No, you’re right, maybe. But Palindrome—same backwards as it is forwards, remember? Are you the same Bob I met down in the vault? Because I liked that Bob a lot more than what I see in front of me now.”

Initially, Bob’s expression crumpled. Any hope of seeking the team’s approval was immediately crushed under the heel of your foot. Then, to your dismay, Bob—no, Sentry’s—face grew stony.

“Valentina fixed me,” he said. “I’m better now.”

The team’s incredulous, disbelieving faces told Bob all he needed to know. None of you were on his side. 

Valentina nodded at the tall, now-blonde super. “Sentry. Your first mission is to take out these criminals.”

Bob swallowed heavily, brows furrowed as he weighed between his options. “I don’t want to hurt you guys,” he finally said. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves in?”

With a scoff, Walker said, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby.”

A vein jumped on the side of Bob’s neck. “You can call me Sentry.”

“Please, you do not need to listen to her,” Yelena attempted to rationalize. 

“See?” Valentina exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I told you—they don’t think you’re good enough.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena asserted. “You can trust me, Bob! I know you!”

Bob fixed her with what looked to be a disappointed gaze. “I don’t think that you do.”

“But—you saved us. Only a few hours ago, you sacrificed yourself to help us escape. What was any of that for?” You loathed how your voice broke with desperation. 

Bob had a hard time swallowing around the rising lump in his throat. His mind darted back to the many times you died just to save him. None of this sat well with him, but… it needed to be done. 

“It was a mistake,” he said, simply. He chanced a glance to Valentina, who nodded in approval.

You recoiled like a wounded snake. 

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Alexei bellowed. Bob still wasn’t very sure who he was. “No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!” 

Just as Val incredulously echoed, “Thunderbolts?” Alexei stormed forward, pulling all his weight into a barrel-slam. It was as if he were hit with a solid, thick wall of dense lead. Bob punched him straight in his round belly, and like a ragdoll, the super soldier went flying backwards, crumpling into a red heap against a nearby pillar. Immediately, the rest of the team dove into action and attacked Bob. Save for Yelena, who was still trying to make peace with him.

Bob was, as Valentina had alluded to earlier, seemingly invincible. Able to fling people away without having to disturb a single dyed hair on his head. Stop special-grade bullets mid-air and send them right back to the assailant at twice the speed. Withstood the sharpest of blades and the strongest of punches. 

You split into two copies. One to assist Walker, whose shield was embedded into a sofa, nearly cleaving it in two, and another running after Valentina, who you spotted hurrying to hide behind a corner.

“You lied to us,” you hissed, grabbing the collar of her dress shirt, yanking her close until her nose was inches away from yours. “I came to you for help. I thought you would save me.”

“I did,” she said, and began to howl and laugh like a maniac. “When I found you, you were an empty husk of a person. Now look at you. Fighting with your friends. There’s a spark that wasn’t there before. You know, if I hadn’t only stuck you to do my dirty work, you would’ve made a good hero. A lack of planning on my end, I’m afraid.”

You felt your eyes sting with the promise of tears. “I could’ve been good?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “But you chose this. Sure, I gave you the order… but who, in the end, pulled the trigger?” Without giving you the chance to respond, she lolled her head to the side. “Oh, Sentry!”

Bob, who had been preoccupied smashing Alexei through the windows as if he were playing frisbee, snapped his head to see you holding Valentina. Immediately, his eyes started glowing, and you were ripped away. 

There was no hope in fighting against a man more powerful than all the Avengers rolled into one. You braced yourself for pain, squeezing your eyes shut. But there came none. Instead, when you cracked an eye open you were suspended midair outside of the penthouse. 

“How far?” he asked you, striding to the window, its frames lined with shattered bullet-proof glass.

“What?” you choked out, trying to struggle, though you knew that if he dropped you, you would be met with a terrible fall that was likely worse than the fall you had in the vault. 

“How far until you lose control and get a seizure?” He turned and bent Walker’s shield until it caved around his arm, now shaped like a curved taco shell. “I don’t want to send you too far. I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” you snarled. A second too late, you realized that was probably a terrible thing to say to him when he had you floating mid-air, completely at his mercy. “Wait, Bob—please just stop this—!” The rest of your plea was lost to the wind as he sent you streaking further away from the tower, going so fast that the civilians down below must have thought you were some sort of high-tech drone.

Your duplicate watched in horror, knowing there was nothing you could do for your other-you. You were taken farther and farther until you grew limp, convulsing hundreds of feet above the ground. The copy in the tower crumpled to the ground with not a sound. Ava, battered and bruised, dragged your convulsing body away from the action so you were less likely to be struck while down. 

And when the rest of the team gave up and turned to retreat, Bucky was the one to pick you up by the scruff of your dark suit, dragging you into the elevator. He was missing his metal arm, which Sentry had torn off like it had been attached with paperclips, hot glue, and a dream. Ava picked it up on her way into the lift.

Sentry advanced on them with glowing eyes. “Forgetting someone?” 

He reached out behind him, fingers curled into a beckoning motion. Your copy came flying back into the tower, crashing into the rest of the team as if you were a bowling ball, and the rest of the team the pins. Your skull rattled as it knocked into Alexei’s, and you gasped for air, dizzy and disoriented. If you had been more lucid, you would have apologized to Walker for your boot crashing into his eye. That was likely going to leave a terrible bruise. Yelena took your arm and wound it around her to help you stay upright. 

“I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your… retirement,” Valentina called out, slinking out from the shadows she was hiding in. “Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.”

Bob waited until the elevator doors slid to a close, hiding all the fearful faces from his observant gaze, and he could hear the lift move downwards.

“Finish the job?” he echoed. “No. They’re not a threat to me, so… why do I need to kill them?”

Valentina gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You need to do what I say, Robert.”

Confusion washed over his polished, golden features. “Why?” 

“Why?” Valentina parroted, almost mocking. Bob could feel anger bubble behind his chest.

“I just…” He exhaled in frustration. “I feel like there’s an… unwarranted power imbalance here.” He motioned between himself and her. “There needs to be more of a collaboration between us if this is going to work. Like, the hair—I don’t know. Maybe I should have more of a say.”

She rolled her eyes to the broken ceiling from when Yelena was flung upwards. “Don’t let those idiots get to your head. The blonde is great.”

“You sure?” said Bob, now pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. “I thought I liked it, but now I’m not so sure. Xerox said—”

“Forget Xerox!” Valentina exclaimed. “That’s enough about the hair, Sentry.”

“It’s not just about the hair, though—”

“Well, you keep bringing it up, so—”

“No, but it’s everything!” Bob asserted. “It’s all of it. My suit, my name, my missions. I didn’t even want to be Sentry. I thought Palindrome was good. It… it is good.”

As if she were consoling a child, Valentina relented. “Fine. If you want to change it so bad, be my guest. We’ll just have to re-do all the paperwork all over again and—”

Bob shook his head. “Why would a god… take orders from anyone at all?”

Brow cocked, Valentina slowly said, “I think you’re throwing the word god a bit loosely there.”

“No,” Bob said. “No, but you said… I was all-powerful and stronger than the entire team of Avengers, which includes at least one God. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t actually know what I am, nor what I’m capable of. I’m the only survivor from the medical trials, aren’t I? I’m the only one left.” 

Val drew in a sharp breath, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Yes, that’s more like it.”

Before she could draw out the emergency killswitch, Bob took her by the throat and sent her flying across the room, pinning her against a metal support frame. She struggled against his hold fruitlessly. 

“You were going to turn on me,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes. “Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert,” she croaked before he began to apply more pressure against her esophagus.

“It’s not Robert you have to be afraid of,” he said, voice as cold as the steel behind her. His eyes began to glow a terrifying golden hue and—

There was a click and a zap, and Bob’s hold on her loosened. Sentry crumpled to the ground in a heap of golds and blues. Mel was standing behind the pair, holding the killswitch, legs shaking. 

“I want a raise,” she demanded. 

“Fine. Order cleanup and it’s yours,” said Val, gripping the support beam with shaking hands. “And help me up, damn it!”

The two eventually stumbled into the elevator, leaving Bob’s body alone in the Avengers tower. A minute after Val abandoned his corpse, however, the floors darkened to an inky blank around him. His suit and face was now pitch-dark, absent of any sort of color. His finger twitched. First his pinky, then his thumb, then his whole hand. By the second minute, he began levitating, floating a meter above the cracked floors.

Bob, Palindrome, Robert, Sentry, the Golden Guardian of Who Gives a Flying Fuck—what he used to be… was gone now. And what was left of him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just a void.

Once outside the Avengers Tower, you reabsorbed into one body, stumbling away from Yelena to sit on the curb. Behind you, they were bickering, as always. Alexei wanted to go somewhere to regroup and try again. As if being completely beaten to a pulp wasn’t enough. 

Yelena was done. She was fed up with his bullshit. 

“Stop. Just stop! There is no us. There is no we. Bob is gone. He changed into that thing—and there is nothing that any of you could do about it,” she hissed. 

“Right,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “And what did you do, exactly? Because I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way worse than mine. Xerox didn’t even try to stop Bob.”

“Because we didn’t stand a chance. There was no point,” you gritted out, getting back up to your feet. “Sorry I prioritized getting Valentina over him.”

“Fat load of good that did!” Ava exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I get it! I suck! We suck! We’re all terrible!” Yelena screamed. The pedestrians going about their day eyed the rag-tag team of bloodied, bruised, suited individuals. “Ava, you’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person.”

Ava pretended that didn’t sting. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. 

When Alexei tried to step in, Yelena exploded at him, too. “I am not your little girl! I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year! It’s like you didn’t even care about Natasha. You’re a fucking fake and a coward and I wish you never pretended to be my father!”

Walker stepped in, saying, “Come on, go easy on him.”

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena said, rounding on him.

“What, is it my turn?” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.

“No, you know you’re a piece of trash,” Yelena spat. “And so does your family.”

“Jesus,” said Walker, grimacing at how much that stung.

“Yelena,” you said, weary of her biting your head off for even speaking. “We tried. We failed. We move on. Can we do that?”

“No, but you didn’t try, did you? I saw you talking to Valentina. You could’ve done it. You had the chance to kill her, but you didn’t. You were too caught up in your selfish fantasies of self-fulfillment that you’ve doomed the rest of us!” 

You nodded, withdrawing, clearly wounded. “Mhm. Okay.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was your fault. You had Valentina. You did. Was your need for closure selfish? Did it cost everyone a potential victory?

“We lost,” Yelena said with a tone of finality. She turned around and began to stalk away. “This fucking team was built on delusions. We were never anything, not ever.”

Alexei went after her. The rest of the group slowly started to retreat into different directions. You looked to Bucky with sad eyes he thought resembled a kicked animal.

“Does it get better?” you asked. Your gesture to your head was vague and hard to interpret, but Bucky seemed to understand you almost instantly.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, kid.” The soldier pursed his lips, regarding you with furrowed brows. “But not like this, it won’t. Not like this.”

“What are you going to do now?” you whispered. 

Bucky clenched his jaw. It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was for a situation like this. “As of now, Valentina’s intentions with Sentry are unclear. She could be planning out acts of terrorism as we speak. I think the smartest course of action is evacuating the premises.” He eyed you warily. “You can go home. You’ve done enough.”

“I want…” The words lodged in your throat. “Bucky, I know I’m a fuck-up. I’ve done bad, terrible things. I know there’s no coming back from that. But I want to help. I want to be better.”

Something flickered in the blue of his eyes, as if he was recalling something. Someone. “Okay, kid,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on.”

The two of you began to usher the crowd away. You multiplied a few dozen times, scattering to hoard as many people you could off the streets. You heard many shocked whispers amongst the passerby. Is that Congressman Barnes? No fucking way—that’s the Winter Soldier. Is Captain America around? Why are there four of you? That’s freaky as shit.

“I’m Xerox,” you hurriedly told a family loitering by the entrance to the subway station, trying your best to seem friendly but you likely came off as a raving lunatic instead. “You need to evacuate the premises now. Someone dangerous could be—”

“Are you a hero?” a little girl asked you in wonder, taking a gander at your suit, which was battered and covered with dust and soot. It definitely had seen better days. “You don’t really look like one.”

The mother flinched with shock, and began to frantically apologize for her daughter’s lack of a filter.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m no hero. I just want to help.”

The mother nodded, looking worried. “That’s good enough for me.” It was clear she was no stranger to bizarre happenings in New York. “Come on, Adeline. Let’s go.” They hurried off, and you returned to Bucky, who was urging a gaggle of laughing teenagers not to go into a theater.

“Good. You cleared the street,” said Bucky. “We should set up some sort of blockade to—”

Abruptly, Bucky stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were trained up to the sky, and you turned to follow his gaze. You felt your heart painfully skip a beat in your chest.

A dark figure floated above the city. Caped, with a suspiciously similar silhouette to Sentry. You squinted, straining your vision, barely making out his arm extending out as if he was mimicking grabbing something.

“That’s—” Bucky started.

“Bob,” you breathed out. 

You watched in horror as helicopters came flying towards him. At first, you thought they were press, just as Valentina promised—until they started shooting at him. The bullets seemed to disappear through him. And after a second, the helicopters came crashing down, as if they were completely void of pilots. The vehicles spun into construction scaffolding, pieces of unfinished building breaking apart and falling to the world below.

You and Bucky were quick to move then, yanking civilians out from under falling rubble. You multiplied more in an effort to help, even if it meant getting hit by falling concrete once in a while. You caught sight of Alexei using a metal sign he had torn off a shawarma restaurant to protect citizens as they escaped down the subway tunnels, and Yelena saving an elderly woman from getting run over by a news van. Another helicopter was tumbling down from further down the street, and Ghost phased through rapidly-rotating blades to shove people out of the way. Walker was stopping a large slab of concrete from crushing a civilian. Your clones being as scattered as they possibly could meant you had eyes in all directions. A dozen of you hurried over to help him push it upwards, gritting your teeth with the solid weight.

Another one of you dragged the woman out from underneath. She was sobbing profusely, praying in a language you couldn’t understand. But she signed something—the tips of her fingers touching her lips, then beckoning out to you. Thank you.

It felt like something finally clicked into place. Was it inherently selfish of you to want to help people because it made you feel good? Or did it cancel out?

Yelena joined, then Alexei. Ghost phased through and began pushing beside Walker. Bucky put all his weight in with his metal arm, and the slab finally tipped over, crashing onto the street with such a weighty thud that the asphalt beneath fractured. 

And then the crowd around you started clapping. Quietly at first, but rising up to a deafening applause. 

“Mom?” called a small child across the street. There was a shadow falling over her, growing larger. Alexei was there before anyone else, shielding the little girl from the falling debris that would certainly have crushed her to death if he hadn’t been there. 

“You’re safe, little one,” said Alexei, kneeling down to her height. 

The dry tear tracks on her chubby cheeks bent as she smiled at the red giant before her.

And then she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a shadow in a blobby, vague shape of the girl, spilling darkness across the street. 

You flinched. Three civilians across from you disappeared in the same way. Then two to your left. Another pair behind you. Your eyes flew upwards to see Bob—Sentry—whoever that was descend down to hover only a few feet above the totaled street. 

“You will all know the truth,” his voice echoed. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

Screams erupted around you as people fled every which way. You reabsorbed your copies closest to the growing darkness.

“Come on,” Walker said, yanking your arm. “We need to get people off the streets!”

You nodded, rushing ahead to direct people into the subway tunnels. 

“Yelena!” you heard Alexei bellow. “Yelena, what are you doing?”

You turned to see her calmly striding towards the darkness. 

“No,” you whispered. Your closest copy ran towards her, only a few feet away.

“It’s like you said,” the dark figure murmured, his voice somehow loud enough to reverberate in your ears like a piercing drum. “We’re all alone. All of us.”

“Yelena,” you said, taking her forearm. “Yelena, we have to go.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Bob asked. Instinctively, you knew he was speaking to you. “I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

“No, Pal,” you said, edging away from the darkness, which was eating at the streets. “I don’t need you to fix me, thank you. I haven’t even tried a licensed therapist yet. Come, Yelena, please.”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The assassin shut her eyes and let out a sigh. She stepped forward, and then she was gone. You heard Alexei’s anguished screams somewhere behind you. 

The Void reached out and turned a few more panicked civilians into shadows. Before you knew it, the entire street was blackened, leaving only a circle around you.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” The Void said. He floated down to the ground to stand in front of you, just inches away. If you reached out, you would be able to touch him. You could feel the cold emanating off his body, tempting you to just—fall into him. “The darkness will keep you company.”

“And that’s you?” you whispered, trying your best to look for an expression in such a blank canvas of darkness. “Where’s Bob?”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” the Void said.

“He does,” you insisted. “He did to me.” 

“You died for him,” he said, tilting his head.

You nodded. “And I would again.”

“Why?” 

The question, though it was just one word, weighed heavy on your mind. 

“I’m not the bad guy I thought I was,” you finally told him. You stared at the darkness closing in around you with a heavy heart. “If I went in—would I find Bob in there?”

“Your Palindrome is hiding. He isn’t looking to be saved.” The Void motioned around him. “Look at this mess. This is no place to be. Step in with me. I’ll take care of it. You wouldn’t need to worry anymore… it’ll be just us.”

“Can I try to help him in there?” Your voice broke, betraying your own fear.

The black figure’s shoulders trembled as if he were smothering a laugh. “You can try. I’d advise giving up, though. It’s never worth it. Now… come.” 

His arms spread wide open, inviting you in. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Ava call out your name. You swallowed heavily.

Then you fell forward, willingly embracing someone for the first time since you were a child. He was solid for a split moment. All frigid edges and hard muscle—then you collapsed into the soft darkness, and sat back up in a hospital room.

It was the same vision as before. Two of you. One whole and one cut. Without hesitating, you kicked at the surgeon, grabbing a scalpel from the table and slitting his throat. You watched the blood gush out of his wound, dark and bubbling. Too dark to be real blood. 

You turned to free yourself with the missing leg from the operating table, slicing at the leather straps. And then, to your shock, young-you began attacking yourself. 

It was disorienting to see your younger self snarl like a rabid animal, leaping from the table to claw at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your exposed throat. You made a garbled noise of pain, and threw the kid off. Your throat stung, but it was a hollow pain that was quick to fade back into nothingness.

“I’m you!” you screamed before the kid could leap at you again. “I’m you!”

“I don’t know you,” little Xerox said. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“I’m you,” you whispered. You put the scalpel down and approached like one would a nervous horse. “Honey, I’m you. I’m okay, see? You’ll be okay.”

Little-you swayed. You began to cry in the silent way you always did, smaller frame wracking. 

“It’s okay,” you said with an aching chest, gathering yourself up in your arms, stroking the back of your head. “Let it out. There you go.”

The child began to bawl into your chest. You reached over for the scalpel again, slicing through the bonds of the young, whole copy. “Here. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” the whole copy said. Both of the younger Xeroxes held onto one another. You stepped away with a heavy heart. 

“Palindrome?” you called out. “I’m here to help. Come talk to me.”

Nothing.

With a huff, you turned out of the hospital room, shoving your way through the doors, though not before bidding a respectful goodbye to your younger copies. 

You found yourself in a different room now. You had escaped the hospital at this point, now living off of the meager cash you earned by doing the dirty work for Madripoorean crime lords. Your gun was trained on a woman as she sobbed for mercy.

“I didn’t mean to—” she said, wiping away the snot that dribbled from her nose. “I didn’t mean to, please tell him that for me!”

“I don’t speak to my bosses,” your copy said. Current-you rounded about to look at Xerox’s face here. Gaunt, with glassy, empty eyes. “He wants you gone.”

“I can be gone!” she said, nodding. “Please. You can pretend you shot me. I can disappear without a trace.” When you said nothing, she doubled over, wailing out a pitiful noise. “I’m pregnant. Please. Please don’t kill me.”

Past-Xerox’s eyes thinned into disbelieving slits. “Lie.”

“I’m not lying. Please. It’s his child, but I can—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Just listen to me—”

Your younger self began to panic. “Why would you tell me that?”

“If you could—”

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

“Is—do you need money? Is it money you want?”

“No.” Yes. “I don’t need your charity.”

The woman shakily pulled out crumpled bills from her bag, offering them to you. You gritted your jaw and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground with her mouth frozen mid-plea. Before you left, you took the bills and stuffed them into the holey pockets of your ratty trousers. You took the silver necklace the woman was wearing for good measure, too.

Your past-self looked up at you. “Do we ever find out?”

“What?”

“Was she really pregnant?”

You stared down at the dead woman with horror. “I don’t know.”

Young Xerox straightened, shoulders rolling back. “We don’t deserve to be forgiven. Not for this.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “You’re also only eighteen.”

“So?”

“You were just a kid. You had no money. No food. No home. No family. Just you and your copies and your missions,” you whispered. 

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s an excuse.” You looked down the alleyway. “Valentina will be coming soon for you. She’ll be too good to be true at first. A house. A clean bed. Food in the fridge. But it’ll be the same thing again. Just… repackaged.”

Your younger self’s face twisted with a rotten, disappointed look. “Do we ever get better?”

“We try to. I try to.”

“Good.” Young Xerox pointed up a rusty metal fire escape. “He’s up there. Your Pal.”

“Thank you,” you said, about to make your way up the creaky stairs. 

“He wants to be found,” said young you, nodding. “He made the rooms easy for you. There’s a lot worse that he could’ve chosen from.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, though saying that made you feel all the more terrible for the dead woman on the ground. “What about you? Did you want to be found?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“You tell me,” retorted the younger you with a wolfish grin. “I’m all me, remember?”

Your final room was when you lived in America. It was dark in your apartment. You were twenty-five, looking a bit healthier than you had been at eighteen, but still just as miserable. 

You stood in front of the stove, which held a pot that was almost halfway full to the brim with boiling water. “Come on,” younger you said, jumping up and down on the spot, psyching yourself up. Your palm raised to slap yourself across the face. There was a belt tied about your mouth so as to not alert your civilian neighbors. “Come on, you pussy,” you hissed at yourself from behind the belt.

Inhaling sharply, you held in your breath as you dove your left palm into the boiling water. Your scream went muffled behind the belt. After a moment, you quietened to an occasional whimper. It was strange being able to watch yourself and not feel the same pain. Only the memory of it. 

It wasn’t self-harm. At least, you didn’t consider it to be so back then. It was endurance training. Upping your pain tolerance for the job. Valentina had told you that you were useless if you couldn’t handle dying. 

Younger you pulled your raw hand out of the pot after about thirty seconds, then flipped the tap on to its coldest setting, sticking it beneath the running water with a hiss. The next day, you would repeat the process until you lost all feeling in your left hand, frying your nerve endings to shit. 

As the room began to repeat itself, you stopped your younger self from plunging a hand into the pot by grabbing your wrist. “You don’t have to do that,” you said. “There are other ways of being strong.”

“If I don’t do this, I’m not worth anything,” young Xerox said. “I’d be nothing.”

“Hurting yourself doesn’t make you stronger,” you deadpanned. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” the younger you sighed. “I know that. It’s just nice to be in control of my own pain for once.”

“You can be in control by consciously trying to keep yourself from the pain,” came your soft whisper. “Hurting yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only leaves scars that take way too long to heal. Trust me. I still can’t wear short sleeves.”

Younger you barked out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Summers are hell.”

“I know, right?” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. “You know what helped me?”

“What?”

“Crosswords,” you said. “The newspaper stand across the store sells entire books. Every time I had the urge, I would solve a puzzle or two.”

“Oh, God,” said the younger you, bending over into what sounded like a cry, but it was actually an incredulous laugh. “I’m such a nerd. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just try it. It helps.”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ geek.”

“We memorized every single element of the periodic table in order by age eleven. I think the nerd has been with us all along.” As you spoke, you took the pot of boiling water and carefully maneuvered to dump the steaming water into the sink. You turned off the stove, and past-you didn’t try to stop you.

Your younger self smiled, and it was clear that it’s been a while since that happened, too. Then, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What happens if we run out of crosswords?” 

The question didn’t seem to be just about crosswords.

“We can always try something new,” you ventured. “I think crocheting is all the rage now.”

“Is it?” 

“Probably not, no. I’m not really sure what the youths are into these days. It changes every other day.”

“We can try crocheting anyway,” past-you laughed. Then, you pointed into the living room. “Look in the TV. He should be there.”

“Alright. Thanks.” You gave mid-twenties Xerox a two-fingered salute, then turned to sit down in front of your TV. 

And, as promised, you caught a glimpse of Bob in the reflection. When you looked behind you, it was still your regular, dim living room. You looked back at the dark screen.

“Found you,” you murmured, a relieved smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey, Bob? It’s good to see you.”

Despite the warped reflection, you could see him look up with a creased, almost guilty expression. “You found me,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. 

“I did. Will you let me in?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Please let me in. I want to help.”

Bob drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself. The darkness surrounded you, and in the blink of an eye, you were in a different room. One you didn’t recognize. Your gaze flickered about. This must’ve been one of Bob’s rooms. An attic, by the looks of it—cluttered with junk.

You sat down in front of him. He was fiddling with a Rubix cube. “I used to love solving those,” you told him. 

“I’m—” He handed the cube over to you. “I’m pretty bad at it. I don’t know.”

“I was, too,” you said, turning the squares about. Bob watched you gradually align the colors together—orange with orange, green with green, blue with blue. You struggled with one side, but after moving back a few paces, you managed to get it right. “I was terrible at it. I kept giving up and reshuffling. But I got better with time and practice.”

You handed the cube back to him, neatly solved. Bob took it with soft fingers, inspecting your handiwork. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help you,” you said. “And there’s people out there that can help you, too.”

“They can’t help me. I’m… broken.”

There was screaming coming from downstairs. The noise made Bob flinch, his hands instinctively going up to his ears. As you listened, you could hear a man yelling, the sound of skin smacking skin, and the sound of a woman crying. A little boy intervened. More thuds, smacks, a shattering glass. The woman began berating the little boy for making things worse. It made your heart sink low to the pits of your stomach.

“Just ignore that, please,” he said once the noise died down, as if afraid you would leave now. “Don’t mind them.”

You drew in a breath. Tentative, you asked, “Can I touch you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice croaky. “Yeah, you can. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give you a hug. Is that okay?” 

Bob nodded again. His mom used to give him hugs, but that was a long time ago. Before she…

“Yeah,” he said, and he felt shame wash over him when tears pricked the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him. He patted at your back awkwardly, but eventually took to mimicking your embrace when you sank into him, holding you close. 

“This is the first time I’ve hugged someone else in a very long time, you know. I’ve mostly just hugged my clones, as sad as that sounds,” you mumbled into his shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s sad. I like to hold myself, too.”

“I like your hair like this, by the way,” you said as you tried to pull away, but he was holding onto you rather tightly. “Bob.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat shyly, forcing himself to relinquish his grasp on you. “Sorry. Thanks. That was nice.”

“It was,” you agreed. There was some more silence. Bob put a fist up to his mouth and began to weep, utterly overwhelmed but nearly silent. You placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles over his back. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“No, I’m—” Bob let out a quaky breath and began to cry all over again. You scooched closer to him and let your hand lay over his. He enjoyed feeling your fingers trace shapeless patterns over his skin.

“Bob,” you murmured after he began to calm down. “I don’t want to stay here forever. Do you?”

He swallowed around nothing, and avoided the question. “It’s quiet here. Quieter than the other places. The rest are… worse than this.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not me, you know. I wish I could fix it, but I just can’t. I can’t stop it,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s the Void.” 

You nodded. “Could you let Yelena in here, at least? I saw the Void take her. We can help you together.”

Bob blinked back his tears. He nodded. The room slowly rotated ninety degrees, and you could hear creaking footsteps outside. Yelena busted the door open with a sharp kick to the doorknob, which you found amusing, considering the door didn’t look to have a lock on it. The team had a troubling tendency not to check if doors could just open on their own without breaking them down first.

“Bob!” she exclaimed. Then, her brows rose upon seeing you. “Xerox.”

“Hi,” you greeted. Bob waved at her besides you.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surveilling her surroundings in typical assassin-fashion. 

“Therapy session,” you said, only half-joking, patting the spot beside you. 

There was screaming downstairs again. Yelena wandered over to look down the attic’s opening, where she could see a man with a glass bottle in his hands. She looked up at you and Bob, then sat down where you gestured. 

“I’m sorry, you had to live through this, Bob. And listen,” she said, lips pursed, meeting his watery gaze. “What I said to you before was wrong. You can’t stuff it down. You can’t hold it in all alone. No one can. Nobody should. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. Even if it doesn’t make the emptiness go away, I promise you… it’ll make you feel lighter.”

Bob sniffed. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“Because it already has for me,” Yelena told him. “I found a team of people I could trust.”

At this, she looked to you, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for what I said to you out there, too. You are not selfish. In fact, you’re probably the most selfless person I know. Not a lot of people are willing to die all the time for others.”

“Thanks, Yelena,” you said, simultaneously warm with sincerity and stiff because you weren’t at all used to receiving compliments. “So what do you say, Bob? Will you help us get out of here?”

To your delight, Bob nodded. You smiled, taking his hand. Yelena’s eyes bounced between the two of you—absent-mindedly wondering what the two of you were talking about before she arrived. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because the walls and furniture began to hum with a low-tone frequency.

“Look out!” Bob exclaimed, pulling Yelena down as a lamp flew across the room, nearly hitting her square in the head. A plastic kiddie chair whizzed into his back, striking him painfully. There were papers—monstrous childhood drawings—flying every which way. The curtains broke free of their hooks on the railing, wrapping around you and Yelena. Bob hurried over to try to claw the fabric off you, to no avail. It wouldn’t let go.

“Just try to get used to it, okay?” he called out over the whizzing and smashing of objects. “If you try to resist—the pain only gets worse!”

You could feel your vision swim with black dots as you gasped for breath—and all of a sudden, there was a slicing noise, and you were falling to your knees, filling your lungs with air. It was Ava, holding a sharp blade in one hand. 

She nodded at you, helping you up to your feet. “I should start keeping track of how many times I’ve saved you.”

Before you could respond, Walker and Alexei burst in through the walls, followed by Bucky through one of the windows. You only narrowly managed to dodge his metal arm cuffing you across the head with his dramatic entrance. 

“You came for us,” Yelena said, looking at her father with a touched frown. “What did you see? Are you all okay?”

Bucky only shrugged. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.”

“We’re probably going to need another one group therapy session once we’re out of here,” you said, which made both Bob and Yelena smile to themselves, nodding. 

“Thank you guys,” said Bob. “Really.” He was about to say something about how he didn’t deserve this—but when you put a hand on his arm, he bobbed his head again and kept his mouth shut.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Walker, glancing back at the ruined walls. “I’d prefer not to have to go through my rooms again.”

Bob scratched at the back of his head. “As far as I know, it’s just… endless rooms.”

“You said that this was the quietest room, right? That all the others are worse?” you asked, and Bob nodded hesitantly. 

The Thunderbolts team all exchanged determined looks. Alexei cracked his neck, John rolled his shoulders, and Ava flexed her fists. 

You gave Bob a gentle push towards the broken doorway. “Okay, Palindrome. Show us the worst of ‘em. We’ll take on whatever comes our way together.”

[ssa-dado]

30 Seconds

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: SMUT, pre-relationship mutual pining and just a touch of ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: You text the hot swim dad for legal help. He shows up in khakis. You try to behave. You fail. He's accidentally jealous of your date, you accidentally grind on his lap, he finishes in his pants, and somehow it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. Warnings: SMUT MDNI (heavy makeout, dry humping and *sighs* Aaron creams his pants for just that... the title is descriptive enough), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, objectification of the Hotchner body Word Count: 4.9k (damn gurl) Dado's Corner: Based on this request! And... um... full disclosure... I added the glasses part solely because of the cat pic sent by @hotchology, who said this ginger furball is how they imagine Hotch in glasses (LOOK HOW CUUUTE)

masterlist(s)

Everything showers.

A sacred rite of modern womanhood.

Takes minimum two geological eras to complete, consumes half the planet’s fresh water, and must be repeated often to remain an eligible mating partner.

Because that’s the whole point of being a woman, isn’t it? To be clean, hairless, glowing, and vaguely vanilla-scented - just fuckable enough for men who think 3-in-1 shampoo counts as skincare.

The concept of an everything shower is… layered. Part hygiene. Part penance. Part psychological rebirth. A full-body cleanse for the sins you haven’t committed yet.

You’ve done them before first dates. Before almost-dates. Before parties, dick appointments, emotional breakdowns, and that one Tuesday when you just needed to check in on her-

(Her. Down there.)

Once, you even did one before visiting your mother. (Unclear whether that was for survival or atonement. Maybe both.)

But never - not even in your darkest, most masochistic imagination - did you think you’d be doing one because of an eviction notice.

Not until today.

Because Aaron Hotchner - a man who should be both physically and emotionally unavailable due to his very, very, veeeery important job saving the world - is apparently not unavailable.

Not when it matters.

Not when it’s least convenient for your nervous system.

…The irony.

All it took was one stupid text. A momentary lapse in dignity. Something he’d probably refer to as “compromised judgment.”

do you happen to know a very cheap lawyer asking for a friend

And instead of his usual three-to-five-business-days reply time, he hits you with:

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): Are you at home now? – A.H.

And now you’re just a bit overthinking… because how does he know that?

Did the FBI install a secret camera in your pothos plant? Does he have access to some satellite heat map of your apartment? Has he been watching your window? A camera in the air vent?

(Has he seen you trying out that new clear dildo in front of the mirror for “science”?)

(The one time you tried doing yoga and got stuck in child's pose for 40 minutes?)

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

All you do know is that you are currently fully naked, shaving for a man who:

Has no idea he’s being shaved for, while you’re on speakerphone with him, as he gets closer and closer to your building block because he invited himself into your private space and-

Would absolutely turn around and disappear if he ever caught even a hint of cucumber-scented shaving cream (you borrowed from your roommate) and realized you'd… prepared for him.

Because your “just in case” implies premeditation. And premeditation implies intention. And intention? Intention is basically foreplay.

And foreplay is strictly prohibited outside the sanctity of marriage, a psychological clearance form, and at least three signed affidavits from HR.

He would enter WITSEC on the spot. Change his name. Grow a beard.

(Hot.)

“What’s happening? Are you alright?”

He concernedly asks over the phone - totally unaware (definitely unaware) that every time he checks in on you, he’s poking your very well-buried, very latent daddy issues with a stick.

(Or maybe he keeps asking because he’s the one with daddy issues. Very obvious ones. That classic parented-child energy. Raised himself on black coffee, moral obligation and emotional regret.)

What a match, really. You get off on being cared for, and he gets off on taking care of people he’ll never emotionally open up to.

Soulmates.

Anyway-

“So… my landlord is an asshole and I really hope he gets some very painful hemor-”

Mr. FBI has the audacity to call you by your full legal name before cutting you off with, “This call is being recorded. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making…” he even pauses, searching for the most delicate phrasing. Because God forbid he doesn’t sound like a morally burdened Disney princess. “explicit threats.”

Oh, you’d appreciate a few things too. Like having his actual number and not the one issued by the United States Government - so you wouldn’t have to worry about scandalizing some poor technical analyst who’ll be forced to transcribe this call word-for-word the second they find his body in a ditch and trace it back to you.

(“Exhibit B: She said, quote, ‘I hope he gets some very painful hemor.’”)

…But you’re not as childish as him to complain about that.

“My bad.”

“It’s alright.” (Can he please stop talking like this?)

“Yeah… I-” Your voice trips. Your face is hot. Your entire body is hotter. “The thing is-”

“I’m listening.” Oh, fuck him. (Please.)

“In short: the building’s falling apart. We’ve been emailing the guy for weeks, complaining, begging, threatening – nicely - and either he forgets to reply or says he’ll fix it and then doesn’t. It’s been an eternity and he still hasn’t done a single fuc-”

Recorded line. Recorded line. God forbid the man has a seizure because of you. “-thing.”

You hear a chuckle on the other end.

You hate phone calls.

You’d choke him if he weren’t safely boxed inside a moving vehicle.

“I said threats. You can curse. I’m not ten.” Oh, he’s smiling. You can hear it. The smug bastard.

“Oh, that I noticed.”

You love phone calls.

If he were here, he would've already hit you with one of those signature stares - intended to intimidate, but really just making you want to lick the corner of his mouth out of pure spite.

But look at you. Free. Untouchable. Doing amazing.

“The thing is, I didn’t pay rent this month. Because they’re still ignoring the repairs. And now they’re threatening to evict me if I don’t pay.”

“That’s retaliatory. It’s illegal.”

“Wait… you’re telling me I’m not screwed?”

“No, they are. You withheld payment due to unaddressed health and safety violations. That’s protected under landlord-tenant statutes,” he says, suddenly shifting into full legalese, something-something code 572, subsection blah-blah, tenant rights, lease clauses-

You don’t hear any of it. Actually, the very second he started speaking fluent Law Daddy, , your brain slammed the emergency brake to focus on the real crisis:

What the fuck are you going to wear.

“Document everything-“

Lace? Bold choice, but post-shave? Masochism. Granny cotton briefs? He’ll never look at you again.

“Photos.”

Tight top, no bra? Risky.

What if he hugs you and feels how obnoxiously hard your nipples are?

(He’s not a hugger. He doesn’t seem like a hugger. Right?)

(Right??)

(But what if he is today?)

(What if he walks in, sees you - top clinging, no heating - and suddenly decides: You know what? Now’s the time. Now’s the moment I become a hugger. Just for her. Just this once. Just to pull her in close, pretend it’s chaste, press his palm between her shoulder blades and - oh fuck - realize it’s not.)

(What if he hugs you and feels it?)

(What if he hugs you and keeps hugging you?)

(What if he grips tighter, his hand slides just a little lower, and his voice does too, right by your ear - “You’re not wearing a bra.”)

(“Neither are you, sir.”)

(And what if that hug turns into a grind, into his thigh between your legs, into lift me onto the kitchen counter and show me what else you know about tenancy law.)

“Emails.”

Loose top, skimpy bottoms? Slutty. Strategic. Respectable slutty. He’d stare at your legs all night.

(He wouldn’t. But you’d know. Which is worse.)

You should lather in coconut oil, just in case.

You should lather in coconut oil anyway – hydration is important to avoid ingrowns (and yes, to smell edible too.)

“Timestamps.”

Tight top, no bra, skimpy bottoms? Too much? Too “I can’t pay the plumber, but maybe I can offer something else...”

(Not that you’ve watched those. Obviously. You’re just… aware of the trope.)

(Not because you spent 30 minutes the other night trying to find the perfect one. And then another 10 skipping the plot because it was too unrealistic, there’s no way the plumber just happens to have lube.)

(Not that you wouldn’t do it for him. But you’re also not going to lower yourself to being a badly lit, lazily scripted fantasy for the male gaze.)

“…If you haven’t already, I’d recommend drafting a written complaint.”

“…Aaron, I don’t even know where to start,” you mutter. “That’s why I asked if you knew a very cheap lawyer.”

“I’m the very cheap lawyer.” For some reason he chuckles, probably it’s because of his own joke, “Don’t worry, we’ll do it together, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He is not there in fifteen.

He’s “there” after fourty-eight minutes - flustered, apologizing, muttering something about I-395 and a jackknifed delivery truck, which is just adorable, really, coming from a man who’s clearly never taken the bus in heels while bleeding through his jeans, juggling three leaking Trader Joe’s bags, and re-evaluating every life decision since birth.

He’s grumbling about “infrastructure,” all furrowed brows and moral outrage. How sweet.

You, meanwhile, are Frenching the entire Department of Transportation.

You are giving gridlock the kind of wet, eye-contact blowjob that wins awards - because, for once in your adult life, the universe delayed a man just long enough for you to become a person.

Thirty-eight glorious minutes to shave, moisturize, hide the evidence of your emotional instability, light a candle, panic about the candle (too much?), blow it out, light it again (fuck it), rearrange your throw pillows, Febreze your loveseat, and clean your floors so well you briefly consider serving dinner off them - or yourself.

(Also enough time to change outfits four times, reject each one violently, and land on something that screams “Oh, this? Just threw it on,” while whispering: “I shaved everything.”)

You’ve never been more grateful for civic failure.

You look good. Your apartment looks good. You know it smells amazing in here. You know it. You can feel the Pine-Sol particles sparkling off the hardwood.

Any second now, he’s going to say something about it.

He’s going to inhale – deeply - and ask what detergent you use. Compliment your lavender baseboards.

You can feel it coming. You’re ready. You smile. You bask.

Aaron sets down his bag. Unclips it. Opens it. Looks up.

“I printed out the tenancy statutes,” he says, already pulling out an aggressively highlighted stack of documents from the briefcase.

And this would be impressive - should be impressive - if he weren’t wearing a plain black T-shirt that is doing things to his arms. And the khakis. Fucking khakis.

The most indecently decent pants in the entire male wardrobe.

They whisper "suburban dad," but scream "accidental bulge in soft daylight."

Speaking of which, unfortunately, your apartment lighting has never worked harder - midday golden-hour haze bouncing off every freshly scrubbed surface, casting soft shadows and sensual gleam until finally it settles on The Situation.

…Shit.

(Do not look at it.)

(Do not acknowledge it.)

(Do not mentally calculate whether that’s just the way his pants fold or if that’s his dick pressed against the zipper like it also has a clause to deliver.)

(Do notice, however, that he still hasn’t said a single word about how nice your apartment looks. Rude.)

“I flagged the key violations and I added notes on a recent amendment that strengthens your case - you can reference it in your response letter.” His eyes scan the room clearing it for hostiles - except all he really sees is your loveseat. Small. Soft. Close.

And you, in a tank top.

He clears his throat. Adjusts the folder. His gaze flicks back to you – quick, sharp, and immediately redirected to something safer, like the floor.

“Where… should we get set up?” he asks, like he hasn’t already mentally measured the loveseat twice, logged its exact dimensions in his brain, and is currently laser-eyeing the very cushion he’s dying – dreading - to sit on.

“Oh, I don’t know… wherever you’re comfortable.”

He nods - just a touch too seriously - then hesitates. Again. Checks one more time, with those painfully polite eyes: Can I...? Is it alright if...?

(…As if you might suddenly revoke loveseat privileges.)

Then, slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion. Perches. Occupies the absolute minimum amount of space humanly possible.

If he still had the joint mobility of his youth, you’re convinced he’d just origami himself into a respectful little one-inch cube and tuck into the far corner.

You glance at his shoulders - very broad, deliciously broad, yes - tense, but more at how hard he’s trying not to brush them against yours. What a funny man.

Especially funny because while he's typing up your official letter - like a good little lawyer - he's also letting the conversation drift into a completely unrelated side street.

Unrelated except for the fact that it's all about you.

Like how he “casually” mentions he hasn’t seen you at the pool lately.

The one where he trains and you sit in a cracked plastic cafeteria chair pretending to wait for your friend’s aquatic therapy - when really, you’re mourning every second you’re not legally tethered to the hot dad at swim practice. The hot dad who doesn’t even know he’s the hot dad. (Him. Obviously.)

You go for your friend. Technically.

Spoiler: she’s got two weeks left.

Which means once her sessions are over, you and Aaron will have absolutely no logical reason to ever speak again. No built-in excuse. No default setting.

And now there’s a looming, mutual thing neither of you are acknowledging.

You’re sure there’s a term for this. Something about large mammals afraid of mice and metaphor.

“Yeah, I was in the lane next to your friend’s the other day…” he starts.

“Really?” You pretend you didn’t get fourteen missed calls from said friend, who - when you finally called her back - didn’t even say hi. Just launched straight into: “Burgundy swim cap guy looked up at your seat three times. Three. He looked so sad you weren’t there I had to explain where you were so he wouldn’t drown in longing.”

“Yes… we talked for a bit. She seems very nice…”

Ah.

Interesting choice of words, considering she told you – verbatim - “I can’t believe someone built like a brick shithouse could be that pathetic.”

(She has yet to understand that that is the whole appeal. Him. And that exact contradiction. Him and that-)

“So… how did… your date go?” he asks, pretending to be casual. He’s polishing his glasses against the hem of his shirt, even though they’re already spotless. (You weren’t even aware he needed glasses. Probably neither is the rest of the planet.)

He keeps at it. Rubs one lens. Then the other. Then back again.

You wonder if he’s trying to distract himself. From the question. From the answer.

Your date.

The one that made you miss your friend's call. The one you actually went on. The one that-

“It went well, actually.” It did. Way too well. And that’s the problem.

Because you keep chasing Aaron.

Despite the very obvious fact that nothing will ever happen between you. Because he’s… well, him. And you’re…

A little too young. A little too broke. A little too you.

(And technically if you do the math, you’re closer to his son’s age than his. Just by a few years, sure, but still. Still enough to justify it to yourself out loud, then say it again. And again. Until it starts sounding like a fact.)

It’s just a harmless crush. A stupid little thing. A flicker. A fantasy. A hobby, really.

You have so many of those - men. Smart, emotionally unavailable, vaguely haunted. You collect them like parking tickets: Useless. Repetitive. Always showing up when you least need them. But you keep them. Stack them in a drawer somewhere in your head.

Just in case.

Still, there’s something about this one.

About him.

Aaron.

Aaron in wireframe glasses, almost making you believe in the higher powers he believes in too. (Hopefully not the United States government.)

Aaron with that voice, that jaw, that posture.

Aaron, who says things like “landlord-tenant statute” and somehow makes it sound better than the poetry in those overpriced, niche little books you only buy for the cover, the ones where the author hits enter every four words so it tricks you into thinking they mean something.

And maybe – deep, deep down – it’s because you want to be proven wrong. That someone like him could find goodness in parts of you you’ve already declared a lost cause. That he could look at all the rot and still see something worth saving. Or maybe it’s just easier. Easier to chase something you’ll never catch than turn around and face the things already standing still, arms open, waiting to love you back.

“I’m glad to hear that,” says Deliciously Four-Eyed Aaron, just a little too tight. Tighter than his khakis, which shift and pull every time he readjusts to keep from getting a flat ass on your loveseat.

(What’s wrong, Agent Hotchner? Not expecting it to actually go well? God, you hope that’s why his jaw looks like it’s about to file for divorce from the rest of his face.)

“I don’t know him well,” he adds, clinically. “But… he seems like a nice guy. He’s good at his job.”

Right. Which is rich, coming from the man who literally handed you the guy’s number. And now he’s playing coy?

So what was that, then? A random act of kindness? A stroke of pity? Was it projection? Was it a fever dream?

Did he just reach into the FBI rolodex and go: “Hmm. You’re not under disciplinary review, you own slacks, and your blood pressure is normal. Here, date this emotionally volatile woman I know and I think you might like - she has opinions and abandonment issues, enjoy!

Because Aaron doesn’t do spontaneous. Aaron does strategic. Aaron does 48-hour surveillance and triple-signed documents.

He’s not the guy who improvises. He’s the guy who rehearses his improvisation.

So forgive you if you’re just a little confused by Mr. Times New Roman over here, trying to mentally trace the logic that gets you from “I barely know him” to “you should definitely let him finger you. Only after marriage, though.”

It’s weird. And yet, somehow, that’s not even the most annoying part.

“Good at his job?” you echo, with a laugh that sounds way too close to a cry for help. (Of course. Of course that’s Special Supervising Whatever-the-Fuck Hotchner’s metric for male compatibility. Not empathy. Not emotional availability. Not even basic social literacy. No, job performance. What a catch.) “What are you going to say next, that he’s a good person because he clocks in early and doesn’t steal breakroom coffee?”

“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses that did not need adjusting, “I can’t vouch for the coffee. But I do see him arrive on time. From my office. If that’s what’s concerning you.”

…Oh. So that’s what this is. We’re flexing now.

Mr. I Have A Window. Mr. I Oversee The Peasants. Mr. Private Office While Everyone Else Plays Hot-Desk Musical Chairs. Mr. Title, Tenure, and a Chair That Supports Both His Spine and His Reluctance to Feel. Mr. I Deserve This Square Footage Because I Ruined My Marriage for the Federal Government.

(You could go on. And on. And on. You won’t. But you could.)

And it’s not even clear who he’s trying to one-up here. The guy he set you up with? Or… you? Both?

Like, “Yes, he’s punctual. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s good at his job. But I define what good is. I’m his boss. Be impressed by me instead. Please. I beg you.”

Okay. Breathe. Relax.

No one invited him to a pissing contest and yet here he is, unzipping his intellectual fly right in the middle of your living room. (Not the fly you wanted unzipped, unfortunately.)

You squint at him. “So what, you show up before everyone else just to watch your little ducklings waddle in behind you? Mother Goose clocking in before sunrise to lead by example and assert dominance?”

He turns toward you. Tilts his head. Makes that face. The one you’ve been craving since the second he walked in.

Eyebrows drawn, mouth slightly open - just enough to spot that one crooked tooth, bless it - an expression that says concerned, confused, and disappointed in your tone, all in one.

“It’s none of that,” he’s dead serious, even if he’s visibly smiling… marvelous. “It’s just respectful to be on time.”

Sure, Agent Hotchner. Tell yourself that while polishing your Employee of the Decade plaque.

“I barely even see my boss at the café. Twice a week, tops. And only after we open.”

Aaron lifts his eyebrows. Shrugs. “I’m not an asshole.”

Then he goes back to typing, pretending he’s not biting the inside of his cheek like the whole thing didn’t get to him.

Like he’s completely unbothered by the idea of some man buying you coffee and making you laugh for two full hours.

Like his knuckles aren’t just a little too tight around that trackpad.

“You know, for someone who just said he’s not an asshole, you sure spend a lot of time trying to prove how much better you are than other men.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he says, softly. Too softly. Like he knows volume would give him away.

And fuck, those eyes.

You can’t look at them too long. You bounce between his face and anything else - your coffee table, the printout, his lap (unfortunately) - because those glasses are giving him four eyes now, and all of them are aimed at your skull, dissecting every micro-expression.

He's a bit suffocating.

“I think what really bothers you,” he says, measured, "is that you’re used to being misread."

You scoff. “Excuse me?” (Bitch.)

"You act like you want to be chased, but only if it feels reluctant. If it's earned. You push people to see if they’ll push back. You turn it into a game because it’s safer that way. If it’s a game, you can pretend you were never serious when they walk away."

Well. Okay. First of all: Rude.

Second of all: Accurate. Horribly accurate.

But also: How dare he.

"And if they don't... if they try to meet you where you are... you push them away first. Just to prove you were right to be afraid" he says - and the bastard even smiles. (Fuck his dimples. Really. Pretentious as hell.) "You punish them for it… and you punish the ones who don’t play, too. Because deep down, you still don’t know which would hurt more."

"Wow," you never thought you'd actually be speechless, and yet - here you are, scrambling for a comeback. Great. "Good thing you said you weren’t trying to prove anything. Otherwise I might’ve gotten confused and assumed you were just showing off." (Good enough. You’ll take it.)

Smarty-pants chuckles under his breath then leans back against your very professional, very structurally unsound loveseat. His knee brushes yours.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends he doesn’t notice you noticing.

"Not showing off, just telling you what you already know."

"Oh, right, because you’re such an expert on me."

"I’m just observant."

"And arrogant." And a fucking hypocrite too.

"And you still looked at my mouth twice." What a who-

Somewhere between your brain screaming full bitch slap, full bitch slap and your hand almost twitching to deliver it… you miscalculate.

You lean in. And instead of bruising his cheekbone, you crash your mouth against his.

Pride - and the stack of feminist books judging you from the bookshelf - insist it’s you who moves first. You believe them. You have to.

Even though his hands are already there - rough and steady, drowning your face in their grip - before you even finish breathing in your half-ounce of courage. Before you really even choose anything at all.

(But sure. Go ahead. Call it empowerment. You’re totally running the show. Girlboss shit.)

You want to bite him. Sink your teeth into that smug, diagnosing mouth. Split his lip. Make him bleed all over the living room he still hasn’t bothered to compliment the smell of. (You’re not petty about it… it’s just an observation.)

But it’s slower instead.

You taste his nerve first, his fear right after.

He’s already halfway to pulling back even as he keeps kissing you - trying to have it both ways - and for a second, you do break apart.

Both pretending you could still undo this. (And also undo all the bullshit he said earlier, profiling you so hard he didn’t even realize he was accidentally outing himself too.)

It doesn’t last.

You crash back into him, sloppier, mouths dragging, missing, gasping, half-kissing, half-clawing at each other as you’re both a little too desperate to land properly.

For a split second, the kiss turns... almost sweet. Tender. Romantic, even.

You could say he’s a good kisser.

You could say he’s a great kisser.

You could say he’s the only man alive who could kiss you stupid and still find a way to remind you to breathe through your nose.

(Like when he notices you getting lightheaded and somehow fixes it without even pulling away... which, not gonna lie, is a little humbling.)

But there’s no time for critical analysis. You’re already shoving him flat onto the loveseat, pinning him down, while he blinks up at you - wide-eyed, flushed, so beautiful it makes your chest hurt.

(And he looks so... concerned. As if he’s realizing just now that there’s absolutely no dignified way to get out of this alive.)

(Good. He shouldn’t.)

There’s tongue.

There’s teeth.

There’s his hands – everywhere - gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, squeezing the backs of your thighs, pushing your leg higher over him until you can feel - Oh. Oh, he’s hard. He’s so fucking hard.

There’s a muffled noise from the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like please and you are not thinking about that right now.

And it’s-

God.

It’s filthy. It’s great.

You grind down hard, whimpering shamelessly into his mouth, and he bucks up into you, meeting you halfway with both hands locked around your ass, squeezing so rough you’ll be wearing fingerprints by tomorrow.

(You hope so.)

(You really fucking hope so.)

He helps you move –

Up.

Down.

Slower.

Harder.

Guiding your hips with just enough pressure to make it feel like it’s your idea, finding the rhythm you didn’t know you needed until he gives it to you, forcing you to ride the thick, hard shape straining against his pants-

Just the right angle. Just the right friction.

So perfect it catches your clit every single time, knocks a gasp right out of your throat, straight into his mouth.

You’re soaking through your panties. You’re shaking with it. And it clearly gets to him - God, it wrecks him.

You can feel it - the way he tenses under you, the way his hands clutch harder at your ass, the way his cock throbs against you through the fabric like he’s just barely holding on.

He bites down on your bottom lip, rougher than you expect. Too rough for a man who apologizes when he says fuck.

He holds it between his teeth, sucks it �� hard - humming low and filthy against your mouth, so obscene it makes your hips stutter.

Drop.

Just enough to let your soaked cunt drag across the swollen head of his cock.

And when you grind back, slower, tracing right along the thick ridge straining against his zipper, he chokes on a breath.

“God, fuck-”

It tears out of him, raw, as if he’s almost embarrassed by how much pleasure is tangled in it, by how stupidly sincere it comes out of his mouth.

(Also, thank God he didn’t reverse it. If he’d said “fuck, God,” instead, you’re pretty sure he would’ve stopped everything, dropped to his knees, and asked you to drive him to a confessional. Not even a metaphor - actual church. Actual guilt. Actual “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”)

He tilts his head back, groaning, neck arching against the pillow - exposed, gorgeous - and you completely lose it.

Your tongue drags over his throat, chasing the pulse hammering under his skin, tracing your way back up to his mouth.

He’s so hot. He’s so good. He’s-

…terrified.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes, suddenly sitting up on his elbows. “I-” 

He fumbles. He panics. He stands. Backs away from the couch. From you. Visibly blushing. Visibly mortified.

“I didn’t mean-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence...

…Because he finished in his pants instead.

Poor thing.

You should be a little cruel about it - he was an asshole earlier, after all - but you’re not quite mean enough to kick a wounded 6’2” puppy when he’s already limping. (No pun intended… or maybe-)

"Hey," you murmur, reaching out, curling your fingers around his wrist so he can’t backpedal any further. He flinches. (Not much. Just enough to make you want to kiss him again. Harder this time. Until he flinches worse.)

"It’s okay. It’s-" You almost say sweet - catch yourself just in time, because you’re not trying to get murdered tonight.

"It’s normal," you settle on instead. "It’s flattering. Honestly.” (Also kind of hot. But you’ll take that particular confession to your grave.) “You didn’t... ruin anything."

He still doesn’t look convinced. At all. In fact, he looks like he might apologize again, maybe even draft a formal statement and notarize it.

You scramble. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Who cares if it was-” (You hesitate for half a second, fatal mistake.) "-like, 30 seconds? Could've been 29, right?!”

…Right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

(I might've missed someone this time, pls tell me in the comments if your name got lost AAAA sorry in advance)

Little reminder that the requests for fleabag!reader are open!! Ok.. I'll go now. Bye.

[sheepispink]

thinking about Ghost whose never wanted to have kids, and so when your relationship develops past the stolen glances and quiet moments, he’s already prepared himself for rejection. Infact, he’s been avoiding you the entire week, always gruffly saying he has something to do before he’s off again.

You’re one of the few things in life he’s actually wanted, and that was terrifying enough to come to terms with, especially with the nature of his job. But now he has to let you know before it’s too late and possibly—well, probably—ruin the relationship before it even begins.

It’s late, the common room empty except for the quiet tap of your laptop as you finish up your work for the day. Thankfully, you don't even work on the field, serving on the communications and intel side of things. “Hey.” You perk up at his gruff voice, fingers immediately gravitating off the keyboard to focus on him as he moves around the couch, steps slow and calculated. “You free? I uh— I need to talk to you ‘bout something...” You’re awkward and now he’s even more hesitant because why are you fidgeting like that?

“So do i.”

“Oh!” You swallow, close the laptop and sit upright, quickly glancing around for any prying voices before returning to him once more. “You go first.”

With his teeth clenched, he looks straight ahead, avoiding your gaze. He’s not stupid, he knows how this will go; there’s never been any hope for him in a relationship before. His commitment is awful, he’s barely a man most would want to associate with and he’s definitely not one to father a kid. He’s almost regretting leading you on this far, even though you’ve made him feel far more alive than he’s felt in months.

“I don't think this is going to work out.” He states it as bluntly as possible, letting the words take the sharp fall instead of his heart all while your eyes widen in shock. “Listen, I’m not good at this whole relationship thing, and i’m not exactly the best at commitment. Even if this went long term, I don't even want kids anyway. And i’m not going to sit here and pretend to move this along knowing that—-“

“-Wait, that’s what I wanted to say. I don't want any either.”

“Huh?”

You’re both staring at each other, lips parted because the one thing you were both anxiously mulling over all week was shared between you two. “I don't really.. think I could mother a child.” You mumble out with a sheepish shrug, and Ghost just stares back because he can't even argue with that when he has the exact same reasoning. “Yeah.. yeah, same.”

Silence lingers for a few seconds till he just swallows, sitting back properly into the couch, tense shoulders melting into the cushions. “We sleepin in my room or yours tonigh’?”

“I’d say mine but you have a bigger bed.. and you’ll throw my plushies off.”

“That’s because the only thing you should be holdin’ is me.” It’s gruff, but also a little playful, a hint of a smirk behind his words.

“Bad at relationships my ass.” You huff, opening up your laptop again to hide the rush of warmth on your cheeks.

buy me a ko-fi!

COD masterlist

[hyperlexichypatia]

As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

[i-eat-mold]

just here to say that gertrude robinson is the single funniest character. she is THE character. she dies before the show even starts. shes an old lady that adopted an edgy teen and traveled the world. She is the avatar of one of the fourteen elditch horrors that feed on primordial fears, she had basically infite knowledge of everything and her plan to stop one of the rituals of a cult of another one of said list of eldrich horrors was to blow it up with a bunch of c4. we only find out about this because she stored all of the explosives in a random storage unit and the aforementioned edgy teen with mommy issues (who by the way, is dead, but when he died she sneaked into the morgue to put him inside a book) speaks through the book to the woman's succesor who, by the way, has no idea what the fuck is going on because neither she nor anyone else has bothered to explain shit to him, and tells him that she kept something important in the unit. we only find out about this after 100 episodes of the show. She feeds her subordinates to an all consuming monster/god, but its ok i guess. Later on (earlier on? at the same time? in a different timeline? after?) the literal end of the world and the end of the end of the world shes back and still has to deal with this stupid teenager who at least doesnt spend half his life focused on dyeing his hair and the other half about finding murder books (not as books about murder but as in, books who actively murder). She is a well experienced arsonist despite having no affiliation with the actual official arsonists club that is yet another cult to yet another one of the previously mentioned eldritch horrors. She is, however, metaphysically tied to the Chosen One, the Messiah of said cult, or some shit. She is absolutely terrible at her actual office job (on purpose). She dismembered a guy (who was her assistant) and probably commited several undocumented crimes against humanity. Once again, she has all seeing abilities and barely noticed her favorite assistant was torturing a coworker. She dares her murderous boss to kill her and gets surprised when he does so. When asked what to do about a literal Monster Pig, her advice is to encase it in cement. She was such a bitch. Her plan B was always to set things on fire. Her plan A was often to set things on fire. One of these instances was approved by her boss (the one who killed her). It is canon that the reason she started all this shit in her life was because the fire cult killer her cat. She sacrified another one of her assistants who became an avatar of the literal concept of Insanity but it was just a other thursday for her. She knows on a first name basis pretty much every person and monster affiliated with the eldritch horrors that she tries to keep at bay on the daily. She stopped a ritual for The Lonely by making the place a tourist destination. She has an ebay account. Instead of performing a ritual for the God that she was affiliated with, she wanted to destroy it and planned to 1. blind herself, and 2. set fire (yet again) to her workplace. It didnt work, because and her boss, who was also the one who was going to perform the ritual, finds her right before and kills her after she says he has no balls to do so. Also she is voiced by the mother of the main character's voice actor (who he named with his own, full, legal name) and the series' writer, which are the same person. Shes the worst, shes the best, i love her, we will never get anyone like her again, we need more characters like her.

[carnalcrows]

BREAKING THE RULES - NAMGYU

pairing: ftm namgyu x guard! top! male reader

synopsis: Nam-gyu makes life even harder in the games; and he makes sure you know it.

content warnings: 18+, slightly ooc namgyu, thanos doesn't exist here, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mentions of pregnancy, breeding, squirting, creampie.

word count: 1.9k

Nam-gyu was a menace. Not in a violent way—no, he wasn’t the type to throw punches or scheme behind people's backs. He was just loud. Chaotic. Endlessly pushing his luck in ways that made your job infinitely harder.

You, one of the masked guards, had the misfortune of being assigned to watch over him.

“Oh, come on, do you really have to stand so close?” Nam-gyu whined, sprawled out on the cold metal bunk, looking up at you with an exaggerated pout. “You’re like my own personal shadow. It’s creepy.”

You didn’t respond. Guards weren’t supposed to talk to the players.

But Nam-gyu? He didn’t give a fuck about rules.

“Are you at least hot under that mask?” he continued, squinting up at you. “Tall, broad, mysterious—what’s under there? A secret K-drama heartthrob?”

Your lips twitched under the mask, but you stayed silent.

Then he gasped. “Wait, what if you’re ugly? Oh my god, what if you’re, like, a forty-year-old uncle with bad skin?”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting what you were about to do. “Shut up and sleep.”

Nam-gyu sat up so fast he nearly smacked his head on the bunk above. “Ohhh? He speaks! And—wait, wait, that was deep—oh my god, are you hot?”

You turned away, cursing yourself.

“Wait, at least tell me if you’re single!” he whisper-yelled.

Despite the life-or-death situation, Nam-gyu never stopped flirting with you.

During the games, when most players were drenched in sweat and panic, he still managed to shoot you little smirks like this was all some messed-up dating show.

After a particularly brutal round, he was doubled over, panting, hands on his knees. But even then, he looked up at you, grinning through the exhaustion.

“If I survive this, you owe me a date.”

“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” you reminded him.

His grin widened. “And yet… you keep answering.”

The first time you really broke the rules was when you caught him wandering the hallways after curfew.

You found him leaning casually against the wall like he wasn’t committing a punishable offense.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out,” you sighed, arms crossed.

“Oops,” he said, not looking the least bit sorry. “Guess I got lost. You're gonna punish me?”

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. The way he leaned in slightly, the way his voice dropped lower—it was all intentional.

“Get back to your room before someone sees,” you ordered, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

Nam-gyu tilted his head. “You gonna carry me there, big guy?”

You groaned, grabbing his arm and dragging him back to the dorms. He didn’t resist. If anything, he definitely enjoyed it.

One night, during your usual patrol, his voice whispered through the dark.

“Psst. Guard dude. Come here.”

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer to his bunk. “What?”

“You’re my favorite guard,” he murmured, a lazy grin on his lips.

“I’m the only guard who tolerates you,” you corrected.

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “That means something.”

Then, his fingers ghosted over your gloved hand. A barely-there touch.

“If I die tomorrow,” he said softly, voice losing its usual playfulness, “I just want you to know—I totally had a crush on you.”

Your heart pounded harder than it should have.

At some point, you gave in.

Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the fact that Nam-gyu was so damn persistent. But you found yourself alone with him in a supply closet one night.

“This is so against the rules,” you muttered, hands gripping his waist as he smirked up at you.

“Then why haven’t you stopped me?” he teased, breath warm against your mask.

You exhaled sharply. “Because you won’t shut up otherwise.”

“Ohhh, so this is how you make me quiet?” he grinned, fingers trailing over your chest. “Noted.”

The moment was charged, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name. Nam-gyu was pressed against the shelves of the dimly lit supply closet, his breath uneven as he stared up at you with that maddening smirk.

"You gonna stand there all night, big guy?" he murmured, voice teasing but breathy. "Or are you actually gonna do something?"

Your grip on his waist tightened involuntarily. This was reckless—so reckless—but Nam-gyu had spent days, weeks even, pushing you to this point. Testing your patience, pulling you into his orbit, and now that he had you where he wanted you, he wasn’t about to let go.

You exhaled sharply, then tilted his chin up with two fingers. His smirk faltered, replaced by something else—anticipation, maybe.

And then you kissed him.

Nam-gyu let out a surprised noise before melting into it, arms sliding up to grip your shoulders. His lips were warm and eager, moving against yours with a desperation that made your head spin. He kissed like he talked—relentlessly, all-consuming, like he wanted to prove something.

You didn’t let him.

Instead, you took control, deepening the kiss, pressing him further against the shelves. A soft gasp escaped him when your fingers dug into his waist, grounding him. His hands fisted in your uniform, pulling you closer, as if there was any space left between you.

"You’re—so unfair," he mumbled between kisses, voice slightly dazed.

"You talk too much," you muttered, capturing his lips again before he could come up with another snarky remark.

Nam-gyu didn’t fight it. If anything, he clung to you even more, tilting his head to give you better access. His breath hitched when your hands roamed lower, fingers pressing into the curve of his back, holding him steady against you.

The heat between you was overwhelming, the danger of getting caught only making it worse. But neither of you cared. Not when he was sighing into your mouth, not when his fingers tangled in your hair, not when the world outside this little room ceased to exist.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. Nam-gyu blinked up at you, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"You’re really bad at following rules," he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

You exhaled, resting your forehead against his. "And you’re really bad at shutting up."

Nam-gyu grinned. "Guess we make a good team, then."

And somehow, you knew there was no going back.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and way too heated for your own good, he chuckled.

“You’re really bad at following rules,” he teased, straightening his uniform.

You adjusted your mask, trying to calm your racing heart. “And you’re really bad at shutting up.”

“Guess we make a good team, then.”

You should’ve been worried. You should’ve been more careful. But when Nam-gyu looked at you like that—like you were the only thing keeping him sane in this nightmare—you knew there was no going back.

The next morning, you tried to pretend nothing had happened.

You stood at your usual post, arms crossed, mask in place, as if Nam-gyu hadn’t kissed you breathless in a supply closet.

But he wasn’t about to let you forget. Oh no.

He sauntered into the cafeteria, stretching his arms dramatically.

“Man, I had the craziest dream last night,” he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

You tensed.

“So there I was, trapped in a tiny room with this huge guy,” Nam-gyu continued, resting his chin in his palm. “And let me tell you—he had strong hands. Held me real tight, y’know?”

You clenched your fists.

The other players gave him a weird look. “Uh… what kinda dream was that?”

Nam-gyu sighed, all fake wistfulness. “A good one.” Then, without looking at you, he added, “Shame it was just a dream.”

You walked out, shaking your head.

That night, you found him again where he wasn’t supposed to be—this time, loitering near the guard dorms.

“You want to get caught, don’t you?” you sighed, grabbing his arm.

“Maybe,” he grinned, stepping closer. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You tried to ignore the way your pulse jumped. “You’re reckless.”

“And you’re obsessed with following rules,” he teased, tilting his head. “Except when it comes to me.”

You really should’ve pushed him away. Instead, you backed him against the wall.

“Go back to your room,” you ordered, voice low.

“Make me,” he whispered.

And oh, you did.

Your hands slammed against the wall on either side of Nam-gyu’s head, caging him in. His breath hitched, but that damn smirk never left his face. He thrived off this—the tension, the danger, the way you always swore you wouldn’t fall for his games but did anyway.

“Say that again,” you murmured, your voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Nam-gyu’s lashes fluttered, and for the first time, a flicker of nervous excitement crossed his face. But he was never one to back down. “Make me,” he repeated, this time softer, more breathless.

Your patience snapped.

Your lips crashed against his, claiming him in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Nam-gyu gasped, his fingers instantly tangling in your uniform, gripping the fabric like he needed to steady himself. You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your own, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths as you pressed even closer.

He tasted like trouble, and you had never wanted anything more.

Nam-gyu let out a muffled whimper as your hand slid down to his waist, pulling him flush against you. He was so much smaller than you, but he didn’t shy away—if anything, he leaned in, arching slightly as if daring you to take more.

Your hands trailed to the hem of his sweats, tugging them and his boxers down to reveal– his pussy? You certainly didn’t expect that.

“See– I probably should’ve mentioned this earlier but–”

You silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, your hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. His breath hitched when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, his body trembling against you.

Hastily pulling your own pants down, you pulled out your erection– aligning it with his cunt. Common sense had gone too far out the window now– you were too horny to care.

Before he could say anything, you sheathed yourself inside of him with one swift thrust– making his head hit the wall behind him. He gasped– and you used the opportunity to press your lips to his once more, preventing him from making any of those pretty noises (which you so desperately wanted to hear– but it was too dangerous now).

You pulled out of his cunt almost all the way before slamming back in– the head of your cock almost entering his cervix. His back arched– hands gripping tightly onto your shoulders.

You thrusted in and out of him at an almost animalistic pace– being pent up for so long certainly had its advantages.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck– and used the hand that wasn’t holding him up to cover his mouth– muffling his whimpers and moans, almost divine music to your ears.

Without warning– he climaxed, squirting all over your cock and the front of your uniform. Seeing him come undone did it for you– and you released soon after– pressing into him with such ferociousness and painting his insides a pearly white that he was sure he was going to get pregnant.

After a solid minute– you slowly pulled out of him, still keeping him upright. His head sagged onto your shoulder, the exhaustion getting to his head.

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps made you freeze.

The door to the small room opened– and outside was none other than Square Guard 001.

You were fucked.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.