#came up with this dark idea while doing so

[buckysleftbicep]

private gallery 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexting, phone/video sex, masturbation (m & f), oral sex (f rec), rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie

summary: sexting while he’s on a mission seemed like a good idea, until bucky comes home early and fucks you like he’s been counting the days.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: hi loves! i love the idea of phone sex / sexting, i think it's pretty hot, and here's my take on bucky doing just that! i hope you enjoy it! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

It started with Bucky's shirt.

One of his old ones, soft from too many washes, black faded to charcoal, sleeves loose enough to slip past your elbows. It hung just a little too long on you, clinging in places and bagging in others, but it still made you feel close to him.

Safe.

Like he was there in the room with you, instead of halfway across the world on some mission that wasn’t quite classified but still distant enough to keep him mostly off the grid.

You hadn’t meant to send anything. You really hadn’t. You were just curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath a throw blanket, nursing a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

The lights were low, the silence thick, and your phone screen glowed faintly in the dark as you scrolled thumb dragging slow over your camera roll until you landed on the last photo the two of you had taken before he left.

It was a simple one. His chin tucked over your shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his arm slung lazily around your waist like he always had to be touching you, which was true.

Your smile was soft. Lazy. Your eyes half-lidded, hair messy from bed. It had been two weeks since that photo. Two long, aching weeks.

He still texted you, when he could.

Little things.

A quick “miss you” before lights out. A blurry image of the skyline, always from strange places. A half-joking voice note once where he said, “They’ve got me living off protein bars. Save me leftovers,” like he wasn’t out there risking his life for something you weren’t even allowed to ask about.

But the replies came slowly, and they were always short—just enough to let you breathe, but never enough to fill the space he left behind.

And it was that space—the hollow of it, the need—that made you do it.

You lifted your phone again, shifted your weight where you sat, and tugged the hem of his shirt just far enough down your thighs to frame the shot.

Your knees were drawn up, one bare shoulder exposed, your smile caught halfway between innocent and deliberate. It wasn’t explicit. Not even close. But it felt like something—a tease, a thread you knew he’d pull if you gave him the chance.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed:

“Still smells like you.”

And hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

Then you tossed your phone aside like it burned.

Your heart was pounding. You weren’t even sure why.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in less. Hell, he’d kissed every inch of your skin. Touched you in ways that still made your legs tremble if you thought about it long enough.

But this was different. The distance made everything charged. Every word, every image. And something about that photo—about the softness of it, the suggestion felt like more than just missing him. It felt like wanting him.

You tried not to think about it as you got ready for bed. You left your phone face-down on the nightstand, buried your face in his pillow, and told yourself not to obsess.

But in the morning, the reply was waiting for you.

Two words.

“Fuck. Baby.”

You sat up too fast, stomach flipping, and opened the photo he’d attached.

His boots were kicked up against a wall of stacked sandbags. The sun was low, desert light bleeding gold across the sky, casting long shadows across the terrain.

You could only see the lower half of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble on his throat, the faint tension in his parted lips. It was so him, and so not him, like a snapshot of something private, pulled from a world you didn’t belong to.

Beneath it:

“I miss you like hell.”

You stared at the screen for a long moment, then tucked the phone against your chest and exhaled.

It didn’t stop there.

A few days later, you sent a shot from bed. Nothing scandalous—just the soft tangle of your legs under half-kicked sheets, one bare thigh caught in golden morning light. The caption was short. Flippant, almost:

“Too much space without you here.”

Another from the bathroom—mirror fogged, droplets still clinging to your skin. Only your collarbone and the curve of your neck visible, hair wet, mouth parted like you’d been mid-sigh. You typed:

“Shower’s not the same without you.”

And hit send before your brain could stop your fingers.

Then you panicked. Tossed your phone across the bed, buried your face in your hands and groaned into the quiet.

What the hell were you doing?

He didn’t reply for hours.

But when he did?

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed. Your pulse throbbed low and slow in your belly.

A few hours later, just three more words:

“Show me more.”

And that was when it shifted.

The line between playful and needy started to blur—not all at once, but gradually. Incrementally. Like dipping your toes into warm water and not realising how deep you’ve gone until you’re sinking.

You found yourself leaning into it. Subtle provocations. A bite of fruit caught on camera, lips parted just enough. A sleepy video of you stretching in bed, the hem of your shorts sliding higher than necessary.

You weren’t posing, exactly. But you knew what you were doing.

You left him a voice memo once, late at night—soft laughter curling at the edges, his name whispered like a secret. Breathless. Wanting. He replied with a single line.

“Play that again. Slower.”

The escalation was inevitable.

One night, you propped your phone against a pillow and hit record. Ten seconds. That’s all. Just your hand, sliding low across your stomach, dipping below the band of your sleep shorts.

You didn’t touch yourself. Not really. But the implication was there—the slow exhale, the tension in your muscles, the camera cutting out just before anything too much.

You didn’t write a caption.

You didn’t need to.

He left you on read for an entire day.

When he finally replied, it was a photo—his hand, gloved, twisted tight in a white bedsheet. You stared at it for longer than you should’ve, pulse hammering behind your ribs, and saw the words beneath it.

“I don’t have the words for what you’re doing to me princess”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You laid in the center of your bed, one hand between your thighs, too wound up to find relief. It wasn’t about the tension—not really.

It was him. Or rather, the absence of him.

You didn’t want the release if it wasn’t his hands, his voice in your ear. You wanted the weight of his body pinning yours to the mattress, the rasp of his breath when he lost control. The look he gave you when he was so far gone in you, he forgot how to be quiet.

By the third week, it wasn’t even teasing anymore.

You were in a tank top and soft shorts, sprawled across your bed. The cotton rode low on your hips, one hand resting just beneath the waistband, fingers grazing bare skin. You took the photo slow. Deliberate. Soft lighting. Warm shadows.

You looked at the camera like you knew what it would do to him.

The caption?

“Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You didn’t expect a response right away, but it came quicker than anything before.

A voice note.

You hesitated—thumb hovering over the play button.

Bucky’s voice was rough. Lower than usual. Just a little frayed at the edges.

“Don’t send that kind of shit unless you want me jerking off to it in the middle of a barrack full of mercs.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

Then, after a beat—quieter, deeper:

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

You didn’t send anything else that night.

You couldn’t.

You were already curled around the pillow he used to sleep on, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, your body wound up with no place to go. You didn’t come—not properly—but you hovered close. Just enough to feel it ache in your bones.

The next morning, your phone lit up.

Call me tonight, when you’re alone

You stared at the message for a full minute, thumbs poised. Then, without thinking, you typed:

“Been waiting for you to ask.”

You hovered over the message, thought about deleting it. But you didn’t. You let it fly.

No reply came.

But just before midnight, your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with his name, and the words:

Incoming Video Call.

Your heart stuttered. Your breath hitched.

And you answered.

The screen lit your face with soft, flickering blue, catching on the curve of your cheekbone, the hollow of your throat. You hadn’t moved since the call came in.

The phone vibrated once in your hand and you stared at his name on the screen like it might vanish if you blinked too hard. And then you picked up—not thinking, not breathing—just hitting accept because you couldn’t not.

And suddenly, he was there.

The image was a little grainy. The lighting was bad—shadows cutting across his face in places, harsh fluorescents glowing behind him. But none of it mattered.

Because even through that poor connection and a scratched front camera, Bucky still looked devastating. Like he’d walked straight out of your memories and into your bedroom. His hair was pushed back, his jaw dusted in scruff, a faint glisten of sweat still clinging to the side of his neck.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Just those two words. But they wrapped around your spine and tugged hard.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. You’d prepared for this—half-expected it after the last few days—but somehow you still felt caught off guard.

Because this version of him, this present Bucky, this heavy-lidded, shirt-stretching, arm-tensing Bucky was a living weapon, and you were entirely unarmed.

His gaze dropped slowly. His mouth curled just a little.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You glanced down, smoothing your palm over the fabric like you’d forgotten. The neckline hung off your shoulder. The hem brushed the tops of your thighs. “I just missed you.”

He chuckled softly, but it was breathless. “Fuck, you look good in it.”

You didn’t respond. Not verbally. You just shifted your legs slightly, enough to show the bare stretch of skin where the shirt stopped and your thighs began. His eyes tracked it instantly.

“You’ve been torturing me,” he muttered, voice pitched low now, almost reverent. “All those pictures. All those fucking videos. And now this.”

You tilted your head, letting the shirt slip just a little further down your arm. “Thought you could use a reminder of what you're missing.”

His eyes burned. “Take it off.”

Your chest rose sharply.

He didn’t growl it, he didn’t snap. He just said it—low, intent, like he needed it more than breath.

You peeled it off slowly, fingers curling into the hem, lifting the worn cotton inch by inch until your bare skin caught the light. You pulled it over your head and let it fall behind you, leaving you in nothing but your panties—soft and thin and dark with the heat that had been building through the day.

His breath hitched audibly through the mic.

“Fuck. You’re even prettier than I remember.”

You smiled. “Your turn.”

He didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up to reveal that perfect stretch of hard stomach and the dark trail leading below his waistband.

His abs flexed as he pulled the fabric over his head, tossing it off-camera. His vibranium arm gleamed faintly as it dropped back to his thigh, and your thighs squeezed together instinctively.

“You wet already?” he asked, eyes dragging over you like he was memorising it.

You bit your lip. “You wanna see?”

He groaned. “Show me, baby. Please.”

You shifted onto your back, propping the phone just right so he could see your whole body. Your hand drifted down, fingers hooking the edge of your underwear, dragging it slowly to the side until your pussy was bare and glistening in the soft glow of your bedside lamp.

His breath caught. You watched him exhale like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered. “Look at that mess.”

“I made it thinking about you,” you said softly. “Thinking about your fingers. Your mouth. The way you fuck me when you’re too worked up to talk.”

His hand was moving already. Just slow strokes at first, under the waistband of his sweats, but you could see the outline of him—thick and heavy and aching—and when he tugged them down, your mouth actually parted.

“No boxers?” you asked, a breathy tease.

“Didn’t need ‘em,” he said, eyes glued to the screen. “Knew I wouldn’t last long.”

Your fingers moved to your clit, slow circles at first, dragging slick over swollen nerves. You moaned quietly, hips tilting into your own touch as you kept your eyes locked on his face. He was jerking himself now—long, firm strokes, the head flushed and leaking as he tightened his grip.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice shaking. “All fucking mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always.”

He swore again, his free hand bracing against his thigh as he fucked into his fist, watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to slow down or come apart.

“Spread wider for me,” he demanded, breath hitching. “Let me see how wet you are.”

You obeyed—lifting one knee, baring yourself fully for him. He made a sound then, dark and ragged.

“Fuck, baby. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I want you to cum with me.”

Your fingers moved faster now, circling, pressing. You were soaked—obscene sounds rising between your thighs as your pleasure climbed. Your hips rolled helplessly into the motion, breath coming in short gasps.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. You were close — embarrassingly close—the pressure in your core wound tight, ready to snap.

“Say my name when you come,” he gritted out. “I want it in your mouth when you fall apart.”

“Bucky,” you moaned. “Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck—”

He was right behind you.

You cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you—sharp and fast and deep—your body arching, thighs trembling, pleasure blinding and raw.

You barely had time to breathe before you heard it—the low grunt, the curse, the slick sound of him spilling over his hand as his eyes fluttered and jaw locked.

“Shit. Fuck. You’re perfect,” he gasped. “Perfect.”

When it faded, you lay there panting, spent, legs still twitching. He mirrored you—head tipped back, chest heaving, hand slick where it rested on his stomach.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

And then he looked at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “I miss you James."

“I know,” he said softly. “I miss you too.”

You pulled his shirt back on, the fabric warm from your skin. Bucky smiled, eyes soft now.

“Keep wearing it,” he murmured. “Until I can pull it off you for real.”

“You better hurry home, Barnes.”

“I will,” he said. “First chance I get.”

It was close to 2 am when you heard a knock on your bedroom door, you opened the door without thinking, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

You hadn’t expected him this early, hadn’t dared to believe he could really be home. And yet, Bucky stood there in the dim hallway light, silent and eyes dark, his chest rising like he’d sprinted the last block just to get to you.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He just stepped inside, slammed the door with one hand, and grabbed you like a man starved.

His mouth was on yours before the lock clicked. Hot, hungry, no prelude. Just teeth and breath and weeks of desperation, his tongue claimed yours, kissing you like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a snarl of lust and longing wrapped in salt and spit and the sound of you gasping his name.

You tugged at his jacket, fumbling the sleeves as he walked you backwards. His hands slid down your spine, possessive and certain, gripping like he needed to confirm you were real.

When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he broke the kiss long enough to lift you. Your back thudded against the wall as his hands slipped under your shirt, dragging it up and off like he was tearing away the weeks that had kept him from you.

“No bra?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

You managed a shaky breath. “Didn’t bother.”

His groan was low, a dark rumble in his chest. “Fucking perfect.”

He didn’t waste time. He dropped you on the mattress, eyes drinking in every inch of your bare skin as you lay sprawled across the sheets.

You reached for his belt, fingers eager, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. His grip wasn’t tight, just firm enough to hold.

“Don’t,” he said, his gaze sharp, locked to yours. “Let me look at you.”

And he did.

His eyes moved slowly, reverently. Taking in every line, every shadow. Your nipples peaked under the weight of his stare, your thighs shifting restlessly where they parted for him. He stepped back, stripped off his shirt with one pull, then dropped his pants and boxers in a single motion.

He was already hard, thick and flushed and heavy against his stomach, and you reached again without thinking.

“No,” he growled, batting your hand away. “Spread your legs.”

You obeyed, legs falling open, your skin flushed and aching. He dropped to his knees between them, hands gripping your thighs, and dragged you closer to the edge of the bed.

His mouth was on you before you could take a breath. One long, hot lick that made your back arch off the mattress.

He moaned into your pussy, the sound guttural and needy. “Jesus, baby. You taste like a fucking dream.”

You fisted the sheets, thighs trembling as his tongue circled your clit, slow and unrelenting. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you pinned as he devoured you. No teasing, just his mouth working you open like he could undo the time you’d spent apart with every stroke of his tongue.

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, sharp and tight and perfect. Your thighs shook, your breath stuttered, your entire body burning from the inside out.

“Thought about this every night,” he muttered, dragging his tongue down, slipping it into you with obscene ease. “Thought about how wet you’d be. How you’d taste after driving me crazy for weeks.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, already so close it hurt. “I’m gonna—”

He pulled back. Just like that. Leaving you throbbing, breathless.

You whimpered, hips chasing him. “Why—?”

He stood. His cock glistened with precum, flushed dark and twitching. He grabbed himself and stroked once, eyes still on you.

“Turn over.”

You rolled onto your stomach and pushed up onto your hands, arching your back as you felt him behind you. His hands gripped your hips, spread you wider. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick, then slid inside with one deep, brutal thrust.

You cried out, nails clawing at the sheets.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just started fucking you like he owned you. The slap of his hips echoed in the room, his grunts raw and low, breath punching out of him with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he snarled. “Sending me those fucking videos? Making me jerk off in some goddamn bunker?”

You moaned, the sound wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back so your spine arched for him. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Yours, Bucky.”

“That’s right,” he gritted out. “Fucking mine.”

His flesh hand landed hard on your ass, the slap stinging and sharp, making your whole body jolt. You cried out, and it sent you over the edge. You came with a scream, muscles clenching tight around him, body shaking as pleasure ripped through you.

He fucked you through it, rhythm breaking, hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and deep, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as he emptied himself with your name on his lips.

He collapsed over you, breath hot against your neck, arms caging you in. Sweat cooled on your skin, and your heart raced in time with his.

Slowly, he pulled out, hands gentle now, dragging over your waist, your thighs, like he didn’t want to stop touching. You turned onto your side and he followed, pulling you into him, arms wrapped tight around your body like he was afraid you might disappear.

He kissed your shoulder, softer now. “If I knew I’d be coming back to this,” he murmured against your skin, “I’d tell Val to put me on more missions.”

You turned your head with a tired glare, swatting his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He grinned, “Kidding princess,"

But his arm only tightened around you, and your fingers stayed tangled with his as the quiet settled between you—soft, spent, and just enough.

a/n: have a great day my darlings! ❤️ please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it!

[littlelovelunette]

Milf reader x vi cuz like look at her MOMMY ISSUES anyways so like reader fucking her and making her feel small and dumber than her

UNEXPECTED TURN

— SUB! VI X MILF! READER ★

Reader is a single parent in this au, Vi is an adult in this au— don't get weird ideas guys, age gap, fingering, clothed sex, mentions of being caught, implication of later sex, sub!Vi

★ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DON'T COMPLAIN IF YOU READ SOMETHING YOU DON'T LIKE—

Your daughter's friend Vi has been checking you out since the moment she walked in your apartment with your daughter— Melanie. Melanie asked Vi to sit by the couch and wait for her. The moment your daughter disappeared in her room, Vi started flirting with you in more ways than one. She was clearly eye-fucking you.

“You do this to all your friends’ mothers?” You asked, legs crossing as your eyes remained trained on the screen of your laptop.

“Not all of them are as hot as you,” Vi said, voice smug.

But you could say, her control was slipping. It was the way her thighs clenched together as if she was trying to hold onto the last string of self control. Her blue eyes gazed over to your cleavage, breasts almost spilling out of the top that felt a bit tight on your chest but you hadn't had the chance to change. You'd been busy.

“You're staring,” you said dully.

Vi cleared her throat, “No, I'm not.”

“I wasn't born yesterday,” you said, a slow smirk pulling on your glossy lips.

Vi felt her cheeks go red, heat spreading through her body in a way she hadn't ever felt before. Fuck it, Vi was supposed to be the dominant one, she always had been. Vi had always held the upper hand when it came to women and controlled how things went with them, even in the bedroom. Never once had she submitted to a woman.

Melanie appeared at the doorway, “Are you okay, Vi…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi looked at Melanie. “Totally wasn't checking your mother out,” she thought, placing her hands over her lap.

“You're acting a little off,” Melanie said, eyes squinted as she plopped onto the couch beside Vi.

“I'm fine,” Vi said, voice almost throaty.

You got up, “I'll get you both some snacks,” you smiled, grabbing your laptop off and walking out of the living room.

Hours passed by. It was late in the afternoon and Melanie was deep asleep on the couch beside Vi with her head lolled against the back of the couch. Vi had a controller in hand, lazily playing a video game until she saw you walk past the living room and suddenly she felt a heat pool in her stomach again. She couldn't control it. She put the controller down and rose to her feet.

“Y'know everyday I find myself wondering how a gorgeous woman like you is single,” Vi said, walking around the kitchen counter and close to you.

“You're telling me you think about me everyday?” You looked at her, something dark and primal in your gaze.

“That's not what—” Vi flushed. “...Maybe.”

“Is that right?” You stepped closer to her. “You do know I'm a lot more experienced than you are, right?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Vi swallowed, throat bobbing.

“That's supposed to mean,” you pulled her close by her waist, “I know how to handle naughty girls like you.”

“What if Melanie wakes up?” Vi asked, her voice shaking.

“I guess, you'll have to be quiet.”

That was hard to be when your fingers were so good in her, your long fingers twisted inside her making her back arch. Vi grabbed the kitchen counter with one hand, other hand on your shoulder as your fingers worked faster in her dripping pussy. Your hand was in her boxers and pants, easily fingering her so good while she broke down in front of you.

“Fuck, you're so good.” Vi threw her head back.

You grabbed her jaw by your other hand, pulling her in for a deep kiss so she'd stop whining and moaning loud enough to wake Melanie. Your thumb found her clit, pressing the pad of the finger firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Vi squeaked softly in the kiss.

“There we go…” you chuckled and pulled away from the kiss as your fingers curled inside her, rubbing against her sweet spot almost excruciatingly.

Vi looked at you, eyes lust clouded as her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth opened as if she would say something but the only thing that exited was a breathy “Ha…”

“Are you gonna cum, sweetie?” You asked, voice honeyed as you felt the way her walls fluttered around your digits.

Vi couldn't only muster a weak nod as she rutted against your hand, your fingers pumped faster if possible making her knees buckle. “I can't, I can't,” Vi whispered, her voice almost inaudible, her toned arms wrapped around you— holding on for balance.

“Cum for me,” you said, forcing her to meet your gaze and she did. She broke in your arms, because of your fingers, she was completely submissive to you. You helped her up on the kitchen counter, she sat there, catching her breath. She raised the waistband of her boxers and pants just enough to look at her messy, wet pussy.

“Fuck you.”

“Is that supposed to be on your to-do list?” You gave her a victorious grin, tasting her juices on your fingers. “Sweet.”

Vi rolled her eyes, “I should get going, it's getting late… but do tell Melanie I'll be back next weekend,” Vi got off the counter.

“Coming back to get fingered by her mom?” You asked with a sweet smile.

Vi didn't say anything, but her cheeks brightened red— there was your answer.

Yes.

[mustyrosewater]

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐

𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖆𝖋��𝖇!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 14.7k

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: you met your best friend julia in highschool two years before graduation, you kissed her older brother on halloween, logic says that four years later, you would completely forget about something like that, right?

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: mutual pining, a little bit of angst, mentions of a cheating boyfriend, drunk kisses, rated n for nasty, SMUT, cursing, cliche in the form of falling for your best friends older brother. also julia is a lesbian no i don’t take criticism.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: hey gang, so, in an attempt to write something small before releasing another chapter of an ongoing series, somehow i managed to turn this into a 14k word slow burn, please enjoy and as always comment and reblog to show your support! it means the world to me! also massive thanks to @babybluebex for brainstorming all of this with me including being the one who came up with the idea that erik drove a 2005 ford taurus post graduation.

It hadn’t been something you expected when you became friends with Julia, being paired together for a project by your teacher in eleventh grade had seemed to be some sort of divine intervention.

Initially, you’d been apprehensive; Julia was hardly the type of person you would be drawn to, her blonde hair and tan being a more than enough difference to your own more alternative choice of dress and appearance, yet somehow, a friendship bloomed quite promptly.

She’d been so sweet, offering you gum while you sat together and cracking jokes that actually made you laugh, not at all the dense popular girl stereotype you’d unfairly constructed of her inside your own mind. Julia actually evidently loved hanging out with you, and you with her.

Where you’d first spent time with each other out of obligation, sitting together in the library to study together or inviting her around to your house to work on the project, it then turned into going to the mall together and sitting together at lunch so that she could bitch about her brothers and laugh about things with you.

The first you’d heard of her brothers was purely by mention when you were studying together in the public library after school, Julia’s phone had vibrated, and she opened it up only to chuckle and type something back.

“Who’s that?” you’d asked curiously, peering your head over with a smirk, initially thinking that maybe it was a boy, someone she’d been flirting back and forth with.

“Just my brothers.” she’d laughed, turning her phone around to reveal the photo that had seemingly been taken from the inside of a car, two males varying in age making silly faces at the camera as the older brother drove, the photo seemingly taken by the younger.

“Oh, i didn’t know you had any siblings.” you’d responded, nodding your head as you looked back at the photo.

“Yeah well, Erik already graduated, and Bobby’s three years younger than me.” Julia explained, shrugging her shoulders as she closed her laptop and began placing things in her bag, humming to herself.

“They’re actually on the way to get me now. Do you need a lift?” She’d offered, smiling across at you in that way that was always contagious, leaving you unable to stop your own smile from crawling across your features.

Mulling the offer over in your head, you bit your lip and tapped your pencil against the table, trying to decide whether or not you wanted to stay a bit longer. It was pretty late after all, just now starting to get dark outside, even if it was only about six thirty, even more of a marker that summer was starting to finish up.

“If that's okay?” you finally asked, starting to pack up your own things as Julia nodded brightly and excitedly, holding out her hand for you as soon as you stood, which you took in your own, swinging your interlocked hands together as you exited the library.

“You should sleep over!” she offered, seeming like she was excited by the idea as she gripped your hand tighter, only spurring on a laugh from you. “We can watch that stupid movie, fuck what was it called..” she trailed off, placing a hand on her forehead as she tried to remember.

Snapping her fingers, she pointed a finger at you as her eyes brightened up, “After! The one that was like a fucked up Harry Styles fanfiction!”

Rolling your eyes, you groaned audibly and tilted your head back, looking back at her as she nodded in tandem with you shaking your head.

“Jesus christ, no, Julia.” you laughed through your words, still holding her hand as you stood by the entrance of the library and waited for your lift to arrive.

“I’ll sleepover, but we’re not watching that movie.”

Seemingly only excited that you said yes to the sleepover, Julia did what could only be described as a little happy dance, balancing her books in one hand as she held yours with her other.

“Oh my god, im so excited, i’ll get Erik to order us pizza.”

As if it were a speak of the devil type summoning, the sound of what could only be described as a tin man gargling nails began to sound out in the distance, your brows furrowing as you looked around the almost abandoned parking lot for the source of the sound.

Coming peeling around the corner, the silver car that looked to be a model that was over a decade old pulled into the parking lot of the library, its motor sounding like the depths of hell and the tires skidding slightly as the driver turned.

The sound of metal music blaring only got louder as the car got closer. You could see the passenger side window rolling down when it finally pulled up in front of you, Julia walking down the steps with a large grin as she waved.

You were hesitant as you stepped after her, part of you worried that this car could blow up any second based on the sound, much less hesitant to get inside based on the way her brother was driving.

“My friend’s coming over to stay.” she spoke matter-of-factly, opening the back door and leaning in to seemingly brush trash away, old cigarette packets and McDonald's bags.

When she shuffled her way into the backseat, you leaned in to finally catch a glance at these lucrative brothers, the youngest of whom in the front passenger seat couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, waved at you and grinned, looking like the nicest kid you’ve ever seen in your life.

The older brother, the one in the driver's seat with one hand resting on the steering wheel, only spared a glance at you as you got in, buckling your seat belt.

“Did you ask dad?” he spoke pointedly, looking at Julia through the rear-view mirror with his eyebrows raised, only for Julia to roll her own eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Dad doesn’t care.” she responded, her tone laced with an overwhelming sense of sass that for a moment you wondered if she even got along with her brother.

Just as you thought an argument was potentially going to start between the siblings, the eldest brother, Erik, shrugged his shoulders before putting the clutch into drive.

“Works for me.”

Before you even got the chance to open your mouth to thank him for giving you a ride, you were gripping the passenger door for dear life as he spun the steering wheel and turned the radio back up, peeling out of the library parking lot like he was drag racing.

When looking over at Julia, she only laughed at your nervous expression, evidently used to her brothers' more than lenient view on traffic laws and speeding limits.

Managing to make it to the Campbell family home without crashing, even if your legs felt wobbly getting out of the absolute death trap that was Erik’s 2005 ford taurus, you and Julia retired to her bedroom and began to settle in for a movie night, even if she’d gone ahead and put on that stupid after movie anyway.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t finding yourself even slightly pulled in by the awful plot and acting, turning into a hate watch as you sat on the bed with Julia.

“This is horrible.” she wheezed as you sat shoulder to shoulder, shovelling popcorn into your mouths together.

You shrugged your shoulders, tilting your head as a scene with the main male lead played on the screen, a horrid rendition of a Harry Styles knockoff, though the tattoos weren’t bad.

“He’s kinda hot.” you mused, unable to stop yourself from cracking up as you watched Julia’s face contort into a look of judgment and horror all at once.

“Ew! He literally looks like my brother!” she cried, holding her hand out at the screen for extra emphasis.

The sudden realization of the shared resemblance between the two men made you almost spit out your popcorn with laughter, leaning over the side of the bed to cough as you both laughed until your stomachs hurt.

This was always going to be the sign that you and Julia were going to be best friends for the rest of your lives, only with her did you ever laugh so hard that you got lightheaded or feel comfortable telling even your deepest thoughts.

The rest of that same year had been more than enough time for you to wedge your way into the Campbells’ lives, coming around almost every week, her parents loved you, always overjoyed when you came around to the point it was like you lived there half the time.

Dinner sat with the rest of her family, or barbecues out in the backyard when the weather was warm, there was so much effort on her and her family’s part to include you.

It made your heart soar.

So much of your time was spent by Julia’s side, whether it was playing video games with Bobby or the pair of you begging Erik for a lift to the mall, the pair of you putting all of your power to be annoying together to eventually get him to cave every time.

“Ok, Ok, if i take you to the mall, will you both shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” he’d groan from where he sat on his bed, the pair of you nodding excitedly from where you’d stuck your heads into his room.

Howard had seemed to recognise parts of himself in you, even if you didn’t say it, you both knew that the Campbells were the closest thing to family you had. With your mother’s tight work schedule, the only family member you had was barely home half of the time, leaving you to essentially need to function on your own.

The Campbells’ family home became your safe haven, to the point that the guest room started becoming your go-to bedroom when you came to sleep over. Your possessions and clothes were starting to be left in there to the point that it was hardly even a guest room anymore.

Within a year, you’d been accepted as an extra family member.

Even your eighteenth birthday had been spent with the Campbells, who’d gone to the trouble to get you a cake and prepare a little barbecue with some small decorations.

As much as they might have thought it was small, you hugged Julia behind closed doors and cried softly in her arms, so thankful to have her in your life to the point of tears.

Bobby and Erik had even gone to the trouble to get you a present, Bobby handing it to you sheepishly as Erik stood behind him with his hands in his pockets.

You hugged Bobby tightly and resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks, the now sixteen-year-old looking awfully proud of himself.

“Alright, come here..” you’d heard Erik say, laughing together as he pulled you into a one-armed side hug, his desire to put forward a nonchalant nature betraying him as soon as he’d seen your eyes start to fog up all over again.

While they might not have thought it was anything special, the little Claire’s necklace never left your neck from that day onwards, even when the chain started to rust, you just got a new one.

The little skull and crossbones were a pretty obvious nod to your alternative choice of wear, something that you and Julia always thought was funny, the stark difference between your two styles always being a point of conversation.

It only made sense that when Erik needed somebody to practise on when he started getting trained to be a body piercer by the tattoo shop in town, Julia had come to you.

“Fuck no.”

“Please! He just needs to do a nose, then they can upskill him, he only needs one person!”

Julia sat across from you in the food court, her arms outstretched towards you as he gripped your wrists and shook them softly.

“I’m not letting your brother come anywhere near me with a needle!” you argued, pulling your hands away from her, only for Julia to put her hands together in a motion that looked similar to either prayer or begging.

“Come onnnn! He won’t stop bugging me about it! If he can’t get his certificate, he’s gonna be miserable, and I’m the one that’s gonna have to deal with it.”

You sat and stared for a few moments, biting your lip, obviously a free nose piercing wasn’t something you would normally turn down, considering you wanted it for ages, but the idea of letting Erik do it only filled you with anxiety.

It would look pretty sweet, though.

Holding up a pointed index finger, you watched Julia’s expression light up with hope.

“You have to hold my hand.”

Your confirmation made Julia practically jump out of her seat, pulling you into a hug and rocking you back and forth as you tried to push her off.

“Thank you!” she cried out.

That was how you then found yourself lying back in the black leather chair in the tattoo studio Erik was currently apprenticing at, Julia sat by your side and gripping your hand tightly as Erik used a marker to put a little dot on your nose.

“Please don't kill me.” you whispered, only producing a chuckle out of him as he rolled his stool back to reach for the sterilized needle on his side table.

“I make no promises.” he spoke softly, only to receive a smack on the shoulder from Julia.

“Shut up, she’s already nervous.”

When he finally pushed the needle through, you shut your eyes and squeezed Julia’s hand so hard that you thought you might hurt her, trying to maintain a steadiness to your breathing as he put the jewelry through, a plain silver stud.

Maybe it was a good way to celebrate being eighteen, being able to sign off on your own piercing, just so happened that it was convenient timing to be around the same time Erik needed a guinea pig.

Rising from the leather seat slowly, as instructed, you could already see Julia smiling brightly as she leaned in to have a closer look.

“Look’s hot.” she mused, only resulting in you rolling your eyes.

“Shut up.” you chuckled, pushing her shoulder slightly so that you could pick up the mirror Erik was handing you, holding it up to your face and beholding the small silver stud that was now sticking through your nose.

You loved it, of course you did, and it was difficult to hide that, considering the massive grin coming across your face, turning your view to where Erik sat, satisfied with his work.

“Well, you’re not dead.” he stated with a smirk, tossing the used needle in a jar. “Guess that means I did a good job.”

Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off of the black leather chair and reached forward to take Julia’s hand in your own, grabbing your bag off her shoulder and swinging it over your own.

“Thank you, Erikkkk..” you mused, swinging Julia’s hand in your own as you headed for the exit, swinging the studio door open with a ring of the bell and walking out, laughing with Julia as you did.

-

Halloween was always something you’d loved as a child, fond memories of fake blood and jack o lanterns that still brought warmth to your heart even now.

Obviously the holiday and its activities seemed to take a sharp turn when you turned eighteen, the party you and Julia had been invited to promising to be a “rager.” or at least that’s what Julia had said.

Her bluetooth speaker had thrilled blasting out of it as the pair of you got ready together, finally looking at yourself in the floor length mirror, your mouth hanging open at the costume she’d convinced you buy.

“Julia, I can’t wear this.” you spoke, turning to look at where she was sitting on the floor applying mascara with her hand mirror, her head turning to look at you as she looked you over and shook her head.

“It’s perfect, I was right.”

Her words only brought a huff from you, the short skirt and fishnets seeming an odd match for the red hooded cape and corset, a crude version of a sexed up red riding hood.

As much as you wanted to pull it off of your body and opt for something else, maybe even something that was genuinely scary, you knew there was no arguing with Julia, especially when she had set her mind on something.

Apparently her mission for the night was to get you laid, at least that’s what it seemed based on what she’d picked for you.

You knew there was a girl that was going to be at the party that Julia had her eyes on, the pair of them having been exchanging flirty text messages for a few weeks now, so you were wholeheartedly supportive of that.

“Oh yeah, don’t forget to ask Erik if he’ll buy us some booze.” she mused, applying a coat of lip gloss and adjusting the sleeping beauty costume she’d changed into.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just drink the beer in the fridge downstairs, didn’t your dad say we were allowed to?”

Howard was an executive for a local brewery, and in turn, always had access to a stupid amount of beer, tucked away in a fridge downstairs that he’d given you both express permission to take from for the night, along with the promise of drinking responsibly.

“I’m not drinking beer all night, besides, Erik already agreed to drop us off, not that big of a deal for him to stop and get us a bottle of vodka or something.”

You didn’t realise you’d already had a lift organised, assuming that you’d either walk or get picked up by somebody else in attendance, but you weren’t complaining, the boots you were wearing with this outfit certainly weren’t made for walking.

“Can you go ask him, please? I have to finish doing my hair.” Julia mused, her eyes not turning away from the mirror as she plugged in her curling iron.

Rolling your eyes, you nodded, walking out of her bedroom and taking the eight steps down the hallway to bring yourself to Erik’s closed door, a sign reading “KEEP OUT.” greeting you.

Rapping your fist on the door, you heard shuffling for a few moments, footsteps getting closer before the door finally opened, Erik’s grumpy face awaiting you.

His expression shifted rather quickly when he saw your outfit, his brows furrowing and his lip curling in a look that read nothing but judgement.

“Seriously?” he breathed with a scoff, his response making you cross your arms and feel just a tad bit more self conscious.

“Julia made me wear it.”

Your reasoning seemed to leave him unconvinced as he leaned on the door frame.

“Yeah, well, it looks like it’s missing some fabric.” he spoke, reaching forward to pull softly at one of the sleeves, bringing it up to try and cover more of you. “You’re not gonna wear a jacket or anything?”

His voice held the slightest bit of concern, but you brushed it off with a sigh, tapping your foot impatiently against the hardwood floor.

“Can you buy us a bottle of vodka?” you asked, only for Erik’s brows to furrow just as the sound of Julia’s footsteps started to come in behind you.

“Pleeaasee!” she begged, a bottle of beer in each hand, one of which she promptly handed to you, which you took a tip of and curled your face up in a cringed expression, made sense why she didn’t wanna drink this all night.

“Dad gave you permission to drink from the fridge didn’t he? so why is it my problem?”

Julia let out a groan, hand reaching into her purse as she ruffled around and eventually pulled out a fifty dollar bill which she passed over your shoulder and held out to her brother.

“You can keep the change, just please, I can't drink this shit all night.”

As the pair of you stood in front of Erik, making a show of making puppy dog eyes at him, he seemed unconvinced until he took another look over at you, his expression changing just the slightest when he looked down at you, only to sigh and take the bill from his sisters hand, signalling that he agreed.

-

Pulling up to the house, you and Julia sat in the backseat of Erik’s car, multicoloured lights in the windows and music already blaring out.

Julia’s hand in your own, you opened the door and crawled out of the car, almost tripping over as you exited, only eliciting loud laughter from you and Julia, already a little bit tipsy off the vodka you’d both been taking turns sipping at.

Turning back to face the car, you both waved at Erik as you stumbled onto the sidewalk, leaning in each other.

“Thanks Erik, we love you!” Julia yelled, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright, Just be careful! Ok?” he yelled out to the pair of you, taking one final look at you before he pulled away and drove away, leaving you and Julia to your party.

The night consisted of the usual shenanigans, jell-o shots and dancing to shitty music, far too many drunken selfies taken in your costumes as you and Julia celebrated your last Halloween as highschool students.

It was coming around to almost one in the morning when you were letting one of the guys from your science class suck on your neck, pushed against a wall outside and giggling to yourself as his hands gripped your hips.

It wasn’t anything special, just a drunken make out at a party as was the usual, letting out soft exhales and moans as you ran your fingers through his stubble.

Julia and you had been separated when she’d pulled you aside to tell you she was going to say hi to the girl she’d been texting with, also known as, i’m going to go make out in the bathroom with this girl, which you had no problem with.

Just as the boy from your science class hands began to wander, you heard your name being called out, your head turning to look in the direction of Julia drunkenly calling out for you.

Pushing him off of you, you laughed softly at his insulted look, putting a hand flat on his chest as you wished him a good night and walked away, going on the direction that Julia’s voice was coming from.

While it initially took a little bit searching, you eventually found where she was standing by the back door, your arms outstretching and a wide smile on your face when you spotted each other.

Grinning like a pair of idiots, you used each other as support as you walked back through the house, more than intent on heading home for night, knowing exactly who you would be calling to drive you.

As the pair of you sat on the sidewalk, now shivering in the october weather but not seeming to have a care in the world, you wheezed as you watched Julia struggling to get out her phone, paired with a sloppy attempt at tapping Erik’s name in the contacts.

Listening to the phone ring, Julia’s head found its place comfortably on your shoulder, the two of you swaying softly as you waited for her brother to pick up the phone.

You knew Erik wouldn’t have been asleep by now, he’d always been a night owl for as long as you’d known him, even now that he worked full time at the tattoo shop, so it was hardly surprising when he picked up relatively quickly, sounding wide awake.

“What is it?”

His annoyed voice only made you and Julia snicker, the state you were both in making everything seem hilarious, especially when it was coming from her older brother.

“Erikkkk…” Julia spoke in a little sing song voice, making you laugh even harder in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Come pick us up!” you continued for Julia, leaning towards the phone to make sure the receiver could pick up your voice. “It’s cold and we’re drunk!”

Initially you could hear an audibly annoyed sign coming from the phone, but it seemed Erik knew better than to try and say no, especially considering that he’d been explicitly told by Howard to pick the two of you up if you rang.

“I’ll be there in ten.” he spoke, “I swear to god if either of you vomit in my car, I’ll kill you.”

His warning was ignored, only a resounding cheer from you and Julia as you watched her try to hang up the phone sloppily.

“I can’t hang up, you do it.” she said through her laughter, handing the phone to you.

“Love you, Erik.” you slurred slightly, a giggle leaving your throat as you hung up the phone.

He said he’d be there in ten, but he made it in eight.

Helping Julia into the car first, when he turned to help you, his eyes drifted to your neck immediately, focusing in on the purple marks along your skin, seeming to visibly stiffen and take in a sharp breath when he saw them.

Too drunk to notice or care, you just let him help you into the car and laid your head against Julia’s shoulder, the pair of you smiling like idiots and occasionally giggling to yourselves as Erik drove you home silently, seeming slightly more ticked off than you would have expected.

When you finally arrived home, Julia had managed to get out of the car without too much of a struggle and make her way back inside, leaving Erik to help guide you up the path to the front door, his hand resting on your back.

As you tried your hardest to sneak back inside the house quietly even with your inebriated state, you expected Erik to find the sight of you this drunk to be more amusing, yet when you looked at him as you laughed, his face was stone cold, his eyes straight ahead.

It made the smile fall off of your face as you finally made it to the guest room, turning to look up at him as you stood in the doorway, grabbing his upper arm when he went to try turning and walking away without a word.

When you’d grabbed him, he turned, but he didn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained in the ground as he stood there.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer and using the hand on his upper arm to try and rub his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have called you, we just didn’t wanna walk home and-“

“It’s not that.” he interrupted, finally looking down at you, his eyes once again going to the marks across your neck, clearly showing what he was annoyed about yet not saying a word.

Furrowing your brows, you were confused, he was clearly annoyed about something yet he wasn’t even willing to explain himself? that wasn’t your problem.

“If you’re not gonna tell me what’s wrong, then how am i supposed to fix it?”

Your hand reached up to grip his chin between your thumb and your index finger, forcing him to look at you, offering up a smile in the hopes of him actually explaining rather than just brooding.

He was twenty three now, his face had taken on just a little bit of stubble and he’d cut his hair a bit shorter from when you met him, now that he was working at the tattoo studio, he’d gotten his ears pierced, the thick rings hanging from his lobes.

When he’d mentioned wanting to get his septum pierced, you disagreed, but you had a feeling he was planning on doing it anyway.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did it, maybe it was the alcohol, or the leftover adrenaline from making out with a stranger, but you got on your tippy toes and put a hand on Erik’s cheek, capturing his lips in a kiss that had him letting out a small sound of shock.

Any second now, he was gonna push you away, let you down easily and let you live out the embarrassment of kissing your best friend's brother.

Until he didn’t, instead, Erik’s hands were immediately on your hips, pushing you into the guest room and pushing the door closed as he did.

His face was warm, his cheeks seeming to be burning up as you both held your eyes shut and let a sloppy make out begin to take place, just as you had been doing before, except as opposed to the boy from your science class, Erik seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

His hands squeezed your hips tightly, his tongue immediately pushing its way into your mouth without hesitation.

You felt like your nerves were on fire as he pushed you against the wall, holding you against it with a strength that only made you want more of him, desperately.

It had seemed that your hand guiding itself down his body before finally running your fingers along the hard tent in his jeans had only resulted in the harsh reality of the situation coming crashing back down on the pair of you.

Where you were, who you were currently kissing, as well as who you were.

Never before had you ever seen Erik pull away so quickly, taking a step back and looking at you, taking in the sight before him of you panting with swollen lips in your skimpy little halloween costume.

Shaking his head, he took another step away from you, a hand coming to wipe his face as he turned for the door.

He didn’t say anything when he left, opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him as you listened to his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked away and back upstairs to his room.

As you stood there, it dawned on you that you had absolutely no clue why you’d done that, maybe you were just still too drunk to realise why kissing your best friends older brother was a really fucking bad idea.

Even more so, you had no idea why the rejection had stung as much as it had, tears beginning to prick at your eyes as you took in a shaky breath and started to rip off the costume that was now feeling more constricting than anything else.

He didn’t talk to you the next morning, wouldn’t even look at you when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast with the rest of the family, just grabbed a juice out of the fridge and went back to his room.

Your brain was swimming with the possibilities of what he must be thinking of you, who gets that drunk and kisses someone’s brother with no fear of the repercussions, did he think you were a slut?

For some reason, the thought that he felt that way about you just made you even more upset.

Life continued on after that halloween, you and Julia’s friendship stayed the same, and eventually both you and Erik just continued on as you always had, electing to both ignore the kiss as if it had never happened.

You never spoke about it, and seemingly had no intention to.

Julia started at college, you didn’t, but even as Julia’s free time dwindled, you were still around at the Campbell’s house fairly often, even if it wasn’t for sleepovers anymore.

As often as her schedule would let you, you and Julia still spent time together as often as possible, oftentimes meeting her on campus to have lunch together, or even just to sit with her while she studied in the library, even if it meant sitting on your phone in silence.

Initially, the closest you and Erik ever got to addressing what happened was an awkward smile when the two of you crossed paths in the house, but eventually, things returned to the way they were, a comfortable friendship was reestablished between the two of you, which allowed for matches of Mortal Kombat to become a common past time while you waited for Julia to finish classes for the day, or even messaging him to ask for a lift when he finished work when you were going to visit Julia at the house.

You even let him pierce you a few more times, unable to hide your expression when you’d walked into the shop, only to see he’d gone ahead and gotten his septum pierced.

“I thought I was gonna hate it.” you mused as he got his supplies ready, marking up the other end of your nose to prepare you for getting your other nostril done.

“Does that mean you like it?” he asked with a laugh, the two of you now more than used to this routine to just talk casually while he lined up the needle.

“No I- jesus, ow. No, I don’t.”

You tried not to scrunch your nose as he pushed the jewellery in, holding the mirror up to look at the two perfectly lined up matching studs now sitting on your nose.

“Too bad, it’s not going anywhere.” he shrugged his shoulders, rolling away in his chair and taking off the black latex gloves he’d been wearing.

“I thought you thrived off my approval.” you spoke sarcastically, tilting your head as you stood, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Oh I do, I just don’t care.”

His response incited a laugh from you, rolling your eyes as you reached for your purse, opening it and beginning to rifle through the bills sitting inside.

“Don’t worry about it.” Erik spoke, waving his hand at you as he began to clean off the chair and prepare for the next client.

“Erik, I can’t not pay you, won’t you get in the shit with your boss?”

Struggling his shoulders, he continued laying out his tattoo supplies, wrapping the gun as he spoke.

“Call it an early birthday present.”

Part of you was touched that he remembered your birthday was coming up soon, but considering that Julia had probably already been talking about it, you suddenly weren’t surprised.

Letting out a stubborn sigh, you just shook your head and put your purse back in your bag, turning to walk out.

“Thaaaanks Erik.”

Ever since he’d given you your first piercing, it just became the norm to always give him the same thank you in the same sing-song tone.

You weren’t teenagers anymore, hell, Erik was turning twenty six in may, but even now, so many years later, neither of you wanted to address the unspoken ‘thing’ you two had, whatever you could call it.

Sometimes you could have sworn Julia knew, she always was more observant than she let on, and there was only so many times the glances shared between you and Erik were going to go left unnoticed.

You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t noticed the look he’d given you when he pierced your tongue for your twenty-first birthday, or how hard he’d gripped his coffee mug when he watched you cry to Julia over your boyfriend cheating on you.

It was pathetic really, to be crying in your best friends arms over a relationship that hadn’t even lasted a full year, but when you’d found the pictures on his phone of other girls, and the messages he’d been exchanging, it still wrecked you to what felt like the point of no return.

Julia seemed to save the i told you so’s and just let you cry it out in her arms in her bedroom, as much as she’d always hated your boyfriend, especially the way he treated you, she understood that right now you were in pain.

You weren’t concerned about Erik standing in the doorway, if anything, it was nice to have two people to vent to, especially when it was him who came and picked you up with Julia when you’d called her in tears.

“I found the photo’s on his fucking phone.” you sniffled, wiping your red and puffy eyes with you sleeves as Julia rubbed your back. “He’s been fucking other girls since we got together.”

Your voice broke as you finished your sentence, seeing Julia shaking her head out of the corner of your eye, Erik muttering something to himself that you couldn’t quite hear, but enough to understand he was pissed on your behalf.

“What a lowlife.” you heard Erik scoff, his comment bringing a soft laugh out of you surprisingly, nodding your head in agreement as you sniffled.

“I wish I was gay so that we could just be girlfriends.” you laughed through your tears, inciting a laugh out of Julia.

She held you in your arms and let you cry it out for the rest of that night, and even though Erik went back to his room, you could tell what had happened had upset him.

You’d gone to his room and knocked on the door later that night when you finally started to calm down, leaning in the door frame and offering a soft smile, as exhausted as you were.

“Thank you for coming to get me today.” you started when he looked up from his book, picking at your sleeve as you stood in his doorway.

“Of course,” he started, sitting up and putting his book to the side “Didn’t really want you spending another second at that assholes place.” he shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding your head, you sniffled slightly and rubbed at your eye, willing any other tears away when Erik stood up from his bed.

“Hey, hey.” he said softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, “Please don’t cry, especially not over someone like him. I hate seeing you cry.”

You let Erik pull you into his arms, not quite crying, but still shaking and shutting your eyes tightly.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong.” you whispered, Erik resting his chin on the top of your head as he rocked you softly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he reassured you, simple yet effective, enough to have you nodding your head as he held you.

That was just over a year and a half ago, but it was still fresh in your mind.

As much as it was likely that the Campbell’s had something planned for your birthday, you decided you could find some comfort in your own company a few days before your birthday, maybe that was why you’d ended up in the bar in town, a cocktail nursed between your fingers as you watched a live band performing.

The bar was known for a more alternative crowd, fitting the bill for you anyway, and with the addition of live music for the night, it was a nice way to spend your free time.

It was reasonably packed for the show, taking you at least five minutes just to travel from one end to the other after getting your drink, needing to weave through people before you’d ended up in your comfortable little corner by one of the pillars.

When you’d been approached by the stranger, a smirk on his face and a confidence that you initially found off putting, his not very subtle flirting and willingness to playfully persevere despite your cold response, eventually he went from annoying to endearing.

You talked about all the basic topics, music, movies, anything really; he was very clearly just biding his time until you agreed to let him stick his tongue down your throat, which lucky for him, you eventually caved and let him.

What was a little pre birthday make out with a stranger after all.

He had you with your back against the pillar as he kissed you softly, a smile present on both of your lips as his hands found their way to your hips and yours became tangled in his hair.

It was really only by chance that your eyes had begun to scan the bar when he started to kiss along your jawline, your head turning to allow him access and your eyes opening lazily.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

There he was, leaning against the bar, a beer having been long forgotten in his hand, presently staring absolute daggers at the pair of you.

Erik’s glare wasn’t necessarily focused on you as it was on the guy that was presently all over you.

You were so sick of this, so tired of pretending that you never stopped thinking about the kiss you’d shared so many years ago on halloween, sick of the way he looked at you and just let the two of you pretend that there was nothing there purely just because he was your best friend's brother.

The eye contact you made with him was pointed, your mouth falling open in a gasp as a particularly sweet spot in between your neck and your jaw was caught between the strangers lips, yet you kept your eyes on Erik, who looked straight back at you.

Even from the distance, you could see him gripping his beer bottle just a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were doing.

There wasn’t any room to pretend, you even let a few little soft moans leave you as you shut your eyes again, turning back to face the stranger again and kiss him in a way that was entirely just for show, hoping to incite some sort of jealous rage within Erik, so that might stop pretending and actually just take the plunge.

So many years spent pretending like you hadn’t developed something for him that extended beyond the reaches of just being friends, the tears you’d cried after he left the room on halloween, the way that you’d closed your eyes and wished it was him when your first real boyfriend took your virginity.

And yet, just as you’d feared, he did nothing.

Pushing the stranger off of you, you felt a pang in your heart, refusing to even speak a word in response to his questioning as to why you’d stopped, even when he’d called you a “fuckin’ tease.” as you walked away, pushing your way through the crowd and headed for the door.

The night air was cold, tears pricked at your eyes but you ignored them, only pulled your jacket closer to your body and began taking steps away from the bar and onto the sidewalk.

You didn’t even want to believe that you were hearing the sound of the bar door opening, your name being called and accompanied by fast footsteps; it wasn’t until a hand grabbed your shoulder and you were forced to turn and look at the perpetrator that you were face to face with those same icy blue eyes looking down at you.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his tone accusatory as if he didn’t know exactly what was happening back there in the bar, the way you were begging for him in every single way other than verbally.

“I’m tired of doing this, Erik.” you spoke, running a hand over your face as the two of you stood there in the cold.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You know exactly what i’m talking about.” you started, “are we just going to dance around this forever? pretend like it doesn’t exist? pretend that whenever i hear about you having some new little girlfriend for the week that i don’t die a little bit inside?”

By the way his face began to shift, you knew that he was well aware of what you meant, seemingly unable to find the words to say as he opened his mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out.

“We can’t.” was all he said when he finally spoke, his eyes remaining trained on you, hands staying stuck at his sides.

Your face contorted, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you shook your head, trying so hard to fight the way that your bottom lip was starting to wobble.

“We could.” you countered, bringing your hands to your pockets. “But you’re just a coward.”

You knew you didn’t mean that, but the pain in your chest was bringing fourth emotion that you’d had no way of getting out until now, so many things you’d wanted to say but never got the chance to.

Part of you wanted him to chase you, run after you calling your name like in the movies, but he didn’t, he just let you walk away, like he always did.

You’d regretted what you said as soon as you turned and walked away, feeling yourself already starting to sob quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your eyes with your sleeve.

After that night, you hadn’t been round to the Campbell house for days, Julia had messaged you when she was free, offering to come and get you so that you could hang out, but you just lied through your teeth and told her you were busy.

It hurt to treat your best friend this way, but you were just too torn up to care, the risk of seeing Erik and having any chance of an interaction with him was just too much, more than you were willing to take.

Just as before, you were certain Julia had some idea as to what was going on, when you’d spoken to her on the phone and you’d said you weren’t feeling too good, she sounded too knowing for her own good when she said goodbye, like she had something she needed to go do, she sounded determined.

You just went to work and came home, the next three days being a slow moving blur of feeling nothing and then the next minute feeling everything.

It was exhausting pretending for so many years that you hadn’t felt the way that you did about Erik, pushing it down and acting normal.

Of course you had thought about how it would affect your friendship with Julia, it was one of only things you thought about every time Erik crawled his way into your thoughts, the potential for such a betrayal made you feel ill, but then the other part of you, the part that had known Julia for almost six years at this point, wondered if she would have accepted it, embraced it even.

Just as you were thinking of her, your phone began to buzz next to you on your bed, ripping you out of your thoughts and seeing the image of a photo you and Julia had taken together at a party as her contact floated above it.

With a sigh, you swiped to answer the call and put the phone to your ear, Julia’s voice immediately coming through.

“Happy Birthday!” she cheered, your brows scrunching together as you realised that you’d just forgotten your own birthday entirely.

“Holy shit.” you laughed softly, rubbing your eye as you sat up. “I didn’t even realise, I forgot my own birthday.”

Her laughter rang through, unable to stop a smile coming across your features no matter how hard you tried.

“When are you coming around? we got a cake for you and everything, well, mom did at least.” she explained, causing you to look over to your clock and see it was already one in the afternoon. Jesus.

“Uh, i’ll be around in like twenty, just let me have a shower.” you responded, standing up and reaching for the towel hanging on your door.

“Do you want me to ask Erik to come get you?”

The mention of his name had you stiffening up, the grip on your phone getting tighter as you walked into the bathroom.

“No.” you said flatly, only to correct yourself “I mean, i think i’ll just walk, i need the fresh air.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Julie said goodbye and hung up the call, letting you turn the faucet and get the shower going.

-

The Campbell’s family home was always welcoming, even just walking in, it always felt warm, that was something you couldn’t deny.

It spoke volumes that they’d organised a birthday celebration for you, the only people that ever did, having not spoken to your mother since you graduated, it seemed they were the only family you had left.

When you’d walked around to the backyard, Julia was the first person to spot you, running to you with open arms and birthday wishes, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“You need to talk to Erik, he’s miserable.” she whispered to you as she hugged you, ignoring your confused face when she pulled away and took your hand, guiding you to where the rest of the family were.

Choosing not to address what she had said, you let yourself accept hugs and birthday wishes from Bobby, saying your hello’s to Howard and receiving a kiss on the cheek from Brenda.

You and Erik didn’t even look at each other.

He was sat on one of the outside chairs, nursing a beer which he took occasional sips at, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

It was obvious to everybody around you that you were seemingly giving one another the silent treatment, yet they didn’t say anything, just allowed the festivities to continue as Howard worked at the grill and Julia handed you a white claw.

However you managed it, you’d been able to spend almost your entire birthday celebration without saying a word to Erik, even when Bobby and Julia had handed you a present that was labelled to have come from all three Campbell siblings, he still stood at a distance, talking to his dad or sulking a few meters away.

You knew completely that it was immature, to put this much effort into not even talking to him purely due to rejection, but the other part of you, that eighteen year old girl that cried herself to sleep after the boy she liked kissed her and ran out of the room? she was still there, and she was hurt.

By the time it all started to wrap up, Julia had already convinced you to stay the night, even if you were hesitant, she seemed adamant, giving you a look that seemed to imply that she knew exactly why you’d been acting so miserable, especially considering what she’d said to you when you’d arrived.

Wishing your goodnights to Howard and Brenda, you helped Bobby clean up while Julia packed up the leftovers, and yet during this entire time, Erik still sat outside, now nursing a cigarette between his fingers as she sat on the porch swing.

At first, you were going to turn around and go to bed, let him wallow out there and regret what was literally his decision in the first place, but when you turned, you came face to face with Julia, who had a brow quirked as she looked at you.

“Get out there,” she spoke with a hushed tone, pointing to the back door “and talk to him.”

You wanted to argue against it, really you did, but just as it had always been and will continue to be, there was no arguing with Julia.

Stepping out into the backyard that was now only lit up by garden lights, you could see Erik in the distance, the small orange glow on his cigarette lighting up his face as he inhaled.

Without saying a word, you came and sat down next to him, keeping your eyes forward as he did the same, the pair of you being too stubborn to speak at first.

As the silence grew, you huffed and crossed your arms, looking out at the garden that Brenda was so proud of.

“Julia told me to come out here and talk to you.” you finally broke, unable to stand just sitting there in the overwhelming tension any longer.

“She told *me* to talk to *you*.”

Erik’s response made you exhale out of your nose in a sort of soft laugh, at least only as much as you could laugh in that moment; it just made perfect sense that eventually Julia caught on to what was happening between you, it was bound to happen.

“I had a feeling she figured it out.” you mentioned, only for Erik to nod his head.

“She knew when i came home after the bar, said i looked like a kicked puppy.” he mused, a soft smile now falling across his features as he turned his head to look at you for the first time since you’d sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology had him shaking his head and sighing.

“I’m the one that should be sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“Which part, kissing me and then pretending it never happened? or friendzoning me for almost four years straight?”

It was crazy just how quickly the tension between you melted away when you finally started talking. Letting it boil in silence had probably been the least wise course of action, but you were anything if not stubborn.

“Both I guess?”

Letting out a small laugh, you let him continue.

“I’m not sorry about pulling away on halloween though, you were drunk, i wasn’t about to be the monster that screwed his little sisters shitfaced best friend.”

Seeming to let the last bit of tension fade away, he turned to face you completely, resting his elbow on the back on the porch swing.

“Even if she really wanted you to.” you said softly with a laugh, acknowledging that was the easy part, of course it had been a smart thing to do, considering Julia probably would have killed him if that were to have happened.

“Especially if she really wanted me to, of course you’d have to be drunk to wanna kiss this face.” he joked, pointing to his face with his index finger.

Shaking your head, you ran your hand along his arm that was resting in the backrest, furrowing your brows.

“I don’t know about that, i’m pretty sober.” you replied lazily, tilting your head as you smiled at each other “I still wouldn’t say no to a kiss if you’re offering.”

That seemed to add another layer of realism to it all, the reminder of who you both were, and the connection between you.

Julia had seemed to make it clear that you had her blessing, why else would she order you outside to talk to her brother, when she seemed to already know exactly what was happening when Erik had come home from the bar that night.

It was the sudden realisation that right here, right now, there was absolutely nothing stopping you anymore, that you’d effectively been given the green light.

So when that smile on Erik’s face only grew, it seemed like a knee jerk reaction as you both leaned in, hands coming to rest on each others cheeks as for the first time in almost four years, you laid a kiss against Erik’s lips, at least one that was going to be reciprocated without question.

Would it have cliche to say that it truly did feel like fireworks going off in your chest? like his fingertips were made of lightning as they rested against your neck, the thickly feeling of his facial hair not bothering you in the slightest.

God, he smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne, but in the best way possible, just the same as he’d smelled when you first kissed him when you were eighteen, like nothing had changed at all since then.

But that was definitely a lie. Four years was a long time, a lot can happen in that time, lots of life to be experienced, and you were a very different person when compared to the version of yourself who was only just on the brink of graduating.

At first it felt like being stuck in this weird sort of limbo, you just kissed him softly like he was going to be spooked and run away like last time, some small part of your brain fearing it was going to happen all over again; yet when his hands fell to your waist and pulled you in closer, it felt like confirmation that he wasn’t planning on letting you go anywhere.

Finally breaking for air, you kept your foreheads connected, soft pants against each others lips while the pair of you just sat there and took one another in.

“Julia’s gonna kill us.” Erik breathed out with a soft laugh, the mention of it suddenly making you pull away and turn your head in the direction of the house.

As you both turned your attention back to the kitchen window, the sight of two heads quickly ducking out of view made it pretty clear that both of Erik’s siblings had been watching from a distance, seemingly to make sure everything went down smoothly.

Shaking your head, you turned back to Erik with a smile, your arms coming to wrap about his neck.

“Something tells me she had this all planned out from the beginning.” you spoke, just about to lean in to capture another kiss from Erik’s lips before his attention was caught by something around your neck, his hand coming up to wrap his fingers around the claire’s skull and cross bone necklace him and Bobby had gotten you almost five years ago now, which had now fallen out of its place hidden under your shirt.

He ran his thumb over the worn down metal, most of the details almost unrecognisable after so many years of wear, his smile growing as he chuckled.

“I can’t believe you still wear this thing.” he sighed, his eyes looking back up at you; his smirk definitely seemed to reveal that there was at least some small bit of satisfaction on his part, knowing you walked around with a necklace he got you around your neck.

“My ex hated it.” you laughed, leaning forward to east your forehead on his shoulder to try and shield the blush now steadily starting to form on your cheeks. “He told me it was weird to wear a necklace that my friend's brother got me, I think he was jealous of you?”

You heard Erik scoff, pulling away to see him rolling his eyes. “I literally met him once and he acted like he was ready to fight me any second, stupid.” he muttered the last part, only to lean forward and steal another kiss from you.

“Maybe he had a reason to feel threatened after all.” you spoke against his lips, allowing yourself to just sit back and enjoy the feeling of having your lips and face peppered with long overdue kisses.

“Mhm, maybe.” he laughed, bringing your face forward to lay a kiss on your forehead, letting you shut your eyes and melt into the feeling of him wrapping his arms around you and holding you there in a hug.

“He’d feel even worse if he knew what i’m gonna do to do as soon as we get back upstairs and in my room though.”

His sudden boldness had your head flying back, looking across at him as your face shifted from a look of shock, into an expression that resembled the exact image of a horned up teenager, biting your lip and leaning forward to put a hand on his jean clad thigh.

Quirking an eyebrow at you, he let his hands squeeze your waist just a little bit tighter, his voice taking on a deeper and slightly more serious tone.

“You really shouldn’t have tried so hard to make me jealous back in the bar the other day.” he started, pulling you up with him as he stood, his grip on you tight like a vice. “Cause now i’m gonna do exactly what i wanted to do when i had to sit there and watch that fucker throw himself all over you.”

Without any other word exchanged, the pair of you were walking back into the house, hands gripped together.

The lights in the kitchen had been turned off by the time you made your way back inside, the rest of the Campbell’s seemingly excusing themselves into their respective rooms to go to sleep, providing a quick and easy uninterrupted party back up to Erik’s room.

It would have been a lie to say it didn’t feel like an adrenaline rush to practically be sneaking into his bedroom quietly, something you’d definitely thought about on more than one occasion, the thrill that would have come with sneaking around with your best friend's brother.

As much as she must have known exactly what she was doing, there was still some mischievous undertone to it all as Erik shut his bedroom door quietly and turned to face you.

With only his lamp illuminating the bedroom, it was dim but still light enough to make out his face clearly, even more so when he took the few small steps across the carpeted floor to now stand in front of you, looking down at you like you were something to be devoured.

“Do you have any idea how hard I jerked my cock when you left for that halloween party? When I watched you get out of my car in that outfit?”

His voice was rugged and deep, already resulting in your body starting to have a physical reaction, shivering as he stood over you, not too unlike the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood.

Biting your lip, you let your hand reach forward to trace your index finger over his belt buckle, watching him take in a sharp breath.

“Is this a good time to tell you it still fits?” you asked, tilting your head and doing your very best to look up at him with the innocent puppy dog eyes that you already knew drove him wild.

The sound he let out could truly not be described as anything other than a growl, a deep rumble from deep within his chest that had a shiver running along your spine.

Without another word, Erik leaned down to capture you in another kiss, except this was unlike the soft pecks you’d exchanged in the garden, this kiss was hungry, not too unlike the one you’d exchanged on halloween, you could tell from the way he began to grab at you that he was just as desperate as you were.

This was years of buildup now seeming to come spilling over, like the lid had well and truly been blown off and now it was all coming out in a wave, sexual frustration and jealousy for someone that you hadn’t even dated.

His hands molded to your body like they knew it instantly, knowing exactly where to hold you and where the little spots were that made you let out those little sounds that were like music to his ears.

Guiding you to the bed had been easy work, and when the backs of your knees touched it, he shoved you down before you could sit, landing on your back with a soft “Oomph!”

Standing above you now, you could only watch as Erik looked down at you, watch as he reached down to lazily pull at his belt until it became undone, unbuttoning his jeans and letting them sit open and undone around his hips before he kneeled on the bed.

The moment his hands were back on you again, running up your sides and coming to your chest, he didn’t seem shy or hesitant in the slightest, squeezing at one of your tits with no shame, running his thumb back and forth over your peaked nipple through the fabric of your shirt.

Letting out a small whimper, your hands came to shield yourself out of instinct, only to be met with a sudden and harsh resistance in the form of Erik’s free hand gripping your wrist and wrenching it away from yourself.

“Don’t try it.” he warned.

This was a version of Erik you hadn’t seen first hand, you’d always known him as sweet and caring towards you, but there were definitely times where you could see something behind his eyes when he looked at you.

You’d seen it in the bar when he glared, the darkness that overtook his entire being. It would have been a lie if you said it wasn’t a thrill.

As if it was bringing something out of you as well, you couldn’t stop the way you looked up at him, the puppy dog eyes seeming like a completely natural reflex as you couldn’t fight the whimper that came out of you when he gripped your wrist so hard it almost hurt.

There seemed to be something unspoken between the pair of you over those years of pretending you didn’t want each other, something extended beyond feelings and presented itself as more of just this feeling that neither of you could doubt, this understanding that when the pair of you came together, there was going to be flames.

The hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist continued to touch you, pinching your nipple between his index finger and thumb, twisting slightly just to look down at the way you whimpered, letting yourself surrender to the headspace completely.

As you tried to turn your body away, be just wrenched you back to face him even harder, his free hand coming to grab your face and force you to look up at him, squeezing your cheeks so hard your lips pressed together like a fish.

“You’re really gonna be like that?” he breathed with a soft laugh, like he didn’t take you seriously as tall, almost like your attempts to pull away from him were entirely in vain.

It’d had never been like this with old boyfriends, missionary where you’d laid there like a goldfish and let them finish up, or even when they’d pathetically beg you suck their dicks; No, there was something playing within you that wanted Erik fired up, like getting him annoyed was all part of the fun.

Trying to pull your wrist away from his grip, even if it was futile, you let out a small grumble, looking up at him in a way that more than put across the attitude you were purposely giving him, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Be like that if you want Princess, works for me.” he spoke lowly leaning in to look down at you in a way that just read as “you asked for this.”

Without another warning, Erik’s hand was disappearing up your skirt, his fingers starting to rub up and down your panties with little to no mercy or warning, your mouth opening to let out a sound only to be promptly stopped by Erik’s other hand clamping over your mouth.

His fingers were skilled, running along your fabric covered slit with a precision that was above what you even thought possible for a guy, like he knew exactly where to touch you in a way that immediately had you whining against his hand.

It didn’t take long for your panties to be pushed aside only to make room for his fingers to start gliding through your wetness, promptly soaking his hand as you tried to close your legs out of reflex, only to clamp down on either sides of him, using his body to keep you open for him.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he mused, a dry laugh leaving his lips as he looked down at you, once again giving you no warning as he pushed two fingers straight inside you, gifting you no patience on his part as he wasted no time pushing them inside you up to the knuckle.

Your muffled cry only served to egg him on further, the feeling of your hips trying to pull away from his fingers and your back arching spurring on a slightly cruel smirk across his features.

“You’re that fucking wound up just from my fingers inside you? Seriously?” his tone was mocking at best, leaving you only able to look up at him with eyes that were starting to grow misty as he fucked you with his fingers at a pace that almost hurt, but in the best way conceivable.

God, it was almost embarrassing how much your body reacted to him, the sounds you were making against his hand purely from his touch, you were acting like a cock hungry slut, but it seemed that it was exactly how Erik wanted you, especially when he ripped his fingers out of you out of nowhere with seemingly no warning, the pathetic sound you made at the absence that left you clenching around nothing.

He lifted his fingers up so that they were held right in your face, the sticky mess on his fingers glistening as he spread his fingers to show it off.

“Look at that..” he breathed, letting out an exhaled chuckle as he stared at it like he was almost in a trance, only to open his mouth and suck your mess off of his fingers with the most atrociously sloppy sound you’d ever heard, pulling them out of his mouth again and looking down at you. “Like fuckin’ honey.”

That image along was enough to have your whole body shivering, watching him slurp on his fingers, sucking your own essence off of them like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted; where you legs had been attempting to close before hand, your own body began to betray you, your hips lifting off of the bed as you let out a desperate sound, chasing after his touch again.

Seeing your response to losing the feeling of him, Erik only seemed to find amusement from the way you were whimpering and trying to find any sort of relief, his solution being to bring his hand back down to your pussy, yet only letting his finger tips begin to ghost over your clit, hardly making any contact, nowhere near enough as far as you were concerned.

All you could do was let out sounds of protest, your hands desperately fighting to break free from where he was holding them down with only one hand, his strength and ability to overpower you being more than enough needed to keep you right where he wanted to.

“Whats wrong, princess..?” he cooed at you, mocking you as he kept his face close to yours, continuing his string of almost touching you as he waited to see how long it would take for you to break. “Something you want? You want me to touch you?”

With his hand still held over your mouth, it wasn’t exactly easy to verbalise your answer, but a whimper that came out sounding more like a rugged groan and the nodding of your head, all paired up with the desperation of your eyes that were blown out to the size of dinner plates, he seemed to understand the message clear enough.

Just as he’d done before, he gave you no warning when he plunged his fingers back inside you, fucking you with them with a starting pace that had your eye’s rolling back into your head, practically crying out into his hand the sudden jump from feeling barely anything to being heinously overstimulated, your brain was beginning to turn to mush, you were becoming putty in his fingers.

You’d always imagined it might be something like this to a degree, but fucking yourself with you fingers late and night and shutting your eyes pretending it was him was practically nothing when compared to what was happening right then and there, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter as you felt yourself starting to go numb.

“You gonna cum?” he teased, “Gonna gush all over my fingers like a nasty little slut? Fuuuuck, look at you, you can’t even hear what im saying.”

He was correct of course, anything he was saying to you was coming out as white noise as you finally felt you body coming loose around him, pulsing around his fingers as you let out obscene muffled noises and felt your toes curling, swearing for a moment or two that you went blind on one eye.

You were still in a daze when his hand came off of your mouth, taking in a deep breath of air that you hadn’t even realised was being kept from you, silence except for the sound of your panting.

Numb to the world around you, you hardly even felt real for the first ten seconds of laying there, feeling a few soft kisses peppering your forehead accompanied by a hand on your cheek.

“Hey now, come back to me..” Erik’s soft voice rang out, a small laugh following after it, finally starting to come back down to reality to see him looking down at you like he thought that state he’d left you in was hilarious.

You couldn’t form words, but he seemed to realise your eyes were focusing back in on him, his thumb running along your cheek as he tilted his head.

“You okay?” he whispered, watching you let out a small hum and a nod, one of your shaky hands coming up to grip his shoulder, almost in an attempt to ground yourself.

When you gave him another nodded, the hand that was on your cheek proceeded to give it a soft encouraging pat, a smile remaing on Erik’s face as he sat back and gripped your hips.

“Can I fuck you princess? Is that what you want?”

His question had you biting your lip as you looked up at him, the way his hands rubbed the tops of thigh’s slowly and softly, his own little way of keeping you grounded and comforted, seeking out permission from you before he went any further, that was the Erik that had always taken care of you, even if from a respectful distance.

“Please..” was the first word you’d managed to get out, your voice slightly croaky but clear enough that he definitely understood, causing him to let out a low groan at just how pathetically you begged for it.

With the jeans that were already undone, it hadn’t taken him much effort to pull them down to his knees, his grey boxers leaving nothing to the imagination as you pushed yourself up on your elbows, your bottom lip being caught between your teeth as soon as you saw the length and size you were about to be working with.

The only way you could have been described in that moment was a bitch in heat, desperate and needy in a way that couldn’t be described in words.

Then as if you weren’t already cock hungry enough, even just from seeing the tattooed barb wire on his v-line, or the dark hair creepy out of the boxers and up towards his belly button; As he pulled himself out and lazily pumped himself, your mouth fell open, the whimper leaving your throat being so pathetic that you were almost ashamed.

Looking down at his own cock, Erik let out a throaty laugh, continuing to continued to slowly drag his hand up and down his shaft when he looked back up at you, realising what it was that had constituted the noise from you.

“You like it?” he teased, running his thumb over the top of the thick curved barbell, letting you stare at it for a few more seconds before he put a hand on your knee.

“You want it?” he asked, his hand gliding down to rest on your hip.

When you nodded, he smiled and lifted your hips, turning you over slowly so that your ass was up in the air, your cheek coming to rest snugly against the sheets as he placed his hand flat inbetween your shoulder blades to push your upper body down.

“That’s it, I’ve got you..” he reassured, his hand coming to glide over your ass cheek, admiring the view for a few sweet seconds, letting you enjoy the feeling of a soft touch against your skin, at least for a few seconds.

**THWACK**

You were lucky your face was in the sheets, otherwise the sound of you crying out would have been audible throughout the whole house, the sharp pain of Erik’s hand coming down to spank you barely even registering before he was sending another one down on your skin.

The kicking of your legs was futile, the whimpers leaving your throat seeming to produce little mercy from Erik as he let down one more harsh smack, just as you felt his tip starting to run up and down your entrance, the cold metal of his piercing making you jump.

“You gonna let me fuck this pussy? Huh?” he grunted, making a point to push just his tip inside you, barely even penetrating you to begin with. “Gonna let me fill it up with my cum? You gonna take it all?”

His words, along with the unbearable teasing, had you pushing your ass back against him, desperate for him to push himself deeper inside you, only for him to back away each time you tried to your dismay, a desperate whimper emerging from your throat each time.

“Pretty baby wants dick so bad..” he cooed, almost as if he genuinely felt sorry for you, but you both knew better, the more you were begging for him, the better it was.

Not as harshly as he had pushed his fingers inside you, Erik gripped your hips, pushing himself in at a fast enough speed that had you gasping, but didn’t hurt by any means, telling you that beneath the show he was putting on, he still was making sure not to hurt you, at least not in a way that you didn’t want him to.

Your gasp was quickly offset with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as his cock invaded your insides, pushing through without resistance as your wetness let him glide inside fairly easily.

It was a little bit of a push before Erik finally sunk inside you completely, when his hips finally made contact with your ass, bottoming out with a deep groan that had him tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Fuuuuck..” he groaned, you could feel the way his grip on your hips tightened, along with the way his cock twitched inside you; just as much as you could feel him fighting back his instinct to move, fighting back his desire to pound into you with no mercy until you were ready.

“Just..” he breathed “Tell me when I can start moving princess..”

The way he was able to switch back and forth between cruel and caring was just so painfully Erik, just as it always was with him, one minute he’d act like he was bothered by your very presence, then you’d give him those same puppy dog eyes and he’d be left unable to say no to you.

Turning your head and straining your neck to look back at him, your mouth hung open for a few moments as you let yourself finish getting used to the stretch, as well as the feeling of his piercing tickling right against that sweet spot inside you, every time he moved in the slightest it sent lighting through you, unable to hide your whimpers.

Opening your eyes back up, you gave him a nod, preparing yourself for what was no doubt going to be a brutal pace that he was about to set.

He started out slow, giving you a chance to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, gradually gathering up speed which only made your moans grow louder, giving you no choice but you let your face fall back against the sheets to make sure it was muffled, eventually he was pistoning inside you, a concentrated rhythm being followed as he gripped your hips so tightly it stung.

Risking a look back, you turned your head only to be greeted by the sight of Erik thrusting into you, staring down at the sight of himself coming in and out of you as his mouth hung open, low groans and grunts leaving his chest.

As if he had felt your eyes on him, Erik looked up, meeting your gaze which only seemed to stir him further, biting his lip as he leaned forward and reached to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back and stare up at the wall, letting him fuck you so hard no sound was even coming out of you anymore, just leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“Thaaaats it.. fucking take it like a dirty fucking cockslut…” his words sounded just as desperate as you had previously, breathed out and slightly higher pitched in a way that told you he was feeling it all just as much as you were. “Fuck, fuck, wanted to have you like this for so long… wanted you on my bed spread out just like this..”

Memories of touching yourself just to the very idea of something like this happening came flooding in, laying there in your bed back at home and closing your eyes and picturing Erik in your head, wondering if he ever thought about you in the way you thought about him.

Now here you were getting confirmation that he’d wanted you for just as long as you’d wanted him, years of frustration and pining finally being thrown out of the window as you were actually there, bent over for him and letting him fuck you like a whore, pent up urges years in the making fuelling the way he jack hammered into you.

“Shit.. turn over..” he grunted, pulling out of you and gripping your shoulder in his hand to flip you onto your back before you could even compute what he was asking you. “Need to see those eyes..”

Letting Erik manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your head to get a glimpse of him lining himself back up, unable to stop your legs from shivering and your mouth falling open with a whine when you pushed his cock back inside you.

Bringing you gaze back up to where he was kneeling above you, you stared into each others eyes, making a point to put on those same puppy dog eyes that got him every time, feeling him begin to fuck you noticeably harder when you looked up at him.

“Fuck.. yes.. look at me..” he groaned, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your knees, pushing to where your knees were almost touching your shoulders, folding you in a way that allowed for a whole new angle, unable to hide the way your face contorted and your brows turned upwards.

Your head tipped back, soft cries being the only sound you were capable of making anymore, so completely and totally fucked out to the point that you could hardly even form any proper thoughts.

A hand came to rest on your cheek, your head coming forward and your eyes opening again to see Erik looking right in the verge himself just as you were, his eyes staring down at you intensely as he seemed to be chasing your gaze.

“Please don’t stop looking at me..” he begged, the dominant nature he had taken on previously becoming replaced by the unbearable urge to cum, chasing his release desperately.

The way you were gripping at each other, your hands coming up to rest on either side of his face, you silence each other in the form of a kiss, Erik’s moans into your mouth seeming to be exactly what was needed to push you over the edge, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cried out, tucking your face in his neck as you began to pulse, soaking his dick and squeezing it tightly in a way that had his thrusts turning shallow, barely even pulling out of you before he was pushing back in.

Your hand found its way to the back of his head, tangling your fingers into the tufts of dark hair and gripping whatever you could as you practically sobbed against his shoulder, your legs shaking as your pussy squeezed him.

Pulling on his hair and cumming around his cock proved to be exactly what was needed to push Erik over the edge he’d been chasing, feeling his thrusts stiffen and stop and start randomly as he painted your walls with cum, starting to leak out of you already.

His moans we’re high pitched, his hips going from ramming against your own to softly and slowly rolling deeply, riding out his orgasm bit by bit as you felt his body starting to give way, letting him collapse on top of you and into your arms.

Each time his hips moved again the slightest bit, you whimpered, gripping his hair again and squeezing his hips with your legs, still highly sensitive from the way he’d been mercilessly fucking you only moments ago.

You had no idea how long you both laid there on his bed, letting his thick cum leak out of you as he sat inside you, resting his forehead on your chest and panting deeply, trying to come down from his high before you both felt even semi conscious again.

When it finally felt real again, like you had floated back down into your physical bodies once again, you looked at Erik and couldn’t fight back the smile that made its way onto your features, apparently contagious as Erik let out a soft laugh and leaned forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss, the sudden movement making you whimper against his lips that had him pulling back suddenly.

“Shit, sorry.” he wheezed, pushing his weight off of you and slowly pulling his now soft dick out of you with a sharp hiss through his teeth.

Pulling his grey boxers back over his hips, he moved back down to lay next to you on his back, turning his head to look over at you and reaching out to slowly pull you against him, letting you rest your head on his chest.

“I’ve got you..” he whispered, letting you lay there and recover slowly but surely, letting your eyes open and close softly as the exhaustion finally started to claim you.

When you shut your eyes, you didn’t even realise you’d fallen asleep until you woke up to a hand on your face, having now been tucked into the covers while Erik got up and fetched a washcloth from the bathroom.

“Shh..shh, it’s okay, it’s just me..” he whispered when you’d fussed softly, running his thumb along your cheek and letting you open your eyes slowly to see him standing there.

You let him clean you off softly, feeling him take care to be as gentle as he could before discarding the cloth and pulling a pair of his own sweat pants and shirt over you while you faded in and out of consciousness.

Finally as he crawled back into bed with you, you didn’t hesitate to roll back into his arms, feeling them wrap around you as a kiss was laid on the top of your head.

“You have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that..” he whispered against your temple as you clung to his body heat, letting him trace little shapes along your back with his finger tips.

“Just wish you hadn’t waited as long as you did..” you whispered back, a soft exhale of a laugh leaving him.

“Good things come to those who wait?” he offered up, only receiving a soft smack against his arm from you which only made him laugh more.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that one.” he wheezed as he just pulled you closer against him, taking a deep inhale of your scent and exhaling with a satisfied hum.

“Hope you know that now that i’ve got you, i’m never letting you go.” his last words to you before you both started to fall asleep, snoring softly in each others arms in his bed, something you’d both waited almost four years to do, finally happening here and now.

[crazziforazzi]

can you write a oneshot about that munch - wordle interview answer?

Love that idea! It's not a long one shot, but I hope you like it:

MUNCH

The door clicked shut behind her with a dull thud, and Paige didn’t even bother locking it right away. She kicked off her sneakers in two lazy thumps, one bouncing off the wall, the other landing god knows where. Her t-shirt was already halfway off as she made her way toward the couch, peeled the rest off with a lazy tug, and let it land somewhere behind her. She really didn’t care where. She flopped face-first onto the cushions in nothing but her shorts and sports bra, the sticky late-June Dallas heat making everything feel like it took ten times more effort than it should have.

She groaned dramatically, then fished her phone out from under her and immediately pulled up Azzi’s contact.

Paige: Facetime dinner in 1 hour ?

She wanted to play it cool, play it casual, but the truth was, Paige needed her tonight. Nothing dramatic had happened. Training was fine. But the whole day felt heavy in that quiet, annoying way where everything just felt off. She had been dragging herself through it, but deep down, she knew the only thing that might refill her tank was seeing Azzi’s face while they both shoveled reheated leftovers into their mouths in front of their camera.

The reply came just a couple minutes later. Azzi: I’m home in 30, call you right away?

Paige exhaled, long and soft. Azzi got it.

Paige: Please.

There was a beat. Then:

Azzi: Are you ok?

Paige: Just tired and want to see my girl.

Azzi: I’ll try to hurry, okay babe? In the meantime, play Wordle. It’ll cheer you up. No cheating!

That made Paige squint at the screen. Wordle?

She rolled onto her back with a low groan, forehead scrunched. Why the hell was Azzi sending her to play Wordle right now? Sure, they used to get a kick out of solving them together back when it was viral, but that had been years ago. Paige hadn’t even thought about it since. 

Still… she reached blindly for the iPad wedged somewhere between the couch cushions. Grumbling under her breath, she pulled up Safari and typed in "wordle." The site loaded with its usual grey-white grid.

With zero energy and even less brain power left after that intense training, Paige decided to go the basketball route. Azzi must’ve suggested Wordle for a reason. There had to be a connection. She was too tired to overthink it, so she just trusted the process and started typing.

First guess: SCORE.

Seemed right and on-brand. Only one yellow: C.

Paige frowned slightly. That wasn’t nothing, but it also wasn’t helpful.

Second guess: COACH.

Another basketball word. Subconscious doing all the work now. This time, second C went green, and H did too.

She blinked. Okay, okay. That was something. But… still felt like guessing in the dark. She tapped the back of the iPad rhythmically with her knuckles. She was hungry. Which, somehow, led her to…

Third guess: LUNCH.

Immediately, U, N, C, and H all turned green. Only the L was wrong.

Paige stared at the screen. She tilted her head, letting her tired brain catch up. Four letters in place. Just one left. She could feel it, the answer was right there. And then it hit her. 

Azzi told me to play this.

And if it wasn’t basketball-related, then it had to be the other thing Azzi always swore could "relax her." Her eyes widened. She blinked once.

"Oh my god," she muttered, already typing.

Fourth guess: MUNCH.

The green squares lit up in a row, and Paige grinned for the first time since she walked in the door. Of course that was the word. She shook her head, biting her lip as her smile widened.

"You’re such a dumbass," she mumbled to herself, the grin never disappearing. She snapped a pic of the finished Wordle and sent it off with a message:

Paige: You tryna tell me something or…?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Azzi: Just making sure you are warmed up for dinner 😏

Paige groaned again, but this time it was way more flustered than fatigued. Her eyes fluttered shut as she dropped her head back into the couch, laughing softly to herself.

Already, she felt better. She was still tired, but the good kind now. The kind that settled in her chest instead of dragging her down. The kind that felt like being home.

And somehow, impossibly, Azzi had found a way to give her that from miles away.

[littlejoels]

notes: hi guys! this is my new account (old acc was littlesoulshine/littlejackles) where i’ll be posting more jackles + other content. i wasn’t really feeling motivated on my old account and, honestly, it just started to feel draining; so here we are on a new acc! if you have any jackles or jared ideas or requests, my ask box is open! i hope you guys enjoy!!

𝜗ৎ dean mentioned early in the morning that he had a surprise, and that alone meant you should’ve put a helmet on. instead, you followed the sound of the electric air pump whirring in the backyard, and found him hunched over a deflated kiddie pool. seeing your figure near him, he leaned back on his heels and grinned up at you. “okay, now go put on your swimsuit.”

𝜗ৎ you blinked, trying to wrap your head around the scene: a full-grown man, dead serious, inflating something clearly made for toddlers. a minute later, sam rounded the corner with two heavy bags of sand slung over his shoulders. he caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said 'i have no idea what's going on either,' but also 'screw it, let's see where this goes.'

“he’s serious,” sam said, dropping the bags by the plastic edge. “he’s calling it ‘project beach’.”

𝜗ৎ dean made a dramatic pssshhhhh noise with his mouth and slapped the side of the pool. “that’s ‘project bitchin’ beach’, actually. and i need you two in swimsuits. now.”

𝜗ৎ you tilted your head, squinting at him despite the glare of the sun, then spun on your heel and walked back inside without a word. fine, if he wanted to play whatever bizarre game this was, you’d play.

𝜗ৎ you went straight for the smallest bikini you owned—shimmery black with a micro-triangle top that tied behind your neck and bottoms were as cheeky as can be. barefooted, you strutted through the bunker halls ready to tease dean and sam out of their swim trunks.

𝜗ৎ from the open patio door, the smell of cut grass and cheap rubber pool toys floated in as you walked through the opening. dean’s jaw dropped as soon as you came out. “jesus christ.”

𝜗ৎ sam didn’t gawk—he just let out a small sigh, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like here we go again. he knew you. while dean looked like his brain had short-circuited. his tongue darted out over his bottom lip before he even realized he was doing it.

𝜗ৎ you strolled right up to the edge of the kiddie pool. it had a few sad inches of water and was surrounded by those bags of sand sam had lugged in earlier. honestly, it was dumb and adorable.

𝜗ৎ you stepped one foot into the cool water, watched it ripple around your ankle, then dipped the other in and turned around, water lapping at your calves. “what now, project leader?”

𝜗ৎ dean stood there like he’d forgotten how his legs worked. “fuck—get in here.”

𝜗ৎ sam muttered something about needing a drink, but you caught the way his eyes lingered a second longer on the curve of your ass as you bent to sit in the pool. the water barely reached mid-thigh, sun-warmed and just a little slippery from that cheap plastic feel.

𝜗ৎ you leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out in front of you, toes brushing dean’s shin when he finally climbed in. his swim trunks were blue with black palm trees all over it—but that's all that you noticed until your gaze traveled to his meaty thighs as he settled in. the younger winchester came back with a beer, and a damp white tank showcasing the abs he worked hard for.

“this is ridiculous,” he said, yet he didn’t leave.

𝜗ৎ you looked up at him through your lashes, “then take your trunks off and make it worth the setup.”

𝜗ৎ sam blinked with the bottle paused just shy of his lips. you smiled as dean rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes going dark.

“getting to the point huh," you nod with a smile at his remark. "you serious, baby?” he asked, but he already knew.

𝜗ৎ you pushed yourself up onto your knees, water sloshing over the sides of the plastic rim. “dead serious.”

𝜗ৎ you leaned in to kiss dean first—your fingers curling into the waistband of his trunks and tugging them all the way down. he groaned into your mouth as you straddled him, knees sinking into the pool bottom, water slapping against your thighs. your bikini bottoms were gone with a flick of his fingers, tossed somewhere onto the damp sand.

𝜗ৎ you could feel sam watching, the bottle he so desperately wanted was forgotten at his side. you held dean’s cock in your hand, then sank down onto him in one smooth motion, water rippling in low, gentle waves. your mouth fell open with an ‘o’ expression at the feeling—a moan curling from your throat as dean grabbed your hips and grounded you on to his.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growled. “you feel good, sugar.”

𝜗ৎ you rolled your hips, letting him watch your face twist with every motion. once you started getting use to his cock, hands—sam’s hands—slid around your waist from behind, pulling your body back, pressing his chest to your spine.

𝜗ৎ you didn’t stop moving. well you couldn’t, dean's eyes fluttered closed, and his grip was tightening so much, your movement away was limited. you instantly felt sam’s cock, nudging between your cheeks—so, as the best girlfriend that you are (or the horniest) you reached back, lined him up, and helped him push in; the full feeling of them making you moan loud enough the neighbors would’ve called the cops if they weren’t so far away.

𝜗ৎ you were filled and full. dean’s cock in your cunt, sam’s pushing into your ass, both stretching you open like you were a toy made just for them. your legs shook as you rocked forward and back, caught in the pressure between them. the pool squeaked under the motion, water splashing up over the rim, soaking the sand.

𝜗ৎ dean was panting, groaning out lewd words, “jesus, you’re gonna make me cum just lookin’ at you—fuck—move, baby, c’mon, just like that—”

𝜗ৎ sam whimpered against your neck. “you take both of us so good. fuck, this tight little ass—shit.” you continued to ride them despite the creaking plastic and the water slapping against all three of you and to be honest, you were enjoying every second.

#tags below

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @zepskies @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nymphet-quenn @thesevnthseal

[mon-amorie]

‎ ‎ ‎ ... ‎ ( ‎ Hotline ‎ )

scene ‎ ─── ‎ on campus where anonymity breeds honesty, a late-night confessions app becomes your escape. a place where students anonymously share voice notes or texts about anything—stress, confessions, poetry, love, lust, loneliness—all sacred. naturally, you become drawn to a certain user, his words resonating deeply, almost bleeding through the screen. compelled by an unspoken connection, you send a reply

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎ ‎ ( pairing ) ‎ hyunjin x f!reader ‎ ( genre ) ‎ college au, slow burn, fluff, slight angst, academic burnout, profanity, contains mature content ‎ !mdni! ‎ ( wc. ) ‎ 28.7k ‎ / ‎ part two. ‎ back to nav.

゜・．・ note! ‎ ─ ‎ thought this was a super cute idea. got really into it (had to spilt it up in parts), so i hope you enjoyyy reading. please let me know your thoughts! took a while to finalize, so it'd mean a lot to me. lots of love, nana

‎ ‎ ‎"...and if we look at the second stanza, we’ll see how she contrasts grief with—"

You caught bits of everything, but held onto none of it.

Your mind had been elsewhere since morning, drifting in and out like radio static. The lecture, the notes, the faint scratching of pens. It all passed through you without actually sticking. You kept thinking about the bakery near campus, the unread emails piling up, the to-do list growing longer by the hour. It was all beginning to feel like too much, bit by bit.

The door creaked open. You payed no mind to it. But if you had, you might've noticed him.

A tall guy slipping in late, hoodie soaked dark at the shoulders. Damp hair curling onto his cheek. He didn't draw attention to himself, didn't offer excuses. Just eased into a seat a few rows back, his movements fluid, careful. His chest rose and fell, still evening out from the rush across campus.

You let your chin fall into your hand, your gaze sliding toward the window. The rain streaked sideways across the glass, soft but relentless. You let your eyes follow it, maybe hoping it would make things feel a little lighter.

"...so I'm going to give you the rest of the class as a study hall," your professor announced, barely fighting a yawn. "Catch up on readings, work on your papers. Just don't vanish."

A ripple of quiet relief passed through the room. Backpacks shifted. Chairs scraped. Someone whispered, "Bless," under their breath, followed by a soft chuckle. The projector clicked off, and in that dimmed silence, something inside you loosened.

You didn't wait.

As soon as the screen went away, your head dropped to your folded arms. Your shoulders slackened. Your grip on everything eased. The noise around you blurred into something soft and far away.

Barely a few seconds passed before—

"Yah, dead already?" came a voice, teasing but soft. A familiar one.

You didn't even lift your head. "Hey, Bin."

Changbin dropped into the seat to your left like gravity owed him something, juggling three bags and zero chill. His hair was damp from the rain, hoodie clinging to the curve of his neck. A paper coffee cup steamed between his hands, the scent curling faintly into the air around you.

On your other side, Chaeryeong landed with a theatrical sigh, like she'd rehearsed it. She slid her tote bag off her shoulder, reached across you, and gently shut your neglected laptop without a word.

"She's in mourning," she declared solemnly. "Fell in battle after that last psych quiz. May she rest."

"I salute you, fallen soldier," Changbin added, giving a mock salute.

You groaned softly, face still buried in your arms.

Chaeryeong grinned, already pulling a half-eaten box of pocky from her bag like it was part of her survival kit. "No, but seriously. You okay?"

"I'm tired," you mumbled. "And I've got like three papers due next week."

"Okay, but one of them's just a book response, right?" Chaeryeong offered.

You cracked one eye open, cheek still pressed to your sleeve. "The book is seven hundred pages."

Changbin let out a low whistle. "Yeah, no. Death sounds fair."

"Anyway," Chaeryeong said, grabbing her phone. "Can we talk about the girl who dropped a six-part rant on Hotline last night? All because her ex started dating someone from the chess team."

“I saw that!” Changbin perked up, popping the lid off his drink. “It’s so dramatic. Didn’t the girl cheat or something? And now she’s pissed he moved on?”

“She’s not mad he moved on,” Chaeryeong corrected, scrolling through her feed. “She’s mad he moved on fast and to someone who’s, and I quote, too niche. It’s so dumb.”

That earned a soft snort from you.

They both turned toward you, sensing the first sign of life.

“You use it, right?” Changbin asked, tone casual as he took a sip.

You blinked. “Use what?”

“The app,” he said. “Hotline. You’ve posted before?”

You shrugged, slow and noncommittal. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Yeah, but you probably post those dramatic 2 AM voice notes,” he teased. “Like, ‘the rain reminds me of everything I never said to him’.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. "God forbid a girl expresses her feelings."

He laughed, nearly spilling his drink.

Chaeryeong’s eyes flitted between the two of you, narrowed in curiosity. “Wait. Now I’m curious. What do you post?”

“I’m not telling you,” you said flatly, stretching your arms over your head until your spine cracked. “That defeats the point of anonymous.”

“Which means she definitely posts dramatic 2AM voice notes,” Changbin said smugly.

You rolled your eyes but didn't deny it. The conversation moved on without you, their bickering fading into background noise again.

The room buzzed with low conversation now that the lecture was on pause. A kind of collective exhale. Some students cracked open their laptops, pretending to be productive. Others leaned together in loose circles, whispering and laughing like this was a café instead of a half-lit lecture hall with forty minutes still left on the clock.

Behind you, a chair creaked.

Hyunjin sat slouched in his seat, hoodie up, pencil twirling loosely between his fingers. He hadn’t bothered with his laptop. Just a small sketchbook open on the desk, angled away from view. His bag sat untouched at his feet, the canvas edges still damp from the rain.

He’d slipped in late, quietly, after snoozing his alarm one too many times. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t the only one. He recognized most people in this class. Faces, names, friend groups that orbited each other in lazy, habitual loops. He didn’t talk to them. Didn’t need to.

After all, people only ever asked questions when you gave them answers first. And Hyunjin never did.

His gaze drifted over the room, not looking for anything in particular, until it landed on you.

You sat between two friends, head tilted, listening without really reacting. Like you were there, but not entirely present. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the frayed cuff of your sleeve. The kind of movement that said more than words. Like your brain was running in twelve directions, none of them clear.

He knew your name, though you’d never spoken directly. You were in his poetry seminar. Mondays and Thursdays, always a few seats ahead. Head bowed when tired. Notebook open and full when it mattered. He’d caught glimpses of your margin notes once, slanted in quick, neat handwriting. Thought about them later, for no reason at all.

He glanced down, sketchbook still open, finally letting his pencil move across the page. He didn’t try to define it. He just drew. Trying not to think too hard about the way you stared out the window like you were asking it a question. Like maybe you were waiting for an answer.

“It tastes like wood glue,” Changbin insists.

“You’ve eaten wood glue?” Chaeryeong shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Their voices curled around you like ambient noise. Familiar. Safe. Like the kind of background hum you’d grown up with in a house full of sound. You didn’t have to join in to feel like you belonged there.

Study group at four. Grocery run after. Need to text Mom back. I should drop that one class. Chae’s hair looks really good today. The bakery closes early. I should go.

Outside, a blur of students ran across the courtyard, three of them sharing one hoodie like it was shelter. In the back corner, a girl hummed quietly to herself, scrolling on her phone. Behind her, a guy slumped in his chair while his friend patted his back over a crush spiral. Small, silent scenes repeating everywhere.

And you sat there, wondering if anyone else in this room felt the way you did.

Chaeryeong tapped her fingers against the desk, looking thoughtful. “Okay, but wait. Do you think it’s possible to fall for someone just through words?”

You turned slightly, attention slipping back into the present.

“What, like texting?” Changbin asked, frowning. “Isn’t that just… long-distance?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, “but I mean on the app. Anons. No names, no faces. Just someone’s voice. Or their thoughts. The way they write.” She said it like she’d already fallen.

Changbin looked skeptical. “That sounds like catfishing.”

"I think it sounds romantic," she countered.

"You think free samples at beauty stores are romantic."

"And? Have you ever been handed perfume by a stranger who calls you 'miss' with a French accent? That's cinema.”

You laughed, eyes drifting to your desk.

Her question sat with you. Not just because of the app. Not even because of the weird ache you carried around like a second skin. But because lately, the idea of being seen without being looked at had started to sound like safety.

To be chosen, not for your academics or how you looked when you walked into class on a Tuesday morning, but for your voice. Your words. The kind of things you say when you think no one’s listening.

Maybe it was all the poetry readings getting to you. Or maybe it was just everything.

You rubbed your temple, the pressure pooling behind your eyes. And then, before you could overthink it—

“I think I’m burnt out.”

It’s not dramatic. Just quiet. Honest in a way that felt like a sigh. They both go still.

“Wanna skip next class?” Chaeryeong asked, chin in hand, voice casual but eyes flicking toward you with quiet concern. “You look like you could use a break.”

You glance at the clock, considering. “Don’t you guys have an exam after this?”

“So?” they say in sync, almost offended.

You huff a small laugh. “I think I’m just gonna stop by the bakery,” you say, sitting up and brushing your hair back from your face. “You two stay. I’ll grab something and bring it back.”

Chaeryeong frowns, clearly not sold. “You sure?”

You nod. “I need the walk.”

Truthfully, you need the air and the silence. The space to pull yourself back together.

Changbin pulls a crumpled bill from his pocket and slaps it into your hand. “Bring me an iced americano.”

“In this weather? I’m not your delivery service.”

“You offered,” he says smugly, ignoring the logic.

Chaeryeong grins as you turn to her. “I’ll take something flaky and not too sweet. Please? Oh, and maybe a batch of cookies if they’ve got any.”

“Damn, you hungry or—” Changbin starts.

“It’s for all of us, dumbass,” she mutters, elbowing him. He laughs.

You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth rising at the edges of your expression.

You stood, scarf in hand, wrapping it once around your neck. Phone tucked into your pocket. Outside, the rain’s picked up again. Steadier now, heavier. But there’s a comfort in it. Like if you just kept walking, maybe something in you would finally rinse clean.

Before you turned to leave, your gaze lifted just once toward the upper rows. That’s when you saw him.

Hood half-off. Headphones in. One earbud dangling. His phone glows dimly in his hand, thumb scrolling in lazy, distracted loops. The sketchbook still lies open beside him, spine bowed, edges curling slightly from wear.

You’re certain you’ve seen him before. In passing. In class, maybe. Familiar in the way foggy mornings are.

But you don’t stare. Don’t give yourself the time to linger. You miss the way he looks up, just briefly, as you step out of the lecture hall, offering the professor a quiet nod on your way out. His eyes follow the back of your head, watching the door as it closes behind you.

Then he exhales, shifting his gaze back down to the screen in his palm—

Only to catch his own reflection staring back.

𐪞

*ding*

The door chimed softly as you stepped into the bakery. A mid-morning lull. Only a few students were tucked into booths. Heads bowed, mugs cradled, music whispering through shared earbuds. The windows were gently fogged from the warmth inside, streaked by rivulets of rain. Soft jazz played low from a speaker near the display case.

The air wrapped around you like a blanket, rich with the scent of sweet dough and fresh espresso. Something about it made your shoulders loosen..

You exhale for the first time in what feels like hours.

The cashier, a boy with sleepy eyes and a polite smile, rang you up. Minho, his name tag read.

One iced americano. Two chocolate croissants. A small paper bag of cookies. You paused before ordering, hesitating at the register until the cold on your fingers convinced you to add a hot chocolate to the list.

“Here you go,” he said, sliding the bag and warm drink toward you with practiced grace. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the bag like it held something more than food.

You found a booth in the corner, right by the window, and slid into the seat. The warmth from the pastries seeped through the paper bag, into your lap, grounding you.

Then your phone buzzed.

chae 🧡 — tell me u got the cookies ...

binnie — she want that cookie so effing badddd 

⤷  you — pls

you — got you both sweets, don’t be weird about it

chae 🧡 — french kissing you rn 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

(you) loved a message.

binnie — bro probably forgot my drink

you — i literally got it, wdym

binnie — oh

binnie — ok nvm ily

⤷  chae 🧡 — LMAO?

binnie — wait, what pastry tho?

you — choco croissant

(binnie) and (chae 🧡) loved a message.

chae 🧡 — chessss, u know me so well

binnie — BLESS

jisung —  ….

jisung — nah nah that's crazy 😭

jisung — did i die or something why am i not in this drop

you — you're sick

jisung — ok but i'm not DEAD

binnie — u sound like a frail victorian child. get off ur phone bro

jisung — i literally just wanted to feel something 😞

you — we'll bring you soup tmrw chill

jisung — finally. one decent person in this grp, yall suck

chae 🧡 — hope ur door stays jammed and that the tissues are just outta reach

jisung — :'(

you — anyway

you — see y'all in ten

A smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it. You tucked your phone away, fingers still warm from the cup in your hand.

The first sip of your hot chocolate tasted like a delicacy.

And for the first time today, the quiet didn’t feel heavy. It felt kind. Like a small, unexpected pocket of calm had been carved out just for you.

𐪞

The low hum of your mini heater filled the quiet of your dorm. Soft, steady.

The mirror in the bathroom was still fogged from your shower, and a towel hung crooked on the hook, like it had given up halfway through the fall. The air smelled like your new body wash and the faint trace of laundry detergent from the pile you only half-folded before flopping into bed.

By the time you curled under the blanket, you were already halfway asleep. Hair still damp against the pillow. Your body didn’t feel tired so much as done. Like you’d been holding yourself upright all day and had finally set it all down.

It was past ten. Maybe closer to midnight.

The glow of your laptop still lit the far side of the room, casting shapes against the wall. But you weren’t at your desk. The assignments could wait a little longer.

Your phone rested beside you, screen dark. You unlocked it.

Hotline.

You hadn’t even thought about it. It was there, waiting. Your thumb hovered over the app like it knew the path before your mind caught up. Like muscle memory had guided you.

So, you opened it.

The interface bloomed onto the screen, slow and gentle. No ads. No noise. Just space. Dark blues fading into muted purples, then warm orange and soft red. An ombre that looked like dusk. The kind of palette that made you exhale without realizing.

The posts glowed in soft contrast. Little fragments of thoughts, floating like signals in the dark.

Your gaze drifted to the small mic icon in the corner of the homepage. You hovered.

And then, without really deciding, you pressed it.

‎ ‎ ‎user074320 • now (recording) — For a moment there’s nothing. Just the low hum of your heater filling the silence. "…Dostoevsky once said, ‘It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise’”

A beat of silence.

“…Which is dramatic as hell for a guy who’s been dead since the 1800s, but like, he was definitely onto something.”

You exhale a breath that’s half a laugh, half just tired.

“I don’t know. I had a decent day. Laughed at something dumb. Saw a cute cat. Ate a cookie that was probably 90% butter. Got rained on, but in a main character kind of way, so… cinematic points, I guess.”

Another pause, like you’re deciding whether to keep talking.

“Still came home and immediately face-planted into my bed like I’d been sprinting uphill for hours. Like my brain’s doing laps while my body’s trying to power down. I don’t even know what I’m carrying, but it feels heavy.”

*whirr*

“…Anyway. If you’re listening, I hope today felt a little less heavy for you. Or that you had a good hair day. Or at least, I hope the soup you had was hot. That helps sometimes.”

Tap.

You didn’t relisten. You just let it post.

Then set the phone down beside you, screen still faintly warm in your hand. Your eyes closed for a second.

The app refreshed on its own. Your note now quietly sitting on your profile, timestamped and anonymous. Below it, the familiar scroll of recommendations began to fill the screen, one by one. Posts you’d probably forget in a few hours. Little confessions floating around like fireflies in the dark.

You scrolled. Mindlessly, absently. Not really searching just… keeping yourself company. Then paused.

A profile caught your eye. Not because of the username or the nearly empty bio besides pronouns, but because of the profile picture.

A blurry painting of flowers in a vase. Not neat or delicate. Just color and chaos, all messy strokes like someone tried to paint a feeling instead of a thing. Curious, you tapped.

The first post loaded, dated today.

‎ ‎ ‎user024025 • 15h — opened my notes app to study and ended up writing poetry about someone who doesn’t know i exist. so anyway. GPA stands for girl please acknowledge me.

A quiet laugh pressed into your pillow before you could stop it. And before you knew it, you were scrolling.

‎ ‎ is it weird that i want someone to know me so well they can tell what kinda of day i’ve had just by the way i say “hey”?

if you see this: drink water. stretch your back. your spine’s not supposed to feel like that.

‎ ‎ accidentally caught eye contact with someone while trying to sketch them and now i need to change campuses.

saw a couple slow dancing under the overhang outside the library during the rain. no music. just the sound of puddles. when will that be me????

‎ ‎ i think most people don’t actually want to be saved. they just want someone to sit next to them in the dark and not try to fix it. just… be there. and lately, i think that’s all i want too.

saw my ex get rejected by my friend who works at the bakery. what a good day to be alive. 7/10 pastry tho.

‎ ‎ sometimes i want to be held. other times i just want to be understood. today i wanted both but settled for neither. next question.

love when the universe throws me a bone. like yeah, i saw my ex. yeah, they tried to say hi. yeah, i pretended to be deep in a phone call with my grandma. (i was on the calculator app)

‎ ‎ i asked chris if i was annoying and he said “no more than usual.” it’s the little things keeping me alive.

got my coffee and accidentally said ‘you too’ to the barista when she told me to enjoy it. yah i’m never showing my face there again.

‎ ‎ you ever meet someone and immediately know you’d write poems about them that they’d never see?

group projects should come with therapy vouchers. and snacks.

‎ ‎ had a staring contest with a cat on the way to class. pretty sure it cursed me. failed a quiz an hour later.

i don’t want fireworks. just someone who holds my hand in grocery stores and knows how i take my coffee and doesn’t let me spiral alone at night.

‎ ‎ some days i feel like i’m here. like really here. i ask people how their weekend was. i nod at the right times. i drink my coffee before the ice melts. and it’s fine. it’s all fine. and then there are days like today. where everything feels like i’m two steps behind myself. like i’m watching my life happen through a window i can’t open. i think what gets to me the most is how no one notices. or maybe they do and just don’t ask. sometimes i just want someone to ask me something real. not like “how are you?” in the way people say it when they’re already moving on. like: “what do you think about before you fall asleep?” or “what memory do you wish felt less distant?“ but no one really asks things like that. so i write it here. not for attention or pity. just in case someone reads it and thinks, oh. me too.

Your thumb lingered on that one a little longer than you meant to. The date, just two days ago, stood out.

They weren’t sappy love notes or petty school gossip. Some were funny, in that quiet, offbeat way that made you smile before you even realized it. Others read like scattered thoughts—tiny moments most people would overlook. A few felt heavy. Not necessarily poetic, just emotionally fluent.

And somehow, the mix made it feel real. Like the person behind them wasn’t trying to be profound, just thinking out loud. And you’d wandered into the middle of it. A stream of consciousness, left open.

You hadn’t noticed how long you’d been reading until the screen dimmed and your eyes blinked back into focus. Your phone had grown warm in your hand, the heat pressed lightly into your palm.

‎ ‎ ‎1:03 AM.

The rain still tapped steadily on the glass.

Your chest felt different. Still heavy. Still stretched from the day. But in that quiet corner of the internet, nestled between strangers and static, you felt a little less alone.

Something about his voice, even in text, made you want to stay just a little longer.

‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ [Three weeks later, Monday morning]

‎ ‎ ‎

The sky looked bruised, grey bleeding into dull blue. Wind tugged at the edges of your sweater, fingers stiff as you clutched your phone and bag tighter, breath visible in the air. The walk to class felt longer today, like the world was resisting your movement, nudging you to turn around and call it quits. But you kept going.

It was early. Too early.

Streetlights flickered lazily overhead, and puddles scattered like shards across the sidewalk caught the faintest blush of light. Some students trudged past on foot. Others biked through the cold with determined misery, scarves trailing like battle flags.

You don’t remember what song was playing through your headphones. Just that it had faded into background noise by the time you reached the stone steps of the humanities building.

Inside, the contrast hit almost instantly. The stairwell was warmer, just barely. Echoes of your footsteps followed you up the narrow steps, and by the time you reached the second floor, the change in temperature was more noticeable. You pushed open the door to your poetry seminar, and warmth met you like a second skin. Soft. Immediate. A quiet relief.

The room was already half full.

You weren’t late, class hadn’t even started, but clearly, you weren’t the only one who’d chosen refuge here before the day officially began.

You made your way to your usual seat and set your things down slowly, your hands still stiff from the cold. Everything felt a little off-center. Not wrong exactly, just out of rhythm.

Lately, that feeling had been harder to shake. The kind of tired that didn’t come with yawns or heavy eyes, just a dull pressure that settled in your heart and stayed there. You were keeping up with your work. More than keeping up, really, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

And it followed you even now, as you sat there thumbing through your notes and pretending not to notice the unopened grocery list still sitting in your phone. Another reminder you’d snoozed: Buy Minho a birthday gift.

You’d been meaning to. Really. You wanted to find something personal. Something that said thank you without saying ‘thank you for giving me a pastry when I cried in your bakery and not making it weird’.

Because somehow, that moment, nearly a month ago, had turned into a quiet friendship.

You hadn’t planned to cry. You barely even remembered what tipped you over. Just that you’d walked in soaked from the rain, holding too much all at once. And Minho had noticed. Said nothing about your face or your silence. Just slid a pastry across the counter, as if to say it’s okay to fall apart here, and turned away like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Since then, he’d been… steady. Generous, even. Letting you help around the bakery during slow hours, never mind the fact that you didn’t have any real experience. Never asked much from you, just gave you things to do, space to exist. And somehow, that space he gave had started to feel like something you could lean into.

You liked that about him. The way he didn’t make kindness feel like a spotlight.

It was so different from what you were used to.

Your dad’s voice still echoed faintly in your ears from the night before. Something about your grades. Something about getting a “real” job.

You’d tuned most of it out after the first few lines, just enough to keep from getting pulled under. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying. He just had a way of making even your best efforts sound like placeholder. Like you were always one decision away from disappointing him again.

Still, despite all that, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

He never said his name. Only posted every so often, like he didn’t want to be seen but couldn’t help sharing little pieces of himself anyway. You’d never liked a single post. Never interacted. But you read every one. Not because you had a crush, exactly. There wasn’t anything romantic about it. Just curiosity. Like watching someone through a fogged window and trying to make out the shape of them.

You were pulled back to the present when a gust of wind rattled the window behind you. Your pen paused mid-scribble. The clock ticked closer to the hour.

With a quiet sigh, you opened your laptop and notebook, settling in. Around you, the room had filled up fast. Low chatter. Laptop keys. The soft rustle of jackets being peeled off. You barely noticed when the door creaked open again.

He walked in, unhurried for once. Bag slung casually over one shoulder, cheeks still pink from the cold. Your gaze lifted just as he passed your row.

It wasn’t a moment, just a glance. Eyes met. But it caught him off guard.

Somewhere in his head, something slipped. You didn’t catch the subtle shift in his grip, or how he sat down with a stiffness he didn’t usually have. His face slightly redder than before.

The professor arrived a few minutes later, launching into the usual rhythm. Announcements, dates, some soft reminders about next week’s readings. The background noise of scribbling pens and laptop keys filled in the rest.

You let yourself tune in loosely, just enough to stay tethered, until—

“I want you to write something,” the professor said, her voice lifting over the murmur, “about someone in this class.”

Your head tilted slightly. That wasn’t the usual prompt.

“Doesn’t have to be literal,” she added quickly, grinning as a few groans rose up. “And it doesn’t need to be emotional or romantic, so don’t panic. Just something rooted in observation. The way someone carries themselves. A glance. A moment you noticed. Real or imagined, doesn’t matter. Just write.”

The room stirred with sudden interest. Chairs shifted. Voices rose.

You stayed where you were. It wasn’t that the assignment scared you. It was just that your brain couldn’t decide what emotion to land on lately, and the idea of having to funnel that through another person felt like a lot.

Then your professor clapped once, sharp and cheerful.

“Pair up. You don’t have to tell your partner who you’re writing about. But you do need to help them brainstorm.”

You blinked. That part hadn’t been in the fine print.

Chairs scraped. People turned to their neighbors, already half-laughing and claiming partners with ease. You glanced once to your right, then left, more out of reflex than expectation. Then—

“You,” your professor called, eyes meeting yours. “Still need someone?”

You gave a single nod, calm. She gestured past you.

“Hwang. You’re with her.”

Well, damn.

He didn’t move at first. Still a few rows behind, seated along the elevated stretch of desks. His fingers tapped a slow, barely-there rhythm on the edge of his notebook, like he was waiting to see if you’d look up first.

When you didn’t, he stood. Walked down the aisle with a kind of casual hesitation, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. And then just hovered.

You glanced up when you felt his presence at your side.

“Mind if I—?” He gestured toward the empty chair next to you, already halfway pulling it out.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He sat a little too fast, the legs of the chair dragging with an unfortunate screech across the floor. Someone in front of you turned briefly at the sound. You didn’t laugh, but your smile almost gave you away.

Neither of you spoke right away. He glanced down at his notebook like he expected it to do the talking. It didn’t.

“…So,” he said after a second. “Poem. About a classmate.”

You nodded. He paused like he had more to say, then shook his head lightly. “You wanna go first? Or—wait. That makes it sound like I’m trying to dodge it.” He winced. “I just meant—”

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine.”

The professor had moved to the far end of the room, checking in with another group. Someone nearby kept clicking a pen like it was a nervous tic.

He gave a short nod, still unsure if he should be relieved or embarrassed.

The silence between you wasn’t tense, just unformed. Like the space before a new sketch, when the lines haven’t taken shape yet. You glanced at his notebook. He hadn’t written anything down either.

“Have someone in mind already?” you asked.

His eyes flicked up, then back to yours. “Not really. You?”

You tilted your head. “Still deciding if I wanna make someone up or not.”

That earned you a quiet smile. A real one this time. He nodded slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“I was thinking,” you added, “it might be easier to just write something loosely based. Not like ‘you wore a gray hoodie and sat four seats back on Thursdays,’ but more… the feeling someone gives you. You know?”

Your eyes flicked to him.

He looked at you a second longer than you expected, like he was still turning it over in his head. Then he nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

It was hard to tell if he meant it or was just trying to sound agreeable, but the way he said it felt genuine. Careful, in a good way. Like he’d actually considered it.

You both drifted into writing, or at least the appearance of it. His pen hovered over the page more than it moved, tracing invisible lines that never quite landed. You caught him sneaking a glance at your notebook once, but you let it slide.

A moment passed before he added, like it had been sitting in his mouth too long, “I haven’t done a partner thing in a while. Sorry if I’m kinda…”

His voice trailed off, a hand waving vaguely like he hoped you’d fill in the blank for him.

“Awkward?” you offered, not unkindly.

His head snapped up, his mouth falling open in mock betrayal, but the spark in his eyes gave him away.

“I was gonna say a little out of practice, but yeah, that too.”

You smiled, just barely. “I don’t talk much in this class either.”

That seemed to ease something in him. His shoulders uncoiled, settling just a little.

“I’m Hyunjin, by the way,” he added after a beat, almost like the thought just caught up to him. Then, quick—“I mean, I know you know that. It’s on the roll call, obviously.”

You blinked, a soft laugh pulling out of you. “Yeah. I’ve heard.”

There was a beat where he probably could’ve moved on, but instead, he glanced at you, a little unsure. “Uh, what’s your name? I mean, I know it. But I—like… it feels different asking.”

You tilted your head, a slow grin tugging at your lips. “You already know it.”

“Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it.”

That threw you a little. You told him anyway, your name landing soft but certain between you. And when you did, he nodded, like he wanted to remember exactly how you said it.

“Okay. Cool.”

Class was still going on, but the two of you had slipped into this quiet side stream, slightly outside the flow of the room. Everyone else was still taking notes, listening to the professor, but it felt like you’d ducked into some parallel pocket of time.

You weren’t sure what you were going to write about yet. But maybe now, you had more to work with than you thought.

You glanced over at him. “What’re you majoring in?”

“Visual arts,” he said, scribbling absently in the margins of his paper.

That fit. His clothes weren’t loud or branded, but they looked chosen. Like someone who knew how colors worked or at least cared. You could picture him sketching on café napkins, or showing up to class with graphite smudged on his sleeve without noticing.

“You?”

“English,” you offered. “Not super surprising, since we’re here.”

He smiled, soft and easy. “It fits.”

It felt like the conversation might naturally end there, but then he surprised you by asking, “Do you write outside of class?”

You hesitated for a second. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He nodded, a little too quickly, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands after asking. “Cool.”

“Do you?” you asked back, not teasing, just returning the energy.

“Yeah—uh, I do. Just for fun, though.” He shifted in his seat like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. “Nothing serious.”

The quick glance he sent your way told you he wanted it to sound casual, but cared a little too much about how it landed.

You raised an eyebrow, like you were still deciding whether or not to believe him.

He reached for his water bottle like it was a prop he suddenly needed, unscrewing the cap, taking a sip, then pausing, realizing it was empty. He set it back down with overly careful precision, like that would somehow make the moment less awkward.

You gave him a look. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That. The whole…” you gestured vaguely toward the bottle, fighting a smile. “Was that supposed to be dramatic—?”

“No,” he said, sitting up straighter, ears just a little pink. “Forgot I finished it earlier.”

You nodded, feigning seriousness. “Right.”

That pulled a soft huff out of him, something close to a real laugh, but before he could say anything else, the professor called time. Pens dropped. Notebooks closed. Chairs scraped quietly against the floor as everyone started packing up, but for a second longer, Hyunjin lingered like he wasn’t quite ready to leave the conversation.

As he stood, he tapped the edge of your desk. Twice, quick and light. Just enough to pull your attention.

“I’ll… keep working on it,” he said, voice softer now. Somewhere between unsure and hopeful.

And then he headed back to his seat. Moving through the aisles, slipping back into his place like nothing had happened.

You watched him go.

Then turned to a new page in your notebook, and wrote the word: presence.

𐪞

“—I swear, he looked like he was gonna short-circuit.” You balanced a tray of clean mugs in your hands as you walked toward the dish rack. “He sat down so fast the chair made that god-awful scraping sound.”

Minho, halfway through dusting powdered sugar over a fresh batch of croissants, barked a laugh. “Please tell me someone clapped.”

“Almost. One guy turned around like he thought something fell. It was kind of tragic.”

He grinned as he moved the tray to the display case, sliding it in with practiced ease. The warmth of the bakery was a welcome contrast to the wind still sneaking through the door every time it opened. Outside, people passed with their shoulders hunched, while inside, the windows fogged gently around the edges. Jazz played low over the speakers, all saxophone and soft piano.

“What’s the guy’s name again?” Minho asked.

“Hyunjin.” you said.

Minho paused, hand still on the pastry tongs. “Wait—Hyunjin? Like, my Hyunjin?”

You blinked. “Your Hyunjin?”

He set the tongs down and leaned on the counter, eyes narrowing like he was putting pieces together. “Tall, handsome, kinda dramatic but pretends he’s not, draws a lot, goes quiet when he’s flustered?”

You stared. “...That’s weirdly accurate.”

“Oh my god,” Minho said, straightening with a wide grin. “You got paired with him?”

“I didn’t volunteer,” you said, laughing. “Our professor literally pointed at us like she was picking teams for gym class.”

Minho let out another laugh and shook his head. “That explains so much. He’s been off lately.”

You tilted your head. “Off how?”

He just gave a vague shrug and returned to wiping the counter. “Nothing. He just gets in his head. Keeps stuff to himself until he explodes in the most unhinged way possible.”

You raised a brow, amused. “So... normal?”

“Painfully.” He smiled as he passed behind you, bumping your shoulder lightly with his as he went.

That pulled a laugh from you, head ducking slightly as you dried your hands. “He’s... interesting.”

“That's a very polite way of saying what the hell is wrong with him.”

You snorted. “He wasn’t bad. Just... kind of awkward. But like, in a sincere way. Like he couldn’t help it.”

Minho made a face halfway between fond and pained. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

You shook your head, amused, wiping down the espresso machine as Minho poured steamed milk into a mug with far more focus than was probably necessary. The bell above the door jingled as another customer stepped in, and the two of you slid seamlessly into work mode. Greeting them, taking the order, moving like you’d done this together a hundred times.

You liked this part of the day. The quiet before the evening rush. The part where Minho didn’t hover, didn’t push you to talk, just let the conversation rise and fall as naturally as the light shifting across the tiles.

“I actually didn’t even say much,” you said after a pause. “Like, I wasn’t trying to be weird. But I think just existing near him stressed him out.”

Minho handed the latte to a waiting customer without missing a beat. “Sounds like he likes you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, all fake innocence. “What? Who said that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t start,” he said, already grinning. “I’m just making an observation.”

“Well stop observing. We’re not in class.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

The moment settled for a second. Minho’s voice cut through, quieter as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Did your dad end up calling?”

You didn’t answer immediately, hesitating. “…Yeah. Over the weekend.”

He glanced up. “And?”

You focused on the swirl of steam rising from the espresso machine. “Same thing as always. Asked about school. Then about jobs. Asked why I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Ah,” Minho said, voice flat like a deflated balloon. “Classic hit single.”

That earned a faint smile.

As he moved past you to grab something from the lower shelf, he paused just long enough to reach up and pat the top of your head. Lightly, without ceremony.

“You’re doing fine,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. But your chest felt a little less tight than before. Suddenly—

The bell above the door slammed open with a jingle too violent to be casual.

“YAH— tell her she’s wrong!”

Changbin came barreling into the bakery like it was his second home, puffer jacket already half-off, finger pointed like he was delivering courtroom evidence.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Chaeryeong shouted as she followed behind him, nearly tripping over the doorframe with a bag of snacks clutched in one hand.

“No hello?” you asked, brows raised.

“Okay,” Changbin said, panting slightly. “You’re on the train. You offer your seat to someone. They decline. Do you sit back down or stand anyway out of guilt?”

“Sit down,” you said instantly.

“SEE?!” Changbin said, turning to Chaeryeong like he’d just won an Olympic medal.

She gasped. “No! You can’t sit after that. Now it’s awkward. Now they think you think they’re weak.”

You raised both brows. “You came here... to ask me that?”

“Obviously,” they both said in sync, like you were the slow one.

You blinked, then turned to Minho who just looked amused behind the espresso machine.

“Let me guess,” you said. “They’re ordering something now.”

“Croffle and a latte,” Chaeryeong said immediately. “Oh—and if you have the cinnamon twist—”

“We do,” Minho said, already writing it down. “And you owe her five dollars for emotional labor.”

The drama faded as fast as it came, the two of them now deep in an argument over which season of their favorite show was the best, half-bickering, half-laughing as they waited at their table.

Minho handed you a cup to pass over the counter. You called out the name.

A guy stepped forward to grab it. Young, most likely a student. Soft smile, the kind that aimed to be casual. He grabbed the drink, then slid a napkin across the counter. A number was scribbled on it.

Minho didn’t even blink.

His hand smacked down on the napkin so fast the customer jumped.

“She’s not collecting these right now,” Minho said, cool and unbothered, slowly dragging it back toward the espresso machine like it was a misplaced receipt, unnerving eye contact.

The guy blinked. Laughed awkwardly. “Uh... got it. Thanks.”

Once he was out of earshot, you turned, arms crossed.

“What?” he said, dragging the napkin off the counter and into the trash without breaking eye contact. “I’m protecting the peace.”

“You know that was insane behavior, right?”

“Just vetting the vibe,” Minho said.

“You crushed his confidence in one motion.”

“He’ll recover. Probably write a poem about it.”

You couldn’t even argue with that.

The jazz picked back up, the windows fogging further with the heat inside. Laughter spilled from the table where Changbin and Chaeryeong were now splitting the croffle and debating over who had the better music taste.

You turned back toward the counter just as Minho slid a drink in your direction.

“Didn’t ask for anything,” you said.

“Figured you needed one.”

You took a sip. Hot chocolate. Rich and sweet, still steaming.

“…You were right,” you murmured.

Minho didn’t look up. “Always am.”

𐪞

You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes without thinking. The air in your dorm was a bit cold, not enough to complain about, but enough to make you keep your socks on.

The lights stayed dim. Just the one beside your bed, casting a warm glow across the floorboards. You tossed your coat over the back of the chair, sleeves flopping to the floor, and wandered toward the kitchen corner to put away your groceries. One item at a time, methodical, like your brain needed something simple to latch onto.

What should’ve taken five minutes took thirty.

By the time you were done, your body felt heavier in that strangely comforting way. The kind of exhaustion that meant you were finally still. Showered. Fed. Sweats on. Nowhere else to be.

Your phone buzzed across the room, screen lighting up on your desk.

jisung: i think i left my soul in lecture today

you: it’s okay he didn’t grade that part

chae 🧡: was it the 75-minute slideshow with 300 transitions

binnie: WITH SOUND EFFECTS

jisung: bro the trumpet noise when he changed slides???

you: i thought i hallucinated that

chae 🧡: no that was real. i flinched

jisung: if he puts a slide whistle in next week i’m dropping out

binnie: no because the airplane sound? when the graph "took off"???

you: oh my god i forgot about that

jisung: i was THIS close to just standing up and leaving

chae 🧡: i think i actually blacked out during the bullet point explosion effect

you: no bc why did it sound like an m80 going off

jisung: he’s not making lectures anymore he’s making action films

binnie: i’m buying noise-canceling headphones just for this class

you: just raw dog the visuals?

jisung: survival of the fittest, every man for himself

chae 🧡: anyway whos bringing snacks tomorrow im not sitting through econ empty handed again

binnie: not me. last time my granola bar betrayed me

you: betrayed you how

binnie: the wrapper was SO LOUD i literally stopped mid-open because people turned around

jisung: rookie mistake u gotta open it during peak laughter, sound camouflage

chae 🧡: so true. snack acoustics.

you: they don’t teach you this in orientation

You laughed, a low breath of sound that barely rose above the hum of your heater. Flopped down onto your bed, pulling the covers over your legs, thumb still lazily hovering above the screen. The group chat was half comfort, half chaos. You didn’t need to contribute much. Just dropping in was enough.

You were about to close the app when another banner slid across the top of your screen.

‎ ‎ ‎ Hotline: New posts added to your recommendations.

Your thumb hovered.

You hadn’t checked the app all day. You hadn’t meant to forget it, but it had slipped beneath lectures, errands, and Jisung’s running commentary about how capitalism was killing his will to live. Still, something about the notification made your breath catch.

You opened it.

The interface bloomed into dusky colors. That soft blend of indigo and burnt orange. It always looked like a late evening sky. Quiet, fading.

You didn’t even need to scroll far. His profile sat right at the top of your feed, neatly slipped into your recommendations like the app knew.

Two new posts.

Your thumb hovered over the first one. It was time-stamped earlier that afternoon.

‎ ‎ ‎‎user024025 • 10h — i said something weird in class today. like i meant it to sound normal, and then it left my mouth and immediately committed social suicide. anyway. this is why i don’t speak unless absolutely necessary.

A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Small, automatic. It was the kind of thing you might write down in your notes app just to get it out of your head. Something too stupid to share, but too real to delete.

Your thumb drifted down to the second post. It was newer. Less than an hour old.

‎ ‎ ‎user024025 • 32m — some days feel like static. everything buzzing, but nothing landing. couldn’t focus, couldn’t sit still. felt like i was glitching mid-sentence. but she didn’t flinch. just looked at me like i made sense anyway. smiled, even. like being a little off wasn’t the worst thing.

You read it once. Then again.

And again.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t dressed up like some people’s posts on the app. His words always landed that way. Like they’d been written in a rush, like he’d almost left them behind. They didn’t try to be anything. They just were.

Still, they stuck to you. They always did. And this one more than usual.

You wondered who he meant. The thought brushed against you so quickly you almost missed it. Something faint pulled at your chest. Maybe curiosity.

Your gaze flicked to the Echo button just below the post.

You knew how it worked. When you echoed something, it didn’t just show up on your feed. It stayed. The post would ripple, soft waves pulsing out from the original like a quiet thread tying you to someone you didn’t know. A notification would ping on his side, nothing detailed. Just a simple signal: someone had resonated. Someone felt it too.

Sometimes posts picked up echoes in layers, gentle soundwaves folding into each other. You’d seen it happen. The soft chime that followed, a sound that shifted with the mood, was never loud enough to interrupt but always just enough to feel. For heavier posts, it was a low, echoing bell. For lighter ones, a soft, upward chime that almost sounded like wind moving through glass.

It wasn’t something you usually did. Echoing meant it stayed. It would sit pinned to your own feed like a quiet mark you couldn’t take back. Lurking felt safer. Passing through felt easier.

But tonight, your thumb didn’t move away.

You tapped the ripple once. The animation bloomed gently, a soft wave that stretched outward and settled again. You tapped it a second time, just to feel the weight of it.

And before you could think about it too long, you followed him.

There was a space for a note, something small you could leave behind. People used it for quick thoughts, one-sentence replies that layered over time, quiet annotations shared between strangers. Most people said something. A word. A question. Sometimes whole sentences if they were feeling brave.

But you didn’t write anything. Just… something.

note to @ ‎user024025 • now — 🩶

Simple. Wordless. Nothing that could be misread. Nothing that could be traced.

You stared at it for a second longer than you should have, then locked your phone and set it face-down on the blanket next to you. The soft weight of it sat against your palm.

You turned onto your back and stared up at the ceiling. The quiet of your room pressed in around you.

You didn’t know what this was. You weren’t sure you wanted to. But still—you closed your eyes with a soft, aching pull in your chest and let yourself drift until the edges of it slipped away.

𐪞

If there was one thing that always brought Hyunjin back down to earth whenever his mind got the best of him, it was art.

Not in the lofty, vague way people often meant when they wrote about it in bios or pretended to feel in museums. He meant it literally. The drag of graphite across textured paper. The slight resistance of canvas under a brush. The weight of a pencil in his hand, familiar and grounding. The shift in the air when he locked into focus and the world got quiet. It was his reset button. Always had been.

In those moments, his thoughts didn’t vanish, but they softened. Became something he could sit with.

Tonight, he needed that quiet.

A half-finished still life sat before him, shadows and shapes slowly sharpening under the glow of his desk lamp. The warmth pooled across the page like a spotlight, soft and deliberate.

The dorm was calm, save for the low hum of a lofi playlist playing from Chan’s speaker. Some mix they’d agreed on ages ago. Chan sat across from him, hunched over his laptop like always, editing something with one earbud in and the other dangling by his shoulder. Comfortable silence.

Hyunjin had just showered. Damp hair clung to his forehead, shirt collar brushing against still-cooling skin. His knee bounced under the desk, restless and wired. He was trying to draw, really, but his mind refused to cooperate.

Exams loomed. Supplies were still unbought. Three still lifes were due before the week ended. And then there was poetry class. His pencil paused mid-stroke. He was genuinely considering skipping next time, just to avoid the fallout from earlier. From you.

God. You.

You hadn’t even done anything dramatic. You’d just talked to him. Looked at him with this kind of soft, steady ease like you weren’t afraid of what you’d find there. Like you saw something worth addressing.

And that alone had left his brain in the blender.

He slouched deeper into his chair with a quiet groan, hand scrubbing through his hair. “I need to get a grip,” he muttered to no one.

Chan glanced up but didn’t say anything. Just gave a barely-there nod like: same here, man. Then went back to editing.

Hyunjin leaned back, stretching his arms overhead. Tried to shake it off. It was stupid. He didn’t even know you. Not really.

You’d always been in the periphery. First in lit, then in poetry. He barely noticed you at first. But once he did, it was like your presence had carved out space in his brain without asking. The way you laughed with your friends. The way you only spoke when it mattered. The way you looked quieter when the sky was gray.

It made no sense. And yet, somehow, it made all the sense in the world.

That was just how his mind worked. Half artist, half hopeless romantic. He could fall in love with a passing glance, obsess over a fleeting moment, turn a single expression into a whole scene he couldn’t stop replaying. Not in a dramatic way. Just in that quiet, gnawing way where small things felt sharp.

He shook himself from the thought and returned to his sketchpad, shading aimlessly. Chan was still editing, head tilted in concentration. Their “working shift,” as they called it. Muted playlists, shared snacks, the comfortable rhythm of existing next to someone without needing to talk.

The quiet didn’t last.

His phone buzzed beside him, a soft chime that cut clean through. He blinked, set his pencil down, and reached for it, already feeling the shift in the air before he even looked.

‎ ‎ ‎ Hotline: You have 1+ new followers, Someone echoed your post, @ user074320 left a note.

Something about it made his chest tighten. Too specific to be nothing, too random to mean something. Still, curiosity tugged at him. So, he tapped the alert.

The post loaded up. His own words, floating under that familiar color gradient. There, near the top of the thread, was the new note: a single gray heart.

No text. No flourish. Just a symbol, still and quiet and maybe even a little sad. His finger moved without much thought, tapping the note, which led him to the profile that had left it. That’s when he saw it.

The profile picture.

A cat. One he felt like he’d seen before. Familiar in the strangest way, but just out of reach.

The bio was short.

‎ ‎ ‎ “brain and heart full” | she/her

Something about it felt… unfiltered. Not cryptic, not curated. Just quietly present.

He scrolled slowly, like touching anything too quickly might ruin the feeling. Posts littered the page, text entries and voice notes scattered like thoughts left behind. It wasn’t curated. It was lived-in. Like someone used the app the way it was meant to be used. Not to impress, but to exist.

His thumb paused over the most recent voice post. He pressed play without realizing. Silence first. Then a breath. A heater humming in the background.

Then—

"…Dostoevsky once said, ‘It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise.”

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered. His eyes widened, breath stalling. The voice was low, thoughtful. A little amused.

“…Which is dramatic as hell for a guy who’s been dead since the 1800s, but like, he was definitely onto something.”

He jolted, sitting back like the words had physically knocked him. His hand scrambled to pause the post, thumb shaky on the screen.

“Holy shit—” he breathed, heartbeat lurching in his chest.

He practically launched backward from his desk, pencil clattering to the floor. His whole body buzzed, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. It wasn’t just hearing your voice, it was the way it filled the room. Close and clear, like you were standing right there beside him.

Chan looked up instantly, yanking out his earbud. “Yo? You good?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. He was already pacing, dragging a hand through his hair as if it might ground him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Chan straightened, the humor draining from his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin spun toward him, wild-eyed, holding up his phone like it was a detonator. “It’s her. Chan, it’s her. She followed me. She echoed my post. She left the—” he shook the phone, as if words alone weren’t enough, “—the little gray heart thing.”

Chan blinked, trying to follow. “Who?”

“The girl. From my seminar. The one I told you about. The one I got paired with for the writing thing.”

Chan’s face stayed blank. “…Okay?”

“I don’t even know how to explain this,” Hyunjin groaned, pacing faster now. “I’ve been like… maybe-sort-of-definitely spiraling about her all semester and now, she’s read my posts. She followed me.”

The last part came out in full caps, despite the fact he meant to whisper it.

Chan just stared. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me see the profile.”

Hyunjin all but threw his phone across the room.

Chan caught it, his eyes darting over the screen. Two seconds in, his eyes widened. “Bro.”

“What?” Hyunjin’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Isn’t that—” Chan pointed at the profile picture. “Isn’t that Soonie?”

Hyunjin stared, confused, his brain buffering.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

He snatched the phone back, squinting at the image. Soft orange and white fur. The smug little face. The faintest tilt of a cat’s head that screamed superiority.

It was Soonie. Minho’s cat.

Minho, who did not casually share cat photos with just anyone. Minho, who only sent Soonie pics to people he liked.

“She knows Minho?!” Hyunjin yelped, his voice pitching high in disbelief.

Chan looked like someone had just told him the world was a simulation. “No way. This is literally a crossover episode.”

Hyunjin dropped onto his bed like gravity had doubled. “I’m gonna cry.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not. I’m emotionally compromised.”

Chan snorted, grinning now. He leaned over to glance at the profile again. “Soooo? What’re you gonna do?”

Hyunjin stared at the ceiling like it held answers. “I have no idea. But whatever I was gonna do tonight… that’s canceled.”

He sat up suddenly. “Wait. What if she knows it’s me?”

“Why would she?” Chan asked, barely phased.

“I mean, not all of them were about her, but like, some of the stuff I said…” Hyunjin started flipping through his own profile, eyes wide with horror. “What if it was obvious?”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not like you wrote her name.”

Hyunjin groaned into his hands. “Okay, but I was so specific. Like weirdly specific.”

Chan snorted. “You mean poetic.”

“It wasn’t even that poetic.”

He shrugged. “It was a little poetic. It just wasn’t subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle!” Hyunjin dragged his hands through his hair, still spiraling. “I didn’t think she’d ever see it.”

“But she did,” Chan reminded him, tapping the phone. “She followed you. Echoed your post. Saw it, and didn’t run for the hills.”

Hyunjin peeked at him through his fingers. “Do you think she liked it?”

Chan shrugged. “She didn’t block you. That’s something.”

Hyunjin dropped his hands into his lap, head falling back in defeat. “This is worse than freshman studio critiques.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Okay, but hypothetically if she does know it’s you, is that bad?”

Hyunjin hesitated.

Then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Yes? What if she thinks I’m weird?”

“So? You are weird,” Chan deadpanned.

Hyunjin glared at him. “Thank you.”

“But like… endearing weird.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He sat up slowly, phone clenched in both hands like it might disappear. “I didn’t think she even noticed me. Like outside of class. I always thought she just—” He paused, his throat tightening unexpectedly. “I don’t know. I thought I was background noise.”

Chan watched him for a second, then asked, more gently this time, “How long have you been into her?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped. “Since the start of the semester. She sits a few rows ahead of me in lit. Always looks like she’s about to say something but never does. I don’t know, she just—”

His voice trailed off as he glanced over. “Are you even listening?”

Chan hummed, pretending to jot notes. “Keep going. These are solid lyrics. You’ll thank me when you’re famous.”

“Shut up.”

But Hyunjin’s mouth twitched, the smallest smile breaking through the panic.

He was too busy staring at the screen again. Your profile open, your posts still lingering. The little bio, the voice note that he couldn’t stop replaying in his head, like his brain was trying to burn it into memory before it could disappear.

“And if she knows Minho…” He flung the phone onto his bed like it had personally offended him.

Chan didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, no chance. Have you seen that guy’s side profile—”

“Don’t say that,” Hyunjin groaned, dragging a pillow to his chest like he could physically shield himself from reality. “What if she read everything?”

“She one hundred percent did.”

Hyunjin buried his face in the pillow. “She knows I sketch people in class. She knows about my ex.”

Chan nodded solemnly. “You’re emotionally naked. Congrats.”

Hyunjin flopped onto his back, letting out a strangled sound. “I can never show my face in class again.”

“You have to show your face.”

“I physically can’t.”

“You’re literally writing a poem about her.”

“DON’T remind me.”

Chan lost it at that, laughing so hard he had to pull his hoodie over his face to muffle it.

Hyunjin just groaned louder, sinking deeper into the pillow, fully committed to his spiral. The room settled again. The kind of quiet that hangs when something real is about to surface.

“…Do you think she’d like me?” The words came out small, barely above a whisper, like Hyunjin wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Chan slowly lowered his hoodie, the grin softening. “Why wouldn’t she? You’re a good guy.”

Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His thumb traced slow circles along the seam of the pillow, thinking, picking at the edge like it could offer a distraction.

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. What if it’s not enough?” His voice was steady, but there was a rawness tucked just beneath it. “What if I’m just this… collection of almosts?”

Chan tilted his head, his gaze steady but soft. “She sat with you. Talked with you. Shared something. Gave you her name. She even followed you.”

Each thing landed quietly, but with weight.

“She didn’t have to do any of that,” Chan added. “But she did. That’s something.”

Hyunjin looked at the screen again. That little gray heart sat there, faint and quiet, like a secret only he knew how to read.

Something cracked open in Hyunjin’s chest.

He exhaled, long and heavy, like he didn’t know how else to carry the feeling. “…What am I supposed to do with that?”

Chan stretched, grabbing the hoodie from his chair and tossing it to him. “You sit with it. You don’t freak out. And maybe…” He smiled a little. “Maybe you think about what you’d say if you weren’t trying to hide.”

Hyunjin caught the hoodie, turning it over in his hands like it could offer an answer. His eyes flicked back to your profile one last time, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t press anything else. Not yet.

But his mind was already rewriting what he might say.

𐪞

“I’m just saying, there’s definitely a hot guy behind that profile,” Chaeryeong insisted, grabbing a small basket as you both stepped into Lunevelle.

The plaza hummed with that easy, midweek kind of life. Lazy string lights swaying above patio chairs, low music drifting from a nearby café, the scent of roasted peanuts and expensive cologne tangled in the air. You tugged your sleeves over your hands, letting Chaeryeong lead the way as you filled her in on the Hotline situation.

Inside, Lunevelle gleamed in that curated, chaotic way: rows of glosses like tiny potions, shelves lined with serums stacked like artifacts, soft bursts of laughter as people swatched eyeshadows and debated undertones. It felt like stepping into another universe. One where real problems didn’t exist. Just hydrating primers and glitter.

“Someone who posts like that?” Chaeryeong said, slipping past a wall of toners with scary precision. "Definitely at least a 7.5. Minimum."

You raised an eyebrow, flipping a hand cream tester between your fingers. “You’re just inventing stats now.”

“Not at all,” she replied, scanning cleansers like she was decoding a map. “Guys who can write? Rare. Like, golden retriever who files taxes rare.”

You trailed after her, amused, as she turned a corner. Everything sparkled here. The floor, the lipstick rows, the mirror-lined shelves whispering buy it, you’ll be a better person. You picked up a random lip balm just to feel less like a bystander.

Chaeryeong stopped in front of a display of perfumes, eyes lighting up. “Wait. You need a signature scent.”

You blinked. "Do I?"

“Yes.” She spritzed a card and handed it to you like she was passing judgment. “You’re entering your mysterious era. Hotline boy requires olfactory intrigue.”

You took a cautious sniff and immediately recoiled. “Chae. This smells like expensive heartbreak.”

“Exactly,” she said, completely unfazed. “Emotional damage, but make it luxury.”

You choked on a laugh and reached for the rollerball version of your usual scent, dropping it into her basket.

Chaeryeong looped her arm through yours, steering you toward makeup like a woman on a mission. “Okay, but be serious. He followed you back. That’s basically a soft launch. You have to get married now.”

“That is not how any of this works,” you said, half-laughing.

She ignored you, already swatching lipsticks across the back of her hand with the intensity of a pro. “What’s his vibe? If you had to guess.”

You thought about it. “Quiet. Smart. Probably has good hands.”

Chaeryeong froze, halfway through swatching. “Pause. What do hands have to do with this?”

You shrugged. “Writers. Artists. Same difference. Nice hands.”

She blinked at you. Then burst into laughter so loud a worker down the aisle glanced over. “You are so gone,” she wheezed.

“I’m not,” you muttered, cheeks warming.

“Denial,” she said, adding a sheer gloss to the basket. “First stage of love.”

Then she found a heart-shaped blush compact and gasped like she’d discovered treasure. “Tell me this isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” she said, cradling it like a newborn.

You peered at it. “It’s you. In makeup form. Small, dramatic, overpriced.”

She gasped dramatically, clutching it to her chest. “How dare you. I’m at least reasonably priced.”

Your laughter spilled over both of you as you wandered toward the mini skincare section. She picked up a travel-sized moisturizer and squinted at the label.

“Ten dollars?” she hissed. “It’s the size of a single Tic Tac.”

“Capitalism thrives on our despair,” you said dryly, tossing a mini sunscreen into the basket. “If I’m going broke, I’m dragging you with me.”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

At some point, Chaeryeong slowed in front of a mirror, pretending to adjust her hair with exaggerated focus. You caught the flicker in her eyes. Strategic.

She wasn’t admiring her reflection. She was scanning.

You followed her gaze, subtle as you could. Near the cologne section, a guy was testing out a line of scents. Tall. Sharp jawline. Long black coat that moved when he did. A baseball cap pushed back over dark hair, revealing enough to catch your attention but not enough to give much away.

Chaeryeong elbowed you so hard you nearly knocked over a display of mini mascara wands.

“Target acquired,” she whispered, dead serious.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to wingwoman you or…?”

She waved you off, eyes still fixed on him through the mirror. “Please. I just want to observe from a safe, non-humiliating distance.”

“Oh, good,” you deadpanned. “Stalking. The foundation of every stable relationship.”

“Exactly,” she said, beaming. “Academia could never teach me this level of social maneuvering.”

You shook your head, smiling as you guided her away before she developed a backstory and assigned him a name. She kept sneaking glances over her shoulder like she was tracking a rare bird, nearly tripping over a stray basket left on the ground.

At checkout, she dumped both your hauls onto the counter like she was unloading a smuggled artifact. Travel-sized everything. A rollerball perfume. A suspiciously expensive blush you definitely didn’t need but had somehow ended up holding like it had chosen you.

“New plan,” she declared, nudging your arm as the cashier began scanning items. “Post-haul ramen. I’m starving.”

You blinked. “We were in here for thirty minutes.”

“And yet,” she said, solemn, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “My body cries out for noodles.”

You stifled a laugh. “Fine. But you’re buying my drink.”

“Done.” She handed the cashier her card with flair, like it was her credit card and her resignation letter. “Just don’t tell Changbin. He still thinks I’m saving money.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth. Somehow, the stress of the week felt lighter, tucked between perfume samples and the promise of warm food.

Outside, the night had cooled.

The sky was clear now, the rain from earlier leaving the pavement damp and gleaming under the soft light of the plaza. Your bags swung gently at your sides as you stepped into the evening air, your breath misting slightly in the cold.

You weren’t even five steps out before someone collided into your shoulder.

Three figures.

You staggered slightly, blinking against the sudden blur, only to hear a gasp so dramatic it could’ve ended an episode.

"Changbin!" Chaeryeong cried, clutching her shopping bag to her chest. “We literally manifested you.”

Changbin looked vaguely alarmed. “That sounds… dangerous,” he said, laughing as he shifted back a step, giving you both room.

Chan was just behind him, hoodie zipped halfway, hands stuffed into his pockets like he’d been waiting to be amused. He gave a polite nod, eyes flicking to your bags.

Hyunjin lingered a few paces back. Shoulders slightly hunched. Hood up. His posture was looser than usual, but his hands were fidgeting with the sleeve of his coat, tugging at a thread that probably didn’t exist.

He looked like someone deciding between walking home or vanishing into the sidewalk now that you’d seen him.

You offered the group a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the collision.”

“All good,” Chan said easily, giving you a grin that felt familiar in the way coffee shops and study playlists were. He nodded toward the haul in your hands. “Retail therapy?”

“At its most expensive,” you joked.

“I regret nothing,” Chaeryeong added, shifting her shopping bags like she was carrying treasure.

Then her eyes lit up. “Wait, this actually works out. We were literally about to hunt for food.”

At the word, Changbin’s head snapped up like someone had summoned him by name. “Food?” he repeated, already halfway invested.

“Ramen,” Chaeryeong said with a nod, like she was offering a sacred truth. “Few shops down. Cozy, life-changing, slightly overpriced. Want in?”

You caught it in the corner of your eye. Hyunjin, still quiet, still standing just outside the circle. His fingers shifted on the strap of his bag, but his gaze flicked up at the mention of ramen. Not quite a smile. Just a flicker.

“I’m in,” Changbin said, already turning in the direction of the restaurant like a man with purpose.

Chan looked between you and the rest, hands still tucked into his hoodie pockets. “You guys mind if we crash?”

You shrugged, already smiling. “The more the merrier.”

“Perfect,” Chaeryeong said before anyone could second-guess it. She looped her arm through yours with flair. “Let’s go.”

So you did.

Just like that, you were all walking down the plaza together, a slightly chaotic little group drifting past late-night shops and glowing storefronts.

The ramen place sat tucked at the far end, half-hidden behind hanging lanterns and a dark wood façade. It looked like it belonged somewhere much fancier than a college plaza. The kind of place that felt secret once you stepped inside.

The door swung open with a soft chime.

Inside, the world shifted.

Warm air hit your face, thick with the scent of slow-cooked broth and toasted sesame oil. Golden light hung low from paper lamps, painting the wooden walls in a honeyed glow. Most of the noise stayed outside. This space held only hushed voices, the gentle clink of bowls, and the soft shuffle of slippers against floorboards.

Some tables sat open near the front, but the real charm was deeper inside. Alcoves tucked behind narrow dividers, each with a sunken table and thick floor cushions. It looked more like a dream than a college late-night dinner.

The hostess greeted you all with a soft smile, hands folded politely. After a few beats of mild chaos—mostly Chaeryeong trying to convince her that “five can totally squeeze into one booth, I swear”—you were led toward the back, past hanging noren curtains and a gently humming heater.

The floor dipped slightly into the recessed area, and the heat beneath your socks was immediate.

“Take off your shoes,” Chaeryeong whispered like it was a secret, already kicking hers off and sliding in with practiced ease.

You followed, stepping carefully over the threshold and tucking your shoes neatly to the side, the warmth of the floor making you relax without thinking.

The seating settled naturally, like a puzzle clicking into place: you in the middle, with Chaeryeong on your left and Chan on your right. Across from you, Changbin spooled out into his seat like a cat, already messing with the paper napkin holder. And Hyunjin slipped in beside him, careful not to jostle the table.

Somehow, it didn’t feel crowded. It felt intimate. The divider muted the rest of the restaurant, turning your corner into a private bubble of clinking spoons and soft lighting. The lamp above your table glowed amber, casting halos across every sleeve and half-shadowed smile.

As soon as you were seated, the chaos started again.

Changbin dove in immediately. “Okay, so explain to me how you almost broke Lunevelle, Chae.”

She exhaled dramatically, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater like it was part of the story. “I almost tripped because I was distracted by love.”

“Love?” Changbin raised a brow, clearly entertained. “What, did a highlighter call your name?”

Chaeryeong swatted his arm. “No, idiot. A guy. And how do you even know what a highlighter is?”

“YAH, I’m not illiterate—”

You snorted into your sleeve, the edges of your menu curling slightly in your hands. Their voices were overlapping now, sparring with ease and rhythm like they’d been doing this forever.

“You should’ve seen him,” Chaeryeong went on, eyes wide. “Tall. Black coat. Hair that looked illegal.”

Changbin gagged. “Illegal hair. Fantastic. I’ll alert the authorities.”

Chan chuckled low beside you, and you turned toward the sound, half-curious. He looked relaxed, arm resting on the low table, eyes squinting a little with the smile.

"Is he like this around you too?" you asked, tilting your head toward Changbin.

“Unfortunately.” Chan leaned into his palm, still grinning. “We’ve known each other too long. I can’t take him anywhere.”

You laughed under your breath, your thumb tracing the edge of your menu. “Figured. You two in the same major or something?”

Chan shook his head. “Nah. Different departments. Just found each other early. Stuck, I guess.”

There was something easy about the way he said it. Like it didn’t need to be deeper than that. And you liked that. The idea that some people just stayed because they wanted to, not because they had to.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your major?”

“English,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your napkin. “Technically literature, but same deal.”

“Ahh.” He nodded like something had clicked. “Explains the bookstore energy.”

You blinked. "The what?"

He gave a half-laugh, more like a confession.

“Bookstore energy. You know, like you’re always about to recommend a novel that’ll emotionally destroy me, but in a character-building kind of way.”

You stared at him, then cracked up, half-embarrassed. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a red flag.”

“Both,” he said easily, his grin widening. “But I mean it in a good way.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, another voice chimed in. Quieter, a little hesitant.

"What kind of stuff do you read?" Hyunjin asked.

Your eyes flicked up, surprised to find him watching you.

His fingers played absently with the hem of his sleeve under the table, and his voice, though soft, carried easily in the cozy space.

You tilted your head slightly. “A little of everything. Lately… mostly poetry, I guess.”

Hyunjin nodded slowly, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he’d already guessed that. Like maybe he’d been waiting to hear you say it out loud.

You tried not to think about how still he looked when he was listening. Or how the space between you across the table suddenly felt more noticeable than it had five minutes ago.

“And you?” you asked gently, because it felt right to return the question.

He shrugged, gaze dropping to the table. “Sketchbooks. Notebooks. Whatever fits.”

His voice was light, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Like he was trying not to sound like he cared too much about the answer.

You smiled, soft. "That's fair."

The conversation could’ve ended there. Should’ve, probably. But somehow, it didn’t.

Chan leaned in a little, his shoulder brushing yours. “You guys have the same poetry seminar, right?”

You blinked. "Yeah. How’d you—"

"Hyunjin mentioned it." Chan smiled innocently.

Your stomach dipped, just slightly. The kind of shift you feel before anything’s actually said. You glanced at Hyunjin. He didn’t look up. Just traced the edge of his chopsticks along the table, like they might draw a line he could disappear behind.

Beside you, Chaeryeong popped back into the conversation like she hadn’t just been arguing about the superior gyoza dipping sauce. “Speaking of tragic poetry—do you think Mystery Coat Guy is thinking about me right now?”

Changbin didn’t miss a beat. “He’s probably filing a restraining order.”

“You’re evil,” she said, launching a paper napkin at him with perfect aim.

You ducked your head, laughing softly into your hands as their voices tangled together again, warm and too familiar to fully tune out. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you risked another glance across the table.

Hyunjin wasn’t looking at you. But his hands stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to wonder what that meant.

In the background, Chaeryeong had declared war over appetizers.

“I swear on my mother, Bin, we are not ordering plain edamame again—”

“It’s healthy!”

“It’s depressing!”

Chan raised a hand like a weary coach breaking up a team fight. “Split the order. Half gyoza, half… whatever Changbin’s weird health phase is.”

“I accept these terms,” Chaeryeong said, nodding solemnly like she was signing a treaty.

The waitress returned mid-laugh, clearly amused by the chaos, dropping off thick menus and a wooden clipboard for drinks. Changbin snatched the list with the determination of a man making history.

“Okay, team,” he announced, tapping it against the table. “We have a decision to make. Shots?”

You nearly choked. “Changbin. We haven’t even ordered food yet.”

“Exactly.” He looked dead serious. “Empty stomach. Maximum efficiency.”

“You’re going to pass out before the noodles even show up,” Chaeryeong muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Chan shrugged. “One round won’t kill us.”

You and Chaeryeong exchanged a glance. The kind that spoke in full sentences.

She sighed like she was giving in to fate. “Fine. One round. But we’re ordering actual food first before Changbin’s spirit leaves his body.”

Menus were passed. Orders were shouted over each other. Someone demanded extra broth; someone else lobbied for dessert mid-meal. The entire table fell into a kind of organized chaos that only made sense among people who felt safe with each other.

The heater against the wall filled the alcove with slow, gentle warmth. One by one, people started shedding layers. Chan shrugging out of his thick jacket, Changbin tossing his hoodie beside him, Chaeryeong stretching out her legs with a dramatic sigh as she slid off her fuzzy cardigan.

You pushed your sleeves up, tucking your legs beneath you, comfortably folded into the glow. The playlist hummed softly through overhead speakers. A slow roll of Japanese city pop, syrupy basslines and dreamy vocals giving everything that floaty, out-of-time feeling.

When the drinks arrived, a neat row of shot glasses and a bottle of soju that looked far too unassuming for what it was about to unleash, Changbin clapped once, loud enough to startle a nearby table.

“Alright! Round one, let’s go!” he declared, already pouring like an enthusiastic bartender with zero training.

“Wait—” Chan reached for his glass. “Drumroll. It’s law.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Drumroll!”

Chaeryeong immediately started smacking the table like she was in a percussion ensemble. You joined in, then Chan, the rhythm gaining speed until even Hyunjin caved and tapped a lazy beat with his knuckles, a half-hidden smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

Changbin raised his shot glass like he was about to deliver a campaign speech. “To retail therapy, ramen survival, and future mistakes we can blame on peer pressure!”

“Cheers!” everyone chorused, the clink of glass sharp and bright before the burn hit your throat.

It was smooth. Sweet at first, then sharp as it settled. You winced just slightly, and when your eyes flicked up, you caught Hyunjin watching you, the corner of his mouth quirking into something crooked and unreadable.

Food arrived in waves. Bowls of steaming ramen, plates of crispy karaage, glistening gyoza, and enough side dishes to make the table creak. Everyone leaned in, elbows bumping, sleeves rolled, stealing bites and swapping side-eyes when someone went in for seconds.

Somewhere between noodle slurps and laughter, Changbin struck with zero warning.

“So,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning in like this was about to be classified information. “I’ve got tea.”

Everyone immediately went silent, heads snapping toward him. Even Chaeryeong lowered her chopsticks. “What level of tea?” she asked suspiciously.

Changbin looked around theatrically, despite no one in the restaurant paying them any attention. Then, in a voice so serious it could’ve passed for academic, he said, “You guys know Wooyoung, right? Works the front desk at the campus gym?”

Chaeryeong sat up straighter. “The Wooyoung? Trainer, flirts with everyone, weirdly good at dance?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Okay?” you said slowly. “What about him?”

Changbin exhaled, like this physically pained him to hold in. “Apparently, he got caught hooking up with one of the student coordinators. During a wellness event.”"

You choked on your water. “During?! Like, mid-yoga?!”

“Not in the class,” Changbin clarified, “but like, ten minutes before his scheduled shift. In the storage room.”

“No,” Chaeryeong whispered, scandalized. “The one with the mats?!”

“The very one,” Changbin said, solemn as ever.

Chan let out a sharp laugh. “Man really said mind, body, and soul.”

“And the worst part,” Changbin continued, lowering his voice even more, “is the student coordinator was already dating someone. Long-term. Like three-year relationship. Everyone thought they were going to graduate and move in together.”

“Nooooo,” Chaeryeong moaned, clapping a hand over her mouth. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was,” Changbin said, looking deeply pleased with himself.

“Who told you this?” you asked, stunned.

“I have sources,” he replied cryptically, sipping his water like it was wine.

“You’re the worst,” Chaeryeong said, practically vibrating. “But also, give me names.”

“I value my life too much.”

“Coward.”

Laughter crackled around the table again, louder this time, more unhinged. The kind that makes your cheeks hurt and your chest feel warmer than the soju ever could.

As the buzz settled back into the glow, the playlist shifted. Something breezy and sparkling, the kind of upbeat tempo that made your feet itch to move. You barely had time to register it before Chaeryeong turned to you with a gleam in her eye.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing your wrist. “Dance break.”

“Wait—what—no, no—”

But she was already pulling you from the booth, into the small open space near the front of the restaurant where a few other diners were casually swaying in their seats. The lights blurred slightly from the alcohol and warmth, and the air pulsed with synths and sugar-sweet vocals.

Chaeryeong twirled you clumsily, both of you laughing like kids at a sleepover. You stumbled over your own feet, tipsy and too full, dizzy from the sudden movement and everything that had led up to this moment.

From the table, Changbin whooped like a proud father filming his child’s recital. Chan banged his hand on the table like he was front row at a concert.

And Hyunjin—

He wasn’t laughing, but he was watching. Smiling, yes, but not like he was entertained. Like he was remembering. His chin rested in his hand, hair falling slightly into his eyes, and for a long, steady beat, his gaze never left you.

You felt your pulse stutter. You almost missed a step.

When the song faded and you and Chaeryeong stumbled back, breathless and flushed, Changbin immediately shoved his phone in your face. “Behold: cinema,” he said, showing you the wobbly video. “You’re welcome.”

You lunged for the phone. “Delete it right now or I will throw it into the broth.”

“Justice for the arts!” he cried, holding it out of reach.

“You’re both insane,” Chan said, but he was laughing too, his face crinkled with warmth.

More shots were poured. More toasts shouted—to surviving exams, to not texting your ex, to chaotic retail purchases that may or may not fix your life.

It was one of those rare, glowing nights. The kind that doesn’t become a memory so much as a feeling. Soft around the edges. Warm at the center. A small collection of golden hours folded into the corners of your chest.

As the night wound down, shoes were pulled back on with lazy groans and wobbly balance, receipts were stuffed into pockets, and the group spilled out of the restaurant in a loose, slightly tipsy drift.

The air outside was sharp with the bite of early nightfall. It kissed your cheeks, slipping into the spaces left behind by the restaurant’s warmth, making you pull your sleeves down again without thinking.

Chaeryeong and Changbin immediately launched into a half-serious argument about the nearest convenience store.

“I know it’s down this way,” she insisted, already marching in the wrong direction.

“I have the map app open right now,” Changbin groaned. “Trust the system!”

“You are the system, and I don’t trust you,” she replied without missing a beat.

They veered off down the sidewalk, still bickering. Chan lingered behind with you, hands in his pockets, exhaling slowly like he wasn’t ready to break the night apart just yet.

He leaned a little closer, not enough to invade your space, just enough to make it easier to hear his voice. “Hey,” he said, casual. “Let me get your number? Just in case. Group stuff. Or whatever else.”

You smiled, a little flushed from the drinks, a little warm from the moment, and handed him your phone. He typed his number in, then added a little star emoji next to his name, holding it up like it was official documentation. “There,” he said. “Now I sparkle.”

As you slid your phone back into your pocket, something caught your eye. A flicker of movement just past the soft glow of the restaurant window. Hyunjin.

He stood a few feet away, just near a small flower stand tucked between the ramen shop and a dimly lit store. The bouquets were cheap, wrapped in plastic, cellophane crinkling in the breeze, but his hand hovered over them gently. Fingertips brushing along the edge of a petal like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

He looked distant, untethered. Like someone replaying the night in his head before it had even ended.

You hesitated. Then, before you could second-guess it, you walked toward him. “Hey,” you said softly.

He turned, eyes widening slightly, like you’d pulled him back from somewhere else entirely. His hair shifted in the breeze, falling into his eyes before he pushed it away with a lazy flick.

You held up your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark. “Mind if I get your number too?”

For a second, he just stared at you. And then he smiled. Not the polite one. Not the cautious, halfway-there version he gave most people. This one was quiet, almost shy.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

You passed him your phone, and he typed in his number slowly, like he wanted to get it right. His hands were graceful, slightly cold when they brushed yours as he handed it back. You glanced down. A little black heart sat next to his name.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Chan watching, a barely-there smirk tugging at his mouth, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Couldn’t.

Hyunjin tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, half-looking at you, half-looking away. “See you in class?”

“Yeah,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “See you.”

And for the first time that night, maybe for the first time since you met, he looked at you like he wanted to. Not like he was trying to figure you out, or keep a distance.

But like the space between you didn’t feel so uncertain anymore.

The others were starting to regroup down the street, Chaeryeong shouting something about chocolate milk while Changbin protested dramatically in the background.

You turned to go, but paused—glancing back over your shoulder. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. But he was still watching.

You jogged back toward the group, where Chaeryeong immediately looped an arm around your shoulders like you hadn’t just had a moment that rearranged the molecules in your lungs.

“Let’s go get milk,” she mumbled, sleepy and satisfied. “And water. Lots of water. I feel like a raisin.”

You laughed, letting her lean into you. But the laughter didn’t erase it. That hum in your chest, that electric thread stretched taut in the space behind you.

Still tugging.

Waiting.

As you walked farther down the street, the sounds of your friends blending into background noise, you heard quiet footsteps behind you. Chan and Hyunjin had fallen into step together.

Chan bumped his shoulder gently into Hyunjin’s, voice low but amused. “You gonna pretend that didn’t just happen?”

Hyunjin gave him a small, lopsided smile. “I’m not pretending anything.”

Chan nodded like he already knew. Then, softer, almost teasing. “She’s got bookstore energy, huh?”

Hyunjin looked ahead, expression unreadable, but the smile stayed.

“Yeah.”

゜・．・ hope you enjoyed! want to support?

part two • follow/reblog • leave a request • my other works

🏷️ ‎ @kkatsvy‎‎ ‎ ( ty for the support on starting this acc, love you sm )

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 37 - Have Violent Ends

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 12.9k words.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting, claiming), abuse, physical abuse, psychological abuse, death, use of weapons, hurt/comfort, angst, blood, assault, description of wounds, aftermath of torture, mentions of SA, implied SA & Rape.

AN: Heed the warnings again. I will be taking a little break from this fic to work on some other things. Just get ready for lots of fluffy comfort to come.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You wake in pain. 

You’re naked and freezing. 

Your body throbs, you groan pulling your legs up to your chest. The floor is wet and cold, you open your eyes but you can’t see anything. The room is pitch black. You know where you are though you recognise it, the cold hard stone floor, the metal drain digging into your thigh, the smell of damp.

You turn over groaning. You’re in so much pain, there’s pain everywhere, in your head and your stomach. There’s a burn between your legs. You move your hand down, your thighs are raw from rubbing them together. You have no idea how long it’s been. The last thing you remember was strangers coming into the room to handcuff you back to the bed. 

Then there was Mandy, she was almost menacing the way she came over to you with a needle in her hand. After that you don’t remember anything. You force a hand up to the back of your neck, you’re almost too scared to feel. You squeeze your eyes closed, you hope he didn’t claim you, your breathing picks up, your heart feels like it’s about to burst out your chest. 

When your fingers feel the deep indents of his teeth you almost don’t believe it. Or moreover, you don’t want to believe it. You sob, your hand starts to shake as you follow the indents around.

He claimed you. 

He claimed you. 

You pull your hand away and your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. You sob in the cold dark room while you’re alone. You don’t even care if he’s watching, in fact you hope he is watching. You hope he can see how upset you are, how much you don’t want his mark.  

You’re not sure how long you’re sobbing for, until your nose is stuffy and your head is throbbing so much it’s turning your sobs into pained groans. That's when the lights in the room are turned on, you jump squeezing your eyes closed and dig your fingers into your legs. 

The smell of beta fills the room. It’s too familiar, you can’t focus, you’re in too much pain. You slowly open your eyes and look up through your blurred vision to see Mandy bending down by your head. The back of her hand presses on your forehead. 

Her hand is cold - it reminds you of Piper. 

“I know you’re in pain.” She says. There’s an edge to her voice, it almost sounds like sadness. You watch as she sits back on her legs and opens her bag. You recognise what she takes out, and IV kit.

“Please don’t.” You beg, you don’t want more drugs, even if it’s just pain relief. “I don’t want anything.” 

She hesitates, you smell her trying to relax you. You sob again, you don’t want her to relax you, you want her gone. You just want to be left alone. 

“You’re dehydrated.” She says. 

“Then-” You choke on the word, you feel how dry your mouth is all of a sudden. “Then get me some water.” 

“You need the rest.” She says. 

“I need my pack.” You sob back. It’s a low blow but you don’t care, you hope the Professor is listening now.

“This will help you.” She says. You shake your head. She hesitates then puts it back in her bag. You want to smile, she listened to you. She let you have your way. Instead she pulls out a stethoscope and puts it in her ears. 

She shuffles towards you slowly, you let her. She rubs the chest piece in her hand before pressing it against your back. 

“Take a big breath.” She says you do, letting your lungs fill the whole way, it hurts. When she’s done she sits back on her legs and puts the stethoscope back in her bag. She pulls out a water bottle and places it on the floor before standing up.

“Is there anything I can get you?” She asks. You don’t know what to say, you just blink at her, willing her to leave. She sighs, pressing her lips together before turning.. 

“She would braid my hair.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“What’s that?” She asks, turning back to you. 

“Piper. She would braid my hair.” You say, you feel silly saying it now. Your hair’s been cut short. It wasn’t about the hair anyway. It was the comfort she would give you after your heats. She would hold you and let you cry, she would wash you gently with nice smelling soaps and wouldn’t let the Professor anywhere near you. 

“I’m sorry, is there anything else I can do?” 

You shake your head. “Just leave.” 

She sighs and leaves, turning the light off on the way out. 

The barn didn’t offer much privacy but still, Price, Simon, Alejandro and Kate picked a corner and had been there all morning. 

“We could have stayed at the house for one more night.” Kyle says. 

“Could be worse.” Johnny sighs. 

“Why did we come out here so early?” Piper asks, sitting down at the table. 

“The Vaqueros, got delayed or we would have been going in sooner.” Alex says. Piper looks over at him, he’s been reading through files for the past few hours. They’ve all been trying to keep busy, Johnny’s halfway through cleaning another weapon.

“All the explosives they’re bringing are slowing them down.” Johnny clarifies. 

“Are you going to be able to blow up the place?” Piper asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Now we have the right tools we can.” Johnny replies. “Los Vaqueros know how to blow shit up.” 

“Their parties go pretty hard too.” Kyle chuckles. 

“What do you think the plan is going to be?” Piper asks, looking back over at the other group of people standing around a table.  

“I reckon 3 teams-” Johnny starts. 

“Cap, Ghost and Alejandro.” Kyle says. 

“Yeah, one team takes the front, the other two down the service hatch.” Johnny continues. 

“One team looks for the main control room,  the other two are looking for Graves, the omega and Hale.” Kyle says. 

“Laswell and Nik are on overwatch.” Alex says. They both nod. 

“That easy?” Piper asks. 

“Well that's the basics of it. They’ll have a more detailed plan.” Kyle shrugs. 

“Not always that simple Garrick.” Piper hears Simon walk up behind them. She turns and stands up to see them all walking over. 

“We have a plan?” Kyle asks. John nods, resting his hands on his hips. They explain the plan, it ends up being pretty similar to the simple plan Kyle and Johnny explained. 3 teams are going in, 2 down the service hatch then 1 in the front, they expect the team going in the front to get spotted pretty quickly, that's where the majority of the Vaqueros will go. 

The shadows are being treated as hostiles but the plan is to make sure Hale survives. 

“This is a rescue mission.” John reminds everyone. “Our main objective is to rescue the omega, the secondary objective is to secure Victor Hale and Philip Graves.” 

“Piper is going to go in with Bravo-2, she knows the layout of the bunker better then any of us and she will know how to find Hale’s office which is where the omega is most likely to be.” John explains. 

“We also need her for medical. We don’t know what state the omega is going to be in. The moment she’s recovered I want to hear it. She will be fearful of strangers. Alejandro is going to lead Bravo-1 in through the front. Myself and Ghost will take Bravo-2 and 3.” He continues. Piper listens, taking in all the details and who’s going to be on what team. 

She’s never been involved in anything like this before, she’s not sure she understands some of the information John talks about.

“C’mon.” Simon says to her eventually once John has asked if there are any more questions. 

“What?” She asks getting up and following him. 

“Going to teach you how to shoot and how to use a radio.” He explains. 

“I know how to fire a gun.” She says. 

“Good, then all you need to do is impress me.” 

You’re still naked as you’re marched to back down to the professor's office. The bunker is freezing, you wrap your arms around your chest but it doesn’t help you feel any less exposed. Your body is covered in bruises, most of them are around your stomach, thighs and wrists. You’re used to this though, you’ve woken up in worse states. 

You’re glad you don’t remember much, it will come though, the memories can take a few days to filter in. For now the only reminder you have is the pain, and his mark. Thinking about his mark makes you feel sick. It should be John’s mark there not his, you never wanted him to touch you again and now he’s bound to you. 

He’s your alpha now and now you have to be his omega. His obedient, passive omega. 

Tears are running down your face as the lift dings. You get in, not even bothering to look at Mandy, you press the button and the door closes. You wipe the tears away while you’re alone. He won’t want you to be upset, he won't want to see you cry. 

You hesitate as the lift stops and the door opens. You can smell him, he smells different now, more familiar, his scent is mellow instead of harsh and hitting the back of your nose. 

You step out, the door to his bedroom is open, you turn and see him in the office. His eyes lock on to you and he stands up. He meets you at the glass door, your arms are still wrapped around your chest as he opens it in silence and moves to the side. 

You see the scar on his lip, and there's a bandage on the side of his neck. You remember some of that, mainly the fear of knowing he would hurt your pack, and the taste of blood. You did that, you hurt him.

You walk in and his hand grips your wrist pulling your arms away from your chest. You drop them and he smiles letting out a satisfied hum. His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. 

“You’re mine now.” He says before reaching down to kiss you, you just relax your mouth and let him do what he wants. It doesn’t seem to satisfy him though and he grabs your chin harder pulling his face away. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. He never asks, you don’t know what to say, you just stand there looking at him with your mouth hanging open, the taste of alcohol and smoke is still lingering on your tongue. 

“What? You don’t want to kiss your alpha?” He asks, but it's almost a growl, it makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. He presses his lips together and pushes your face away. It jolts your jaw hard. He looks angry, you can smell his anger. 

The next thing you know his hand comes around your neck and he squeezes. 

“You’re such a disrespectful omega!” He snaps, you can’t breathe. “You’re mine and you will do what I want. You don’t have a pack anymore, just me!”

“Sorry.” You choke out, it’s barely a word. 

“Sorry what?” 

“Alpha.” Your hands move to claw at his hand around your neck, panic sets in as your lungs burn.

“Sorry alpha.” He lets you go, you collapse to the floor, your knees and hands slam painfully on the cold black tile. Your head spins as you suck in as much air as possible. You hear him sigh and go over to the sofa. 

“Come.” He calls. You stand up, rubbing your neck and going over to him. He sits down on the couch and you stop in front of him. You realise the coffee table has been moved, he spreads his legs motioning for you to sit between them. You kneel down looking up at him. 

He sighs again, he sounds disappointed as he leans forward. His hand runs down to the bandage on his neck. 

“You hurt me. Do you remember?” He asks. You shake your head, you do remember but you don’t want him to know you do. “You attacked me.” 

His hand crashes into your face before you even realise what's going on. It snaps your head to the side, it hurts and makes your head spin even more. You swallow the sob and turn to look back at him, you see the anger in his eyes, then the regret. 

He hurt his omega, that's going to affect him too. Good, maybe he’ll start being nicer to you, probably not. His hand comes back to your face, and he brushes where he slapped you. You freeze up and look in his eyes. He smiles, his thumb rubs your cheek and he tips his head to the side. 

“You’re going to be a good omega for me now, okay?” He says, widening his eyes. You nod, he raises an eyebrow. You swallow taking a second to compose yourself.  

“Yes alpha.” You say keeping your voice as level as possible. 

You expect him to ask you to lay on his lap or something but instead he lets you go take a shower. You were hosed down when Mandy came back into the room but it’s nothing like the hot shower in the Professor's room. 

He doesn’t join you in the shower but when you’re done he’s waiting for you in the bedroom. 

It’s a tough few hours but thankfully they go by in somewhat of a blur. He wants sex and you can’t exactly say no. You are his now, and he gets whatever he wants. Eventually he tires out, or gets bored but he lets you take another shower and change into pyjamas. You’re too exhausted to even fight him by what you assume is the end of the day. 

He goes into his office when food is bought, you’re not hungry though, you’re still sore and exhausted. You have no appetite but you feel like if you don’t eat he’s going to be mad. You just want to sleep but instead he calls you to his office. 

He’s sitting on the sofa with a cigar between his fingers. The pyjamas you’re wearing are thin, the room feels cold as you walk over to him. He reaches out for your hand and you offer it to him. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses it. 

“My perfect omega.” He says, there’s a shine of something in his eyes. You see the bottle of whisky on the side table and the half drunk glass. He looks down at the back of your hand taking the cigar out of his mouth. 

He grips your hand tighter, a yelp leaves your mouth and you cry out as he presses the cigar into the back of your hand. It burns, it stings, it makes your eyes water and you’re trying to pull your hand away from him but he holds it tight. 

“Alpha please.” You beg. “It hurts.” He sighs as he pulls it off you, you look down at the red and blistering skin on your hand. 

“You hurt me, remember?” He says putting the cigar back in his mouth. You blink the tears away, your hand throbs, he’s still holding on to it. He takes the cigar out his mouth blowing a long plumb of smoke and resting it in an ashtray. 

He brings your burnt hand up to your mouth and kisses your fingers. “Come lay on my lap, sweetheart.” He says smiling. You feel sick, the little food you had feels like it's jumping in your stomach. He lets your hand go and you sit on the sofa next to him slowly pulling your legs up and laying down on his lap. 

Your burnt hand starts to shake and you rest it on his knee. 

There’ll be more, more pain, more abuse until he’s satisfied you’ve paid for what you did. You relax trying your best to project your scent for him. His hand comes to land on your neck and his thumb brushes your mark. 

“My omega. Now all that's left is to deal with your pack.” He says picking the cigar again. 

You hope they aren't coming for you, if they come for you he’ll kill them. For their sake you hope they’re back in the UK, where they’re safe. The Professor has you, that's really all he wants. 

You close your eyes as he strokes his mark. His mark. 

You’re glad you hurt him, you don’t care how much you have to suffer for it, you’re glad you hurt him. 

You will do it again. 

You’re woken abruptly from your sleep. You’re disorientated, you can hear an alarm. You can hear the professor shouting from his office. You’re in the bedroom, you don’t remember falling asleep or making it to the bedroom. 

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. You can smell fear. 

You get out of the bed and walk out the room seeing the Professor on the phone in his office. He looks disheveled too, in his pyjamas, his hair ruffled. He must have just got out of bed too. He sees you and you hear the lift ding. Graves walks in followed by two Shadows, the Professor has put the phone down now and is coming to the door. 

“There’s been a security breach, we need to move you.” Graves says. You swallow the lump in your throat. You can smell him, he smells sure, confident. 

“Let's go.” Hale says nodding, Graves turns and orders his Shadows around. The Professor comes over to you and grabs your arm, his fingers dig into your skin as you’re dragged to the lift. 

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“Nothing. Just a small security breach.” He says. You don’t believe him. Every one piles into the tiny lift for the short journey to the second floor. The bright fluorescent lights have been replaced by harsh flashing red and orange emergency lights. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you're dragged down halls, eventually stopping outside a room. You hear pops, and loud banging. Panic sets in, that's gunshots. 

“Alpha?” You ask as he pushes you into the room. It’s a lab, the door is thick though steel with a massive lock. You don’t understand how this is safer than down in his office but you’re too scared to ask. 

“Stay here.” Graves says. “We’ll be back to get you when the place is all clear” 

“Thank you.” Hale says and closes the door behind them. At least the lights in this room are not flashing. You don’t know what to do, you press yourself up against the back wall and slide down to the floor. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, you can smell his fear. He has no idea how bad this is. You hear more pops, more gun shots. You want to press your hands to your ears and block it all out. The Professor starts pacing, he’s antsy, he won’t stand still, it doesn’t help with your nerves.

Your bottom starts to go numb, the room is cold and you start to shiver as the adrenaline wears off. Your head snaps up when you think you hear voices. The Professor stops pacing too. Fear has you frozen in place, suddenly the room feels like the most insecure place on the planet. Maybe you should have stayed in the Professor's office, at least there is only one way in and one way out. 

You watch as the door handle moves, someone is trying to get in. The Professor is backing up from the door. 

“They can’t get in, that's 2 feet of steel.” He says, it makes you feel somewhat better. At least you have an alpha here to protect you. 

It doesn’t matter though, you both gasp when you hear the lock click open. 

Everything happens so quickly. The door is slammed open, the Professor dives to the side. You scream bringing your knees to your chest and pressing your hands over your ears as you start to sob. 

You squeeze your eyes closed as shouting fills the room. 

“Stay down!” Your eyes fly open. You can’t believe it, you know that voice. 

“Hands up don’t fuckin’ move!” John. It’s John shouting. You almost can’t believe it, you’re holding your breath looking at people spill into the room. Your eyes lock onto Johnny and the weapon in his hands as he scans around. 

His eyes land on you and you blink the tears away. Your lip starts to quiver, you drop your hands from your ears. Johnny drops his weapon letting it swing by his side, as he strides over to you, you almost can't believe he's real. 

You reach out for him, breathing him in. It’s him, it’s really Johnny.

“Holy shite.” He says kneeling down and wrapping his arms around, pulling you to his chest as close as he can. You don't care that the objects on his vest stick into your skin painfully. It’s Johnny, your Johnny, your pack. You can smell them, a warm comfort blooms in you and it fills you with relief.

“You’re here.” You try to say but it’s barely words, you can’t even understand yourself. It almost feels like a dream, if it wasn’t for the pain you’d think it was a dream.

“We’re here, we’re here, love. We’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He says in your ear, his breath is warm, his words comfort you. You close your eyes, breathing him in, his scent is familiar. 

You’re safe, you’re finally safe. 

You hear a grunt looking over at the professor being zip-tied and hauled to his feet. Someone lowers a blanket on you and Johnny breaks from the hug to pull it around you. He quickly looks around your bruised body. 

You hear steps and look up to see John. You smile at him and he smiles back, Johnny moves out the way opening the blanket so John can see that damage to your body. His smile fades and he turns back to look at the professor. 

“Piper, we’ve got the omega, we need you here.” John says as Johnny pulls you against him and makes sure the blanket is as tightly wrapped around you as his arms. 

“Pipers here?” you ask, your throat feels dry, the words are barely audible. 

“‘Cause she’s here.” Johnny smiles. You look up at John, he bends down to your level. You can smell him, he smells familiar, safe. He’s your alpha, even though you no longer have his mark. He reaches out, his hand lands on your shoulder and he squeezes, smiling at you. 

“You’re okay now. We’re here, no one is going to hurt you again.” He says, you nod and he turns to look at Johnny. “Don’t let her go MacTavish, no matter what happens don’t let her go.” 

“Aye sir.” Johnny replies, squeezing you tighter as John’s hand drops and he stands up. He strides over to the professor who’s being held up by two people you don’t recognise. They don’t smell of anything, they look like soldiers though, John bought backup. 

The next person through the door is another stranger. 

“Need a hand?” The person asks, he has an accent. You don’t know where to place it, not British or American. 

“We’re good Rudy, go meet with bravo-3 bring the doctor.” John says dismissing him. Rudy. He nods, his eyes darting over to you quickly before leaving. 

“So you’re her pack?” The Professor says. He struggles to hold his voice level, he was hit over the head at some point. He looks over at you, his eyes are like daggers you can smell his alpha in the air. John moves to stand in front of him blocking his view. You hear him spit on the floor, it makes your stomach twist. 

Johnny can feel it on you, he reacts to every little movement you make, each change in your scent. His arms keep you close as the adrenaline starts to wane, you feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck as you start to shake. 

“It’s okay, love.” He whispers, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “He can’t hurt you again.” The Professor laughs, you know he heard Johnny, it makes you feel sick. 

Piper comes into the room next, followed by Rudy and Simon. She quickly looks over at Hale then rushes over to you. Your eyes lock on to Simon as he slowly walks over to the Professor. He looks terrifying with his mask and all black kit. He smells terrifying too his alpha fills the space cutting through Johnny’s scent. It makes you shiver, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. 

“Hey, hun.” She says, you turn to look at her. She bends down and her hands come to hold your face. You can smell her projecting her scent. She presses her forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“Did he claim you?” She asks quietly. You can’t reply, you just sob. Her hands leave your face and one of them moves down to the back of your neck, her fingers are cold as they run over the indents of his teeth and you sob. She sighs, you can hear the sadness in it. She lets you go back into Johnny's arms, he shushes you as you cry against his chest. 

“I never thought I would see you again.” The professor says. Piper’s on her feet in an instant, you watch as she rushes towards him. It makes you gasp, John stops her planting his hands on her shoulders. 

“Keep it together.” He orders, his alpha is strong in the air. 

“You fucking claimed her! Why!?” She shouts at him, fighting his grip, you hear Hale laugh again. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this. 

“Piper!” John shouts. “Focus on the omega.” 

“What was the fucking point!?” She snaps. 

“She’s mine!” Hale shouts, it makes you sob again and you press your head into Johnny’s chest. He kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back. 

“Get him out of here!” John snaps, his alpha is almost suffocating. It’s too much 3 alphas all fighting trying to make their scent the dominant one. 

“Cap.” Johnny says, feeling you tense. Your breathing picks up, there's a tight feeling in your chest. Your breaths become shorter, you feel yourself starting to panic.

“You should listen to him.” Hale says as he’s hauled to his feet. John looks back at you, his expression changes. You try to press yourself closer to Johnny. “She’ll distress if you don’t.” Piper bends down in front of you, her hand comes to rub your arm. You look over her shoulder to see the Professor being dragged out by Simon and Rudy. 

“Deep breaths. Come on, you can do it.” She says trying to get you to look at her. It feels wrong, it’s almost like you want him to stay in the room with you. It makes sense, he’s your alpha now too. You look at her, she’s taking exaggerated breaths and you try to relax following her. 

“That’s it, nice and easy.” She encourages, rubbing your arm. When your breathing returns to normal she smiles. You feel light headed and rest your head against Johnny. Her hand moves to the blanket and she pulls it open slightly. You feel embarrassed for some reason, she quickly looks over you, when her eyes land on the scar on your collar bone you see her swallow. 

“The bunkers been cleared. I want to move you somewhere else.” John says, stepping up behind Piper.  

“The medical room.” Piper says, “I need to check her over properly.” You hear an edge in her voice, she sounds almost mad. 

“Okay.” John says, you look up at him, he seems relaxed now, you smile at him. You just want to throw yourself in his arms and thank him. Johnny starts to move when the door to the room swings open. You smell Kyle before you see him, he has Mandy in his hands.

“Found this one hiding in a cupboard. Has max level security clearance.” Kyle says as he throws Mandy onto the floor. 

“Mandy?” Piper asks, getting to her feet and turning towards her.

“Doctor Montgomery?” She asks, shocked. “I thought you were dead.”

“You know her?” John asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“She was one of the doctors I used to work with.” 

“She cut out my marks.” You say, John’s head snaps to you instantly. You see him grip the weapon tighter in his hands. They all heard you, Johnny tenses up and he squeezes you again. 

“It was the professor's orders.” She sobs. You look over at her, her face is wet with tears, her arms are tied behind her back. 

“Take her to Ghost, he’s down the hall, then come back here.” John orders. You watch as Kyle grabs her arm pulling her to her feet as she protests. She’s begging for them to listen to her. 

“We’re going to move okay? You’ll be more comfortable laying down.” Piper says, trying to reassure you. 

“Don’t leave.” You say gripping Johnny’s arm. 

“Never, I’m never leaving you.” He says. They help you to your feet, you feel weak, your head spins but they don’t let you go, not for a second. Kyle comes back and walks straight over to you swinging his weapon behind his back and wrapping his arms around you. His nose presses into your neck, Johnny and Piper's hands help hold you while he squeezes you. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe. I love you so much.” He says. You smile, breathing him in. 

“I love you too.” You reply, he breaks from the hug, his hands rest on your arms. 

“We’re moving her to the medical room.” John says. Kyle nods, smiling and turning to John. They lead and you follow, Johnny’s hands never leave you as Piper helps guide them in the right direction. You can smell the death of beta in the air, the smell of blood and gunpowder fills the halls. 

The medical room has good ventilation. It never smells of anything other than antiseptic. You see people around, more soldiers but they’re not dressed in black and they don’t have their faces covered. You turn into the room and automatically hop up on the bed, John and Kyle linger at the door. 

“We’re going to go help Ghost and Rudy. There’ll be some Vaqueros on the door.” John says. “If you need us, call.” 

“Aye sir.” Johnny says. You pull the blanket around you tighter. The medical room is always freezing. You smile at them as they leave. You look up at Piper whos stood in front of you. Johnny hops up on the bed behind you, his hands wrap around you. 

Pipers hands run down the blanket to where you’re holding it. Her hand lands on yours and squeezes it, suddenly you don’t want her to see, you don’t want any of them to see. She waits though, letting you take your time. She’ll have to see eventually, they all will. You drop one of your hands and she smiles. You can smell both their scents keeping you calm. 

“It’s okay.” Johnny says kissing the back of your head. You swallow the nerves and let Piper take the blanket off you. You feel Johnny tense as your body is revealed to him, you know his eyes will go straight to his mark and it won’t be there. 

Piper doesn’t move, she doesn’t touch you, she just looks around your body. You feel more tears come and your lip quivers, her hand comes up to your face, she cups your cheek brushing away the tears.

“I know, I know it’s hard.” She says, her voice low and filled with sympathy. Her hands are cool, you’re used to that, for once you don’t mind it. She reaches down and picks up your injured hand, it shakes as she takes it into hers. She looks at the fresh burn mark and swallows. 

“Do you have any pain anywhere?” She asks, you want to say no. You’re used to saying no, you’re used to not being a burden. Piper won’t deny you though, she’s not like Mandy, or the Professor.

“I just finished my heat.” You say, she’ll know what that means.

“Let's do something about that first.” She says, dropping your hand and turning around. 

“It’s okay.” You say, you’d rather her stay close. She hesitates and turns back to you, her hands come around your face again. She gently forces you to look up at her. 

“You don’t have to be in pain. No one is going to hurt you again I promise.” She says. You believe her and she lets your face go smiling and turning around again. Johnny’s hand rubs your shoulder and you move your hand up to rest on his. His hand is resting where his and Kyle’s marks used to be. 

Piper takes your hand with the burn and cleans and dresses the wound while you grit your teeth. 

“It hurt.” You say squeezing Johnny’s hand, you try to keep your voice level as you feel the heat coming off Johnny’s hand. “When he did it, he didn’t let me have any anaesthetic.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He says pressing a kiss on your hand and squeezing your shoulder. You hear Piper sniffle, for a second you smell her sadness befores she hides it. 

 “He wanted me to feel it, he wanted me to know what it was like to lose my marks.” You say dropping your hand and hanging your head. Johnny shuffles on the bed and his arms wrap around you. 

“Don’t think about him, love. We’re here now and nothing like that will ever happen again.” He says. 

“But I don’t have your ma-” 

“Hey, listen.” He says in your ear stopping you. “I love you, we all do. Mark’s or not we’re yours.” You turn in his arms to face him, your lip quivers and he leans in to kiss you. His hands hold your face as he presses his tongue into your mouth. He’s soft and moves slow, it’s almost like he’s testing the waters, letting you control the speed. You don’t care, the familiarity of Johnny holding you and kissing you it’s all you need. 

You sink into it, only breaking from the kiss when the tears reach your lips. 

“You are ours and we are yours. Now and forever, we don’t need marks for that, we’ll never leave you.” He says pressing his forehead to yours. 

“I love you so much.” You say swallowing the tears. 

“I love you too.” He replies. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Piper says resting her hand on your shoulder. You turn to look at her, she’s holding a filled syringe in her hand. You assume it's the pain relief but she sighs. “Was Dr. Sloan giving you these?” You nod. 

“What is it?” Johnny asks. 

“I don’t know, I need to know what this is before I give you anything.” She says. 

“It was to keep me calm, so I wouldn’t distress.” You say. She presses her lips together looking at the syringe in her hand before putting it in her pocket.

“Okay. Johnny’s going to stay with you, I’m going to go and check the supply room.” She says. You nod looking back at Johnny who smiles. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, you nod and wrap your arms around him.

Piper’s walking back to the medical room when hair stands up on the back of her neck. She can smell him before she sees him; Simon. He smells angry, it makes her swallow and tightly grip the supplies in her hand. She follows the scent letting it lead her to a familiar corridor. 

Most of the emergency lights have been switched back to the normal lights. She heard in her ear a few minutes ago that they’d found the main control room and were trying to lift the lockdown. Piper lets out a breath as turns to look down the hall. The only light is the light spilling out the room

She sees Simon, his bulking figure is blocking most of the door. The light shines past him making him look massive. It’s the hall to your heat room, although from the little she can see it’s been redecorated. 

“Si-” She stops herself. “Ghost?” 

He doesn’t move, she swallows the fear building up in her and walks towards him. The closer she gets, the more she feels dread rising. She reaches out to land a hand on his shoulder. He moves to the side letting her see into the room. 

It makes Piper gasp. It’s been re-decorated. It’s a nursery with multiple cribs, a bed. 

“Fuck.” She sighs. She looks up at Simon, she can see the shine of tears in his eyes. 

“How is she?” He asks. Piper’s not sure what to stay or where to start, she looks down at the supplies in her hands. 

“I’m still looking her over.” She says. “Do you want to see her?” Simon looks at her. 

“No. Not until Hale is dead.” Simon says, it’s filled with venom, anger. She looks back into the room, the mural is still on the ceiling but the whole place is different. 

“This used to be where she would spend her heats.” Piper says.

“Where she would be abused and raped.” Simon spits. She nods, she was complacent, she let this happen to you for years. She’s not a good person, she reminds herself again. 

“John bonded with you.” He says suddenly.

“I didn’t ask him-”

“I know.” Simon interrupts her. “It’s who he is.” 

“I don’t need- I mean, you don’t have to bond with me.” She says feeling nervous all of a sudden. He hums. 

“Hale claimed her.” He says. She nods again, swallowing the bile that rises in her throat. She doesn’t want to believe it, she doesn’t want this to be real. 

“What happens now?” She asks. 

“John wants to let her decide what happens to Hale and the doctor. Give her the choice.” 

“Do you think that's a good idea?” She asks. 

“Do you?” 

“I don’t know. She’s claimed by him, we don’t know what happens to her if she decides to kill him.” She says, Simon turns and looks at her. 

“That's why she has us by her side. Her pack, and you, her mother. She’ll need you.” Simon says. She can’t help smiling.

“She needs us all. It’s not going to be easy, for anyone.” She says, he nods and looks back into the room. 

“Thank you.” He says, she frowns at him. He turns back to look at her. 

“What for?” 

“Those talks we used to have, when we were in Washington.” He sighs.

“I thought I hated her. I thought she would tear us apart, come between what we had as 141. It felt wrong, she was around and all I could think about was how crazy I was about her. I thought it would be easier if I hated her instead.” He explains. She keeps quiet letting him talk, she wants to reach out and touch him, reassure him everything is okay. 

“The way you spoke about her, the way you loved her.” He sighs, turning to look at her. “I fell in love with her through your eyes. The day I found her in the lab, cut up and bloodied. That was when I knew, I couldn’t live without her no matter what.” 

“When I claimed her, it was like nothing I have ever experienced in life. Seeing my mark on her collar bone seeing all the marks. She’s our omega, and we’re her pack. It feels right.” 

“You’re a good alpha, and a good person. She’s very lucky to have you in her life. You all deserve happiness.” Piper says. 

“I’ll bond with you, we all will. You’ll never be in the pack but John’s right, you’re her mother and you’re as important to her as you are to us. It’s the least we can do.” He says.

She smiles. “Thank you, you’re good people. I always knew she would have a pack one day. You’re the perfect people for the job.” She thinks she can see him smile through the mask, his eyes squinting slightly. 

“We should get back.” He says. She nods.

“Wait.” She says grabbing his arm before she can stop herself. “You should know. Hale, he cut out her marks.” 

“He what?” His voice is laced thick with disgust. 

“Her marks, I thought you should be prepared when you see her.” She’s regretting it now. Before she can say another word Simon has turned and is barreling down the corridor. 

“Simon!” She calls chasing after him. 

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill him!” He snaps, his alpha fills the air making hair stand up on the back of her neck. It locks her in place, she curses under her breath and runs after him. 

Simon crashes through the door first. The soldiers on the door didn't even try and stop him. 

“John!” she calls seeing John and Alejandro walk around the corner. They frown then hear a crash. Piper looks back into the room to see Simon’s hand balled into fists. Hale is on the floor and Simon reaches down gripping his top and halling him to his feet. 

John and Alejandro rush past her into the room. 

“Lieutenant!” John calls as they try to pull him off Hale. 

“You monster! You mutilated her like she’s an animal!” He shouts, his face pressed close to Hale. He looks scared, Simon’s alpha is strong in the air, it makes Piper shiver. They finally get a good grip on Simon pulling him off Hale. 

John pulls him away and Simon shrugs him off. 

“Pull yourself together!” John snaps, pointing a finger in his face. 

“He took her marks.” Simon says. Piper watches as Alejandro puts Hale back into the chair. 

“She’s not your omega!” Hale snaps. Simon goes for him again but John holds him back. 

“Shut it!” John snaps at Hale. A flicker of fear twitches on his face before he looks over at Piper, he smiles at her, blood running down his face from the bloody nose Simon just gave him. 

“Let’s talk outside lieutenant.” John says, it’s an order, Simon huffs then turns walking out into the hall. John closes the door behind him leaving Alejandro in the room. Simon crosses his arms, Piper can feel the anger radiating off him. He’s usually so calm and collected. 

“Why are you not with the omega?” John asks Piper. She holds the supplies up in her hand. “Simon, you need to calm down.” John says, keep his voice level and sturn. 

“He took her marks, mutilated her!” Simon snaps. 

“I know.” John says, he lowers his tone. 

“She’s a fuckin’ human being. I ca-” He chokes on the words, Simon sighs and turns. 

“What’s going on?” Piper turns to see Kyle coming towards them. 

“Professor Hale removed the omegas marks.” Piper says. Kyle knows though, he was the one who bought Mandy. Only her and Johnny have seen the result though. Raised pink scars where each of their marks used to be. 

“We’ll figure something out. She’s still our omega, we’re still a pack.” John says.

Simon turns back. “I know, just the thought of him hurting her. She didn’t deserve that.” John’s hand reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. 

“She’s safe now, we have her. I need both of you to focus, keep your heads clear. We’re not done here yet.” John says, looking between Simon and Kyle. They both nod and Alejandro walks out the room. 

“You broke his nose, Ghost.” Alejandro says. 

“Good.” Simon replies. 

“Captain.” Someone calls, everyone turns to see a soldier coming towards them. “The scientist, she’s got a head lac, won’t stop bleeding.” John looks at Piper, who shrugs. 

“She’s a beta, unless her brain is pooling out her skull, i’m not exactly concerned about that right now.” She says.

“Maybe you should go, see if you can get anything out of her.” John says, it’s not an order. She could say no, but there's a burning curiosity there. She sighs, nodding and squeezing the supplies. The soldier leads the way to one of the offices.

He hands her a first aid kit and she nods going in the room. Mandy’s sat on a chair with her hands tied behind her back. She must have got hit pretty hard with whatever it was, the blood has dried down her face and on her white lab coat. 

Piper remembers her, she doesn’t remember a lot of people but she remembers Mandy. She was one of the more enthusiastic doctors, and has a PHD in biology. She can’t remember much else, it wasn’t like she wanted to know about their personal lives.

She walks over to her in silence, putting the first aid kit down on the table and opening it. She’ll clean the wound and bandage it but that's it. 

“Is the omega okay?” She asks, it catches Piper off guard. 

“Not really any of your business.” Piper says, reaching over to pat the wound on her head. 

“I was only doing what I was told.” She says. 

“And that included mutilation, keeping her drugged? I thought you were a doctor.”  Piper snaps. 

“I am.” She says, Piper scoffs, shaking her head 

“Do you have a family?” Piper asks. 

“A husband and baby girl.” She says. 

“Have they taken the formula?” Piper asks, ripping open a new bandage. Mandy shakes her head, Piper hums. 

“Where do they think you work?” 

“Chicago Med.” She says gritting her teeth as Piper dresses the wound. 

“What happens to us now?” She asks, Piper can smell her fear again as she stands up pulling her gloves off. And balling the trash up in her hands. 

“Don’t know, not up to me.” She sighs.

“Who?” Piper just looks at her and raises an eyebrow. She won’t tell her but Mandy’s smart, she understands. 

“I tried to befriend her.” Mandy says, hanging her head. 

“She didn’t need a friend. She needed her pack.” Piper snaps. It makes her angry, how dare she try to be your friend. “She didn’t need to be mutilated and raped or claimed by her abuser.” 

There's a knock at the door. It stops Piper in her tracks, she didn’t realise how loud she’d got. 

“You’re not innocent.” Mandy scoffs. Piper steps up to her and Mandy looks up. 

“The difference between you and me is that I would have never done what you did. I’m a doctor first, you’ve clearly forgotten that.” Before Mandy can respond Piper turns on her heels and heads to the door. Her hand lingers on the door handle and she sighs before opening it. 

“I’ll make sure she knows you have a family.” Piper says, regretting it instantly. It’s just going to burden you with more anguish.  

“Thank you.” Mandy says, Piper sighs again, shaking her head and leaving the room. 

You’re laid on the bed turned onto your side holding Johnny’s hand while he strokes your head. It’s nice, it feels comforting, he’s still projecting his scent and it's relaxing you. Being relaxed in the bunker is not something you’re used to. 

“I’m sorry I scuffed you.” You say, he smiles squeezing your hand. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have done it.” You say, you know how painful it is, you know it’s only supposed to be a last resort thing, or not used at all. His hand moves from your arm to your face. 

“I know why you did it. You were right, I would have fought the world for you. We all would have, Graves would have killed me.” He says. You nod, you don’t want to think about him being injured or dead. He’s here sitting in front of you smiling and stroking your hair. 

The door to the room opens and Johnny gets to his feet, his eyes darting to the door. You sit up. 

“It’s okay, lay down.” Piper says smiling as she walks over to the bed. You ignore her sitting up properly. She comes over to adjust the top of the bed so you can lay back on it. 

“Did you find out what it was?” Johnny asks. She nods, you don’t know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Piper gives you some pills to take then checks you over properly, even though it’s a familiar routine she works slowly. She talks you through the whole thing while she takes your blood pressure and shines light in your eyes. 

Her hands press around your body and she checks every inch of you. Johnny holds your hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb and bringing your fingers up to his lips to kiss them now and then. She’s just about finished when the door opens and John walks in, he comes over to the bed and Piper moves out the way. 

“Hey, love.” He says smiling, Johnny drops your hand and you reach out, throwing your arms around him. He hugs you back, pressing a kiss into your neck. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner.” 

“It’s okay.” You say feeling fresh tears from in your eyes. “You came, you’re here. I never thought I was going to see you again.”

He breaks from the hug, his hands come up to your face to brush the tears. “We were always going to come.” He says before leaning in to kiss you. The scent of his alpha fills the room, you relax into it, feeling Johnny’s hand land on your thigh. John’s not as slow as Johnny, kissing you like he’s scared you’re going to vanish before him. 

When he breaks from the kiss you see a shine in his eyes. His beautiful deep blue eyes, you’ve missed them. The Professor's eyes are dark, hard and uncaring. You can see the softness in John’s eyes. It makes a warmth boom in your core.

“I love you.” You say, he tips his head to the side leaning back down to give you another quick kiss. 

“I love you too.” He replies, he lets your face go but picks up one of your hands lacing his fingers with yours. It’s hard to do with his gloves on but you don’t care, you can feel the heat from his palm warming your hand. 

“How is she?” He asks, turning to see Piper. 

“She’s okay, dehydrated. Most of the wounds she has are superficial.” She says, he turns back to look at you, his fingers go up to the scar where Simon’s mark used to be. His fingers trace over it, he sighs, you see his eyes turn dark, it makes your stomach turn. 

“Can I see his mark?” He asks. You want to say no, you don’t even want to acknowledge it exists but you swallow the nerves nodding and turning to Johnny. He rubs your thigh projecting his scent even more, it’s not really helping right now though. You reach back and pull your hair up so he can see. 

You’re holding your breath, the seconds feel like they’re dragging along for minutes. You feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. Then he sighs, you squeeze your eyes closed, Johnny grips your thigh tighter. John's hands land on your shoulders and you drop the hand holding your hair. 

He kisses the top of your head and you let out a sigh. You open your eyes letting out a breath, You look at Johnny, he looks sympathetic. 

“Piper, let's talk outside.” He says, his hands leave you and he heads for the door with Piper following behind. Suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe, goosebumps rise on the back of your neck as you try to suck in gulps of air. 

“Easy, love. Breathe, with me, c’mon.” Johnny says getting to his feet in an instant. His hands grip your shoulders like he almost wants to shake you back to reality. You can’t do it though, your breaths just become sobs, what if he hates you now?

He should hate you, you don’t have his mark anymore. You’re not his, you belong to someone else. You reach out for Johnny’s arms, digging your fingers into them as you try to ground yourself. You nod sucking in a deep breath. 

“Good girl.” He says smiling. You lay back on the bed letting the dizziness subside. You don’t want to be here any longer, you want to leave and go home. Back to the UK, the house in Scotland. That's where you feel like you belong.

“I just want to go home.” You say. 

“I know, love. We’ll be home soon, I promise.” He says, you nod, you believe him. The door to the room opens  and Piper and John walk in. Piper looks worried about something, she’s rubbing her hands together looking between you and Johnny. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” John says quickly, you relax a little Johnny picks up your hand lacing his fingers with yours. John steps closer to the end of the bed, Piper doesn't move. 

“We want you to have the choice - if you want to - to decide what happens to Professor Hale and Doctor Slone.” John says. You frown, you’re not sure you even heard him right, you look at Piper, she nods. 

“I don’t-” Your mouth suddenly feels dry, you squeeze Johnny's hand. “What would you do?” 

John sighs, his hands reach up and he grips the top of his vest. He shifts his weight, you know what he would do. What he would have done if you weren't here. 

“He should die.” Johnny says, you turn to look at him. His eyes are dark, you can feel the anger coming off him. You squeeze his hand. Suddenly it feels like it’s about to be the most difficult decision of my life. 

“You don’t have to decide right now.” John says, you look back up at him. 

“What happened to Graves?” You ask. 

“He’s been arrested. Along with a few other scientists and Shadows.” John says. You look over at Piper and she walks around to the otherside of the bed. 

“Hale claimed you. I don’t exactly know what will happen if we kill him.” She says resting her hand on your thigh. 

“What do you think would happen?” You ask, she sighs. 

“I don’t know, worst case scenario you could distress. But you have your pack around you now, your alphas are both here, I’m here but I have no idea what breaking this kind of bond would do.” She explains, squeezing your thigh. 

“What would happen if he doesn’t die?” You ask looking up at John. He presses his lips together, looking between you and Piper. 

“I don’t know.” He says. “Technically you don’t exist. Hale has money, he has friends in high places, chances are nothing will happen to him.” 

He could be free, and if he’s free he’ll chase after you again, you and your pack will never be safe. Even if they destroy the bunker John’s right, he has money, he has friends he can rebuild. Thinking of him being dead makes a pit form in your stomach though. 

You’re claimed by him, bonded to him, Piper's right, they have no idea what could happen to you if that kind of bond is forcefully broken. You know what it’s like when they would forcibly break the bonds you made with beta’s it hurts. It feels horrible, it’s one of the worst feelings in the world. 

Your hand goes up to the back of your neck before you can stop it. When you feel the indents of his teeth it makes you feel sick, you don’t want this from him, you don’t want him to be alive. 

“I-” You choke on the words, hanging your head, your fingers still running around his mark.

“You don’t have to.” Piper says.

“No, I don’t want him to control me. I don’t want him to be free.” You say, you sigh letting your hand drop from your neck. You don’t want his mark, you want your packs marks back. 

“I want him dead.” Saying it hurts, it feels like a stab to the heart. You open your eyes and look up at John. Tears come, you can’t stop them, he’s your alpha whether you like it or not, the thought of him being dead makes your stomach turn. 

“He will keep coming, he won’t stop. I don’t want him to be my alpha, I just want him gone.” You sob. Johnny stands up and wraps his arms around you. Piper squeezes your leg then gets up. 

“You don’t have to see anything. If he didn’t take you we would have already dealt with him.” Johnny says, it’s not as reassuring as you want it to be for some reason. Right now the thought of him being hurt in any way feels like it would hurt you, but that’s because he claimed you. 

“I want to, I think I need to.” You say. You turn to look at Piper. 

“You should do it.” You say. “You deserve it, revenge for both of us.”

“I don’t need revenge.” She says squeezing your leg. 

“I know, but I do, and I can’t do it.” You sigh when you finally get it. “He did this on purpose, he knew what would happen if he claimed me. He thinks I’ll protect him. I want to prove him wrong, I can do this and I want to be there.” You hear Johnny and Piper almost sighing in sync.

“Why don’t you take a few hours to think about it?” John says. 

“I don’t need time. I just want him gone and I want to go home.” You say, suddenly your attitude changes and all you can think about is him being dead and buried in the ground where he deserves to be. 

“Okay, Piper, can we talk?” John says. She nods and leaves your side. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Johnny asks. You sigh and turn to look up at him. 

“No, but i’m exhausted and I want this to be over. I’m ready to move on.” You say. 

“Okay, whatever decision you make, we’re going to be here with you. Through thick and thin.” He says. You nod and lean against him. 

“Thank you Johnny. For everything.” 

Even though you’re doing this on your terms with your pack and Piper you’re still filled with dread as you walk to the room the Professor is being held in. Piper and Johnny are with you, Johnny’s hand keeps a firm grip on your waist and you’re holding Piper's hand. When you make it to the door you freeze you can smell him. 

Piper squeezes her hand and you look up at her. “You don’t have to be here.” She reminds you. 

“I want to.” You say. She nods and reaches over to knock on the door. 

“We’re all here, love.” Johnny reminds you, rubbing your back. 

“I know, thank you.” You say, you know you’re not going to be able to do this without them. Simon opens the door, when you see him you smile. He moves to the side letting you all in. You see Kyle first standing with his arm crossed. 

When Simon moves you see John and the Professor on a chair with his hands tied behind his back. He’s never going to be able to touch you again. You instinctively walk over to John, reaching out for him and grabbing his arm, Johnny’s hand stays on the top of your back. 

“So this is your pack.” Hale says looking around you all. You don’t know what to say, you don’t want to say anything. John’s hand rests on yours, it’s a small comfort you need right now. You’re trying not to let him know you're nervous, you focus on masking your scent. 

“You’re the people who ruined my omega.” He says smiling. Piper tuts from behind you, you tense, you don’t want to look at him but you can’t take your eyes off him. No one says anything, you can feel their presence though. 

“Why me?” you ask suddenly. He looks at you and his smile fades slightly.

“You were young, healthy. A clean slate.” He says, you frown, you’re not sure what that means. 

“Why did you hate me?” You ask almost choking on the words. 

“I never hated you. I love you, you were always my omega.” 

“I’m not your omega.” You snap, adrenaline pulses through you. No one tries to stop you, maybe they’re giving you this time, one final time to get everything out. He scoffs. You don’t know what to say. 

“Just get on with it. What are you going to do torture me?” He asks, looking around the room. 

“No.” John replies. He moves his hand from yours to take his pistol off his hip. You don’t take your eyes off the Professor, you watch him swallow, he looks nervous. He watches as John checks that the weapon is loaded before he holds it out for Piper. She steps up and takes it out of his hand. 

“What? Don’t have the balls Captain?” Hale asks, even though he’s trying to hide it you hear the nerves slip through. 

“There are a lot more people who want you dead than you thought.” John says, his voice is level, calm. His hand presses on the bottom of your back. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” The Professor asks you. For some reason the tone he uses just annoys you. It’s almost like he’s expecting you to ask them to stop. For a second you doubt the decision you don’t want him to die. 

This is the closest he’ll get to begging, to asking for forgiveness. Adrenaline pulses through you and you take a step towards him. 

“This is my new favourite memory of you. Whenever I think of you for the rest of my life I will remember this moment.” You say, you don’t care if it sounds good, you’re shaking again, the back of your neck throbs. You fight the urge to rub it, you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“But you will think of me, for the rest of your life. Because you were always my omega.” He says. You back up, John and Johnny’s hands land on you. You feel sick, he’s right, he will always be in your mind but you will no longer let him control you. 

“Maybe. But you were never my alpha.” You say holding back the sob in your throat. Johnny’s arm wraps around your waist pulling you back.

This is going to suck. 

“Didn’t think you would have the guts Doctor.” He says, turning his attention back to Piper. She ignores him and you hear her click the safety off the weapon. She moves to stand closer to him. “Then again you never really had trouble killing.” 

It makes you feel sick, your head starts to pound and your heart is racing in your chest, it feels like you can’t breathe. Piper raises the weapon up to his head, she’s strangely calm, so is he. Maybe he accepted his fate a long time ago.  

“Do you really want those to be your last words?” She asks. The energy in the room suddenly feels eclectic, you can smell your own fear. You watch Hale flare his nostrils, his eyes flick to you for a second. Johnny squeezes your hip, another hand lands on your back and you look up to see John. 

“Yeah, I'll die but my work won’t. The formula will survive, you’ll keep working on it.” He scoffs looking over at you. “Maybe my greatest achievement was you; Dr. Montgomery, a true prodigy.” He smiles and looks back up at her, she tenses moving her finger to the trigger. Your breathing speeds up, it's making you lightheaded. 

Maybe you can’t watch. You hold your ground though, swallowing the nerves. A vibration runs up your spine, your neck feels like it's on fire, you so badly want to rub it. Piper looks back at you quickly, she nods then turns back to The Professor. 

For some reason you don’t register it at first but the loud shot makes you jump. You gasp, but you’re not sure why. The smell of death fills your nose. Not just any death, alpha death- your alpha’s death. It feels like you can’t breathe, your ears are ringing and your head is pounding. 

You hear voices around you, people's hands squeezing you, rubbing your back. You look down at the pristine white tiles being turned blood red. Suddenly cold hands land on your face shocking you back to reality. 

“Look at me.” Your head is pulled to look at Piper, she’s the one holding your face. She looks worried. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your body suddenly feels like jelly and you sway, Johnny and John’s arms are instantly tight around you holding you between them. The hands leave your face and she stands up.

“Easy, love. We’ve got you.” You hear Johnny say as your eyes go back over to the body on the floor. 

That's your alpha, they killed your alpha. 

You’re not listening to the voices around you. One is low barking orders, the other is soft trying to get your attention but you can’t focus. Suddenly it’s like a hot rod is being pressed into the back of your neck as your brain finally registers the sickly scent of an alpha’s death. 

“Alpha.” You cry out, the words out your mouth don’t even sound real. You’re trying to move towards him but hands and arms pull you away. You cry out as you’re dragged out the room. Piper is back as you’re guided to a chair in another room. 

There's no smell of death here. Piper bends down in front of you. 

“They killed him.” You sob. “My alpha.” Your hand goes to rub your neck, you feel the indents of his teeth. Panic sets in, you don’t know what to do. 

“No, he’s here.” She says a hand squeezes your shoulder. A second later John comes into your line of sight. 

“I’m here, love.” He says resting his hands on your shoulders. You drop your hand from your neck, flaring your nostrils and breathing him in. Your breathing picks up, it feels like your heart is about to burst out your chest. He sees the panic in your eyes and throws his arms around you burying his head into your neck. 

“I got you, love. I’m right here.” His scent is making you dizzy, you project yours for him and he breathes you in, you wrap your arms around him. “I’m right here.” 

Suddenly your head clears, the pain in the back of your neck fades. Hale died, not your alpha Hale. You squeeze John tighter burying your nose into his neck. 

“Where’s Simon?” you ask as he breaks from the hug. You need him too, you just need to see him, even for a second. 

“Gaz.” John says looking behind you. You see Kyle walk around you and to the door. You’ve calmed down now, the adrenaline is fading and you shiver. John stands up and moves next to you resting his arm over your shoulders. A few seconds later the door opens and Simon steps in. 

He still looks intimidating with the mask and you stand up goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. The second he steps closer to you he projects his scent and before you know it you’re meeting him half way and throwing your arms around him.

It’s hard to get a popper hug from any of them while they have these thick vests on with objects that stick into you. You don’t care though, they’re here and they’re hugging you. You breathe him in and he does the same pressing a kiss into your neck. 

“I love you.” He says. You smile squeezing him tighter. 

“I love you too. I missed you so much.” You reply. 

“I know, this will all be over soon, I promise.” You break from the hug and look up at him. You look past the skull mask and into his eyes. Even with the dark paint you can see the softness behind them, his deep brown eyes that shine golden in the sun. You wish you could kiss him, you wish you could just leave now, but you know they still have a job to do. 

He holds you at arms length and rubs his hands up and down your arms. A hand lands on your back, and a second later Johnny comes to stand next to John. 

“What about Mandy?” You ask. 

“What do you want to do?” John asks. You take a long breath in, the smell of death is heavy in the air. 

“Let her live. There’s too much death.” You say hanging your head. John moves away and Johnny pulls you in for a hug

“Go with Piper and Johnny. We’ll finish up here and then we’ll be leaving.” John says. 

“What’s going to happen to her?” You ask. 

“She’ll be arrested, just like Graves. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” John says. You nod, You feel exhausted, your mind is racing and your body feels weak. John can see it on you and reaches out to stroke your face. 

“Just a little longer. I promise.” He smiles. You nod smiling back. 

You stay with Johnny and Piper until Simon comes back to get you 

“Time to go,” he says. You nod and follow him holding Johnny's hand. You can smell death in the air, you can see bodies, blood stains. You’re walking slowly, it's the last time you’re probably ever going to be here. 

You pause at the corridor to the old heat room. Everyone stops, the door is open and you can see inside it. You let go of Johnny's hand and walk towards it. You’ve been carried, dragged kicking and screaming in and out of this room more times then you can remember. 

You never went in when he showed you, you stop at the door, you never want to go in. You look up at the mural on the ceiling, that's the only real thing you remember from this room. You hear someone walk up behind you. 

It’s Piper, you can smell her. Her hand lands on your back, you sniffle, you haven’t stopped crying. Everything is so overwhelming, it doesn’t help you’re just coming off a heat. 

“He said he wanted me to give him so many alpha’s and omega’s.” You sob. She pulls you close to her, wrapping her arms around you. 

“I want to burn it down.” You say. 

“I know.” She says kissing the top of your head. “Let’s go.” You nod and let her lead you back down the hall. You see Simon and Johnny waiting for you. You reach out and pick up Johnny’s hand again. He kisses you on the forehead. You lean against him and continue to walk. 

The last time you left this bunker you were being carried in Kyle’s arms. As you walk up the ramp you see the sky, it’s burnt orange and pink. It must be the evening. As soon as you see the tops of the trees you smile. 

You see other soldiers walking around. You see John and Kyle standing with Kate in the distance. You keep walking, putting distance between you and the bunker. You must be at least 100 meters away when you stop and meet John. Kate smiles at you and you turn to look back at the bunker. 

There’s no one in there other than the dead bodies and horrible memories. You sigh and look up at the sun setting behind the trees, Johnny comes up beside you. 

He hands you a button. “Care to do the honors?” He asks. You take it from him and look up at him. 

“Is it really going to be gone?” You ask. He nods.

“Forever.” He says. You look over at the bunker then down at your hand. The detonator suddenly feels like the heaviest thing in the world. 

“You don’t have to.” John says his hand landing on your back. 

“No. I want to.” You sigh. The bunker looks so different from this perspective. You only ever saw it like this once before, when you were rescued. 

“It’s just-” You sigh looking down at the red button then back up. “-It was my home. It felt more like a prison but it’s where I spent most of my life.”

It feels so final, because it is. The Professor is dead, Mandy and Graves are in custody. 

“It’s okay, take your time.” John says rubbing your back. Piper comes up to stand next to you. 

“Do you remember that time the rats got in the lab?” She asks, you smile. You do remember it. 

“Hale was scared of rats, hid in his room for 2 days until the exterminator had been.” She says nudging you. 

“I read a lot those two days. He left me alone, you let me sit in your office and sleep in your room.” You say, it was nice. One of the happier times. 

“I liked Christmas. There weren't that many people around.” You say leaning up against her.

“And the cooks always made really nice food.” She says, John’s hand leaves you and she wraps her arm around you. You sigh, brushing over the button. 

“There was more bad than good.” You say. 

“There's nothing left. Just the memories and they’ll always be there.” 

“You’re still here.” You say looking up at her. 

“So are you.” She smiles. 

“We survived.” 

“Yeah we did.” She squeezes you closer. Her free hand wraps around yours, your thumb rests on the button but you feel like you just can’t do it, then it will be over. 

“Will you miss it?” You ask, there’s a strain in your voice.

“No. Horrible places don’t deserve to be missed.” She says. You hum, she’s right, it’s time to move on and put this part of your life behind you. She rests her head against yours and you look out as the sun sets over the trees and fields. It’s strangely beautiful, you take a deep breath in, the scent of death has been blown away in the wind leaving you with just the scent of your pack standing behind you. 

Her thumb comes to rest on yours but she doesn’t use any pressure, it’s all down to you. You let out a sigh and click it down. There’s silence, all you can hear are the birds in the trees. Then it starts, the low rumble, the ground ahead of you shifts and birds dart out the trees. 

You’re too far away to feel it but you see the ground split as dirt is thrown in the air. Hale will be buried under there forever, it’s fitting really, it’s where he belongs. 

It does feel final, like the final chapter of a book. It’s over, it’s gone, you don’t know what to do. You can’t tell if you’re happy or sad, either way tears are rolling down your cheeks. You turn, throwing your arms around Piper as you listen to the ground start to settle. 

She hugs you tight, rubbing your back. “It’s over.” She says, you nod, breathing her in. She’s right it’s over, you deserve to have this closure. You don’t know what to say, you just let her hold you until another hand lands on your back and you’re transferred into Kyle’s arms. You sniff, clearing your nose and breathing him in. 

“C’mon, love. Let's go home.” He says. You’re not even sure where home is, wherever your pack is that’s your home. Kyle takes the detonator out of your hand, you look up at John who smiles at you then you all head towards the woods. 

You can’t help turning to take one last look back. There’s smoke coming out the broken earth, there's a faint smell of burning.

That's it there’s no more bunker, no more Professor. Now it’s just you and your pack, and it’s more than you ever thought you wanted.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

[colrell]

Will Graham is a Hyena.

Now, please hear me out on this because I've been sitting on for a while. I love those misunderstood animals more than anything... and I love Will Graham with almost the same amount of veracity. So.

Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens | 1922 | dir. F.W. Murnau

Will is ostracised by society.

Hyenas, just like Will, have been rejected by humans and painted as monsters. Seen as simple, stupid scavengers who will do anything for a scrap of meat. I think we've all seen how they have been depicted in media such as The Lion King: dumb, cruel idiots whose only desire is to steal and destroy what other, more royal animals (lions: productive members of society) have built for themselves.

They are regarded as savages with no brains. Only capable of acting if under guidance of a firm fist of a leader and sometimes pitied by others... meanwhile, Hyenas are actually highly intelligent, social predators who hunt in groups and share their kills much more often than they scavenge. They remember faces and can identify friend from foe. They live in clans that get up to hundreds of members: but this fact goes unmentioned in most media.

Will isn't seen as somebody capable of caring for his own life because. Just like hyenas, he is treated as an outsider in his own home. Alan pitied him because she didn't think he could take care of himself. She saw him as a dependant and troubled man because he showed signs of being autistic. Jack treated him as a tool and lead him into destructions because he didn't think Will could make good decisions on his own and in his eyes, if Will were to be left to his own devised— he could stop being useful.

This image of hyenas— of Will — wasn't entirely undeserved, of course. They are, after all, a little bit weird. They look weird, act weird, and refuse to conform even when this refusal leads them to the outskirts of society... even before Will Grahams' encephalitis, he was as different. Everybody knew there was something 'other about him, which is experience shared by many people withing the queer and autistic-spectrum community. Some of us deliberately choose to mask because this is just a more comfortable way of existing day-to-day. We recognise that if we were to act as ourselves: the 'typicals might see it as an affront to themselves.

Others, however, take a different approach. They embrace this otherness as a badge of honour despite what others wish for them. Will Graham is one of those people, and just like Hyenas, he paid the price of it in ostricisment.

They reject judgement.

This brings us to how Hyenas are unapologetically themselves. Of course, an animal cannot be aware of what we as humans see them as, but in a way, they still are, and Will is much the same on that regard: doing his thing and refusing to follow others' ideas of himself.

Will Graham, for all the talk about how lost and confused he was before Hannibal, actually knew about the darkness within himself and he had accepted it.

It is very evident in the first episodes of the series, where he states this over and over again— others aren't allowed to judge. He is what he is. He is rude, he avoids eye contact, and he reconstruction murderers' minds and won't allow others to stand beside him while doing it because he won't take their judging glances for it.

He doesn't want to be psychoanalysed. Hannibal 'won't like him when he's psychoanalysed'. Nobody ever does because he won't let them change him. He doesn't want to change: he just wants to be left alone.

The reason for his fear during the first season wasn't his empathy. Will Graham knew what he was since the very beginning. He knew he's different. He knew of this dark side of himself, which craved to kill before encephalitis came along, and that is what made Hannibal so enamoured with the man.

I know that many people believe Hannibal to be the reason for why Will started to kill or fantasise about it... but he did it since before knowing Hannibal. The reason why Will was so petrified wasn't because he started seeing himself kill. It wasn't the fantasies or Hannibals manipulations that brought him to this state of hysteria because Will knew what he was already.

It was a lack of control, which brought him over the edge. Fear of losing composure, of killing and not knowing it. Not the act of killing itself. Until the sickness came for him, Will perhaps wasn't doing well... but he was content with how things were. He never wanted to be helped or changed. He merely wished to be accepted.

Will is a scavenger... and predator.

Yes, I know that we all see the agent as a fisherman— luring and waiting for prey to come to him, but that is not all that he does.

Hyenas are hunters first, which is another thing that media often gets wrong.

They hunt for their own food, and they do it successfully, collectively, and cruelly. Funfact: most of the videos featuring hyenas hanging around corpses, which are being eaten by lions, are actually hyena kills that were falsely attributed to their enemies.

Much in likeness to how Will fantasises about his own work, hyenas murder with beautiful personality. Their hunts are bloody, wild, and brutal. They are savage in how they kill, chasing the weak and biting them until the inevitable collapse. They don't wait for their victim to die. There is no need to.

But they can scavenge— and scavenge they do. It reminds me of how Will continues to eat Hannibals' own prey even after learning about what it is; How he waits for Chiyoh to kill the prisoner herself and creates art out of the corpse because his curiosity was more important than the act itself. How he was fine with Matthew doing his dirty work for him. How simple act of threatening Hannibal with a gun brings out a vicious smile... he liked the idea of having Hannibal at his mercy, of the psychiatrist not knowing if he will die tonight (being sure he shall).

There is a lot of cruelty within Will Graham, which he never attempted to hide. It was simply overlooked because of his desire for bringing justice that came alongside it.

Hyenas and Will are queer icons.

Not only for how gay his relashionship with Hannibal is.

Our fandom is full of trans and gender nonconforning people. Will is heavily autistic-coded, and transgender people can identify with him for a huge variety of reasons. We see his struggles, the way he suffers with his own identity in comparison to how others see him, and we empathise because it mirrors our own experiences in the world that does not and nefariously refuses to understand us.

Hyenas, as some of you may know (and others are learning about it in this post), spotted hyenas in particular, have been viewed as "double-sexed" since before the times of ancient Greece. The reason for this is that females of the species sport a genitalia that looks indistinguishably like the males'. For ages, humans believed them to be either all bigenital or constantly sex-changing animals. They are plenty of myths and stories about this fact.

They do not change their sex, of course. Either on a whim or based on necessity— female spotted hyenas are born, age and die as females just as the males remain just that for the entirety of their lives... however: this does not change how they were (and still are, for some) perceived.

Reasons for this state are multiple. For one, spotted hyenas are a matriarchal species. They are much bigger, stronger and dominant towards the males. They have thick skulls, powerful jaws and brute bodies. This uniqueness is ensured by a large amount of androgens their bodies produce during growing up: making them stronger... and also causing their (already naturally big) clitorises to grow to sizes comparable to a males'. They will even mount the males (and other females) at times as a form of domination tactic. This intersex-like feature is found in ALL female spotted hyenas.

In recent years (or decades), they have become one of the symbols for the transgender community. Indeed, hyenas are unique and beautiful gender-benders.

And just as members of the queer community, they are hated by the mainstream media— and loved by those who took the time necessary to understand them. Sounds awfully like Will, doesn't it.

Hyenas have been misinterpreted by us for centuries. And so is Will Graham by almost everybody in his community.

They are notoriously called ugly, much like Dolarhyde's claim of Will not being attractive. It is not true: Hyena's beauty is a matter of opinion. They have a distinct, heavy smell which they spread all over their territory, however people who live amongst them often like to remind sceptics that they actually do not smell any worse than their natural enemies: lions, do. They're claimed as ugly because humans don't understand them, because they're demonised and 'obviously', evil can not be beautiful— it must be ugly, stinky, disgusting...

Aren't those all epithet given to the people in the queer community? To Will, in a sense?

Hyenas— and Will, are victims of abuse.

There is a group of African people known as The Hyena Men, the Gadawan Kura. They group travels throughout Nigeria with their half-tamed hyenas and other animals and make them perform various tricks in order to make a living.

Which— here we go to the point:

Hyenas are social animals and just like dogs, can be socialised and trained. They actually make wonderful friends, if you have the resources and enough persistence within you to try. Those people, the Gadawan Kura, recognised it and use it to their gain. There has been a photographer who documented some of this relashionship between those hyenas and their men. It's a very fascinating and interesting tale to read about.

Until you learn that said hyenas weren't brought to this point with love but through abuse.

There is a very painful parallel to how Jack treats Will thought the whole story, and before it, and how the Gadawan Kura train their hyenas through beatings and scraps of food. They are rewarded for good behaviour... barely.

Doing tricks (profiling), brought along traveling (dragged around to crimescenes even when he doesn't want to), given rewards in food (told he's doing good work though said work is breaking him).

Abdullahi Mohammed with Gumu | Ogere-Remo | Nigeria | 2007

... and there is also the fact that Hyenas closest relatives are the meerkat and mongoose.

And we all know Hannibals' stance on that one.

[rissararity]

"From the Bottom of my Heart, Fuck You" -John Walker x Thunderbolt!Reader PART 2

Word count; 1,316

No use of Y/N

Frenemies to lovers, bickering, firm dom John, asshole John, mutual pining, size kink, undertones of Sadism/masochism, unspoken consent, thigh humping/dry humping, heightened senses Super Soldiers. Minor humiliation kink, Unprotected P/V sex, creampie, dirty talking John, both degradation and praise sprinkled about, touch her and die and of course, gradual realization of mutual feelings.

THIS IS PART TWO

Here is PART ONE

(Friendly reminder, he still has your back to the wall.)

"What's your problem, huh?" John stepped between your feet, maintaining harsh eye contact and towering over you.

Fighting the urge to rut against him, you tried to keep your breathing level, lifting your chin defiantly.

“Your fuckin’ attitude is my problem. Why do you always think you need to be in charge? Seriously! You’ve already shown what kind of team leader you are.”

He sneered, looking down at you like gum on his shoe. “I was the first person in American history to receive three Medals of Honor and led RS One missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue. You were…what? The Avengers’ resident, magical whore?”

…To be fair, you did seem to have a thing for super soldiers.

You weren’t hurt at the accusation, both due to the kernel of truth in it you weren’t ashamed of and the fact that you knew John was aware of you and Bucky's canoodeling in the past and not so distant past – purely physical of course.

He was very clearly jealous and extra short tempered each following morning despite the fact you each emerged from your own bedrooms.

Knowing Walker was baiting you, you replied with a small smile, “A lady never tells.”

“Tch.” He scoffed, purposely lifting his leg to push between your thighs.

You knew he could definitely feel the heat coming off you at the moment, and feeling your face heat up too was not helping with the embarrassment!

“I’ve heard you and Bucky. You are not a lady…are you?”

He slowly and deliberately lifted his leg to nudge at your core – short circuiting your brain.

You wanted to say something about him just being upset Yelena turned down his fwb suggestion, but the words wouldn’t even form in your head.

You had nothing.

One hand lifted to grip your jaw firmly, but not brusing-John wasn’t even angry anymore. This was all a show.

For you.

Not that you knew that.

And, wow, were you instant putty in his hands.

You even started to buck against his warm thigh, unbothered by all the fabric between you.

“I…I’m…I…” you were cut off by his cruel laugh, a dark glimmer in his eyes.

“Am a blubbering little mess. Yes, you are.” His lips curled on one side – the arrogant smirk that made you weak in the knees.

“A blubbering little mess, for me.” He amended, the hand on your jaw caressed your cheek for a moment, stealing the breath from your lungs.

He looked down at you in haughty silence for a few seconds before grabbing your jaw again, harder.

Throb.

You began to hump at him more confidently as he nudged you a little with his knee to encourage it.

You were practically dripping by now, a dark spot staining his suit to prove it.

“Isn’t that right?” he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

The fight in you faltered as your inner sub activated itself for John. Your world felt smaller and focused.

Focused entirely on the man who’s fingers began to toy with the button of your pants.

Focused entirely on how good he smelled and how good he felt.

Despite all this – the arguing, the rage, the whole back to the wall thing… you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

He'd promised you, once, while distraught and horrified at his own actions- he had no idea you’d heard just before passing out.

That was your little secret.

There was no doubt in your mind that when it came down to the wire, you’d trust John with your life.

So when he asked if you were a blubbering mess for him, you answered honestly as a reflex.

The words came out before you could stop them, “…Yes, Sir.”

Now, it was John's turn to have his moment of FUCK.

He’d only been half hard until now, but you looking at him like you’d cry if he didn’t get you off and calling him Sir was everything he imagined.

And trust me, he definitely imagined it.

A lot.

“I knew you could be a good girl.”

The words sent a shot of heat through you that ended with a tingle in your clit, eyes widening with genuine surprise as your body reacted to his praise.

The sound of your suits whispering together stuttered as your hips broke rhythm for a moment.

The tips of your ears felt warm as your blush spread, unable to look away from him as he took in your reaction.

Mouth dry, you tried to say something but your brain had left the building.

The only sound that came out was a small whine that sparked a couple of things in John’s bright blue eyes.

A flicker of mischief, and a large amount of pride.

“Nothing else to say? Is this all it takes to shut you up?” he oozed confidence, ghosting his thumb over your core and causing another desperate stutter that made him grin.

“W-Walker….” Was all you could manage, words dying in your throat or…perhaps not existing at all.

“That’s right, focus on me.”

He deliberately slid your zipper down and dipped his long fingers unabashedly into your soaked panties.

You whimpered, bucking up twice as his rough fingertips rubbed your clit. “Mmm!”

Face crumpled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation, you tried to hold back the word that threatened to fall from your deep red painted lips.

….Please…

You WOULD NOT beg for John.

No matter how much you wanted to.

“Hey guys, how’s it going down there?” both of you stiffened as Bucky’s voice chimed through your coms simultaneously.

It was like a bucket of ice water had dropped on you.

A Buckyet if you will.

Real anger glowed in John’s eyes at the interruption, but he was careful to keep it from leaking into his tone.

“We’re fine, Barnes. Haven’t killed each other.”

“Yet!” you chimed in lightheartedly, only able to hold it together for a single word.

The blond gave you a soft smile for a fraction of a second, making your heart skip a beat.

Not that you knew, since you’d shyly glanced down after his smile and missed his expression change, but he’d heard that – and was just as unsure of why it happened as you were.

Idiots; both of you.

Your voice was enough for Bucky to confirm you were both present and not at each other’s throats; that was really all he could ask for.

He was quick to sign back off but the moment had shattered.

Sensing this, John sighed and stepped away. Hastily, you did your suits pants while he turned his back to you and tugged at the fabric around his slowly softening cock.

Both of you took a few seconds to clear your heads; he waited for you to approach him once you had gathered yourself.

“So uh…let’s go.” You took point, relieved when he didn’t argue; just gave a short nod, lips taught.

Still in caveman mode, John found himself watching your hips and ass dance through the air as you unintentionally strutted around the base-as if you had any idea where you were going.

She’s so confident but so wrong.

He wondered how far you’d go until you remembered that in his pocket was an old, folded sheet of paper.

On that paper was a map you didn’t have a chance at deciphering. Not to mention your complete lack of direction.

A map he knew said you were heading deeper toward the chemistry labs and away from the experimental labs – where the prototype was supposed to be.

What a cute, dumb little duck.

Still following behind you, John shook his head at the thought – mentally correcting it.

What a cute dumb, little duck.

“…Cute?” he muttered to himself, the tone of his voice echoing just enough to carry to you but remain unintelligible.

Continuing to walk, you looked over your shoulder at him, “You say something, Walker?”

“Nah, nothin’.”

-------------------------------------

Literally all of us when John gets agro lol

No smut yet, but once it goes off...its gonna go OFF 🔥

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 4

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 2.0k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

summary: tension tension and moreee tension

————————————————————————————

saturday morning came with too much sun and not enough sleep.

liora blinked at the ceiling for a while, arms folded over her chest like she could hold herself together physically. her roommate had gone home for the weekend — something about a cousin's birthday, or maybe a dentist appointment. she didn't remember. didn't ask.

the room was quiet. too quiet.

she made tea she didn't drink. scrolled through messages she didn't answer. opened a book she didn't read.

by noon, she was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her notebook open in front of her, pen in hand. the page was already half-filled — not with anything polished, just fragments. phrases. half-rhymes.

the ink bled slightly from how hard she pressed:

i want to ask if you meant it.

but i don't want to hear no.

i want to walk into silence

and come out with a song.

she stared at it.

then flipped the page and wrote more:

your voice stayed with me

like light under my skin.

like thunder

waiting for somewhere to land.

she stopped.

closed the notebook.

opened it again.

flipped back.

by evening, the pages were full of the same person in different disguises.

sunday, she went for a walk.

campus was mostly empty — a soft kind of quiet, like everyone else had left the volume down. she wandered the edge of the quad, passed the student center, the old library, the admin building.

and then — like a chord struck out of nowhere — she saw her.

billie.

across the green.

walking slowly, head down, earbuds in. her bag slung over one shoulder, sweater loose at the sleeves. the same boots. the same expression — unreadable.

liora stopped moving.

billie looked up.

their eyes met.

only for a second.

but it held longer than it should've.

liora didn't wave. didn't smile.

neither did billie.

just a look.

just that.

then billie looked away. kept walking.

liora stood there until her fingers went cold.

she didn't write that night.

she just lay on her bed in the dark, one arm folded under her head, notebook still open beside her like it might finish the page for her.

but it didn't.

only the quiet answered.

and it didn't say enough.

monday came without warning.

the morning moved like fog again — soft, pale, slow. liora didn't feel ready, but she went anyway. her bag was heavier than usual, not because of the books. because of everything else.

music room four was already lit when she arrived.

billie sat at the piano this time. not playing. just sitting there, spine straight, fingers laced loosely in her lap. she didn't look up until liora stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

"hey," billie said. neutral. like static.

"hi," liora answered.

she crossed the room, sat in her usual spot on the floor, unzipped her bag and pulled out her notebook. the silence wasn't cruel. but it was tight. stretched thin between them like a rope no one wanted to pull.

"i thought we could try structuring it out today," billie said, opening her own notebook. "just something basic — verse, chorus, refrain. nothing complicated."

liora nodded. "okay."

they worked like that for a while — trading ideas, writing lines, adjusting phrasing. billie kept it focused. all her notes were about the work. all her glances were quick. professional. guarded.

liora played along.

but under the surface, the air felt different.

like someone had left a door open and wasn't saying anything about it.

after half an hour, billie sat back from the piano and said, "do you want to try singing it?"

liora froze slightly. "out loud?"

"yeah."

liora hesitated. she'd sung before, sure — in the dorm, in the shower, once during a high school open mic where her hands had shaken so badly she couldn't unplug the mic cable afterward. but not like this. not here.

still — billie waited.

so she nodded. cleared her throat. found the melody again in her head. closed her eyes.

and started.

her voice was soft. unsure at first. a little breathy on the edges.

but then it steadied.

not strong. not perfect.

but raw.

i'm not the center of anything,

but i reflect like i am.

you look and i shimmer —

not because i'm full.

because i'm empty

and still standing.

her voice cracked slightly on standing.

but she finished.

silence followed.

when she opened her eyes, billie wasn't looking at her.

she was looking through her.

like something in her had shifted and didn't know how to shift back.

liora's voice felt caught in her throat. she swallowed.

"too much?" she asked, quiet.

billie shook her head. didn't speak.

then finally: "no. not enough people write like that."

liora's heart skipped once. "like what?"

billie blinked slowly. "like it hurts."

the silence between them thickened.

liora looked down. "i think i'm just tired of hiding in metaphor."

"good," billie said. voice softer now. "leave it behind."

she stood up then. stretched her back. walked toward her coffee, took a long sip. turned back.

and her eyes held something new.

not warmth. not yet.

but recognition.

and maybe, just maybe — forgiveness.

"same time wednesday?" she asked.

liora nodded. "yeah."

billie gave a small nod back. not quite a smile.

but close.

and when liora left the room, she felt it again —

that ache behind her ribs.

the one that sounded too much like a song.

wednesday came with gray skies and cold air, the kind that slipped under sleeves and collarbones. liora pulled her hoodie tighter as she crossed campus. every step felt louder than it should've. every thought heavier.

music room four smelled the same — old carpet and pencil shavings and something faintly like bergamot, maybe from billie's tea.

billie was already there, barefoot on the rug, her boots in the corner, one socked foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor. she looked up when liora entered.

this time — she smiled.

not big. not wide.

but soft.

real.

"hey."

"hey," liora said back, trying not to sound like her ribs had just collapsed inward.

they didn't start right away.

billie sat back down at the piano. liora dropped onto the rug across from her, pulling out her notes, flipping pages she already knew by heart.

"you've been writing more," billie said, watching her hands.

"yeah," liora said. "can't stop."

billie nodded like she understood something deeper than that. like she didn't need the rest of the sentence.

they worked.

the new verse was better — stronger, clearer. liora's voice didn't shake this time when she sang it. the harmony they shaped together was delicate but full — a kind of ache that lingered even after the sound had faded.

they didn't say much while working.

but the silence didn't feel like it had before.

this time, it buzzed.

like static. like tension. like electricity that hadn't found a surface to spark against.

after an hour, liora leaned back on her hands and said, without planning to:

"why do you always pull away right when things get close?"

billie stilled.

the question hung in the air like smoke from a candle just blown out — soft, warm, slightly bitter.

"i don't know what you mean," billie said carefully.

"you do."

billie looked at her. not defensive. not angry.

just... tired.

"because it's not supposed to happen," she said. voice low. steady. "because you're a student. and i'm not."

liora's breath hitched. "that's not all of it."

billie didn't answer.

"you're scared," liora said.

"so are you."

they stared at each other for a beat too long.

something pulled at the edges of the moment — something thin and sharp, a thread drawn tight between two bodies that didn't know which way to bend.

billie stood slowly. crossed the space between them without speaking.

she knelt down.

close.

closer.

liora's breath caught.

billie lifted a hand — slowly — and tucked a loose strand of hair behind liora's ear.

her fingers lingered. just barely.

liora didn't move.

their faces were inches apart.

everything else fell away — the piano, the notes, the rain against the window.

just that space.

just her.

and then —

billie pulled back.

stood.

"i can't," she said. softly. firmly. like it hurt.

liora's throat tightened. "okay."

billie didn't look at her.

"you should go."

the words weren't cruel.

but they cut anyway.

liora stood. gathered her things with shaking hands. nodded once. walked out.

the door clicked shut behind her.

and the silence that followed rang louder than any chord.

liora didn't remember the walk back to her dorm.

the air outside was cold, but she didn't feel it. her hands were too warm, her chest too tight. her pulse pounded in her ears, each step echoing like a skipped beat.

her fingers still felt the ghost of billie's touch. not her lips — not quite. just the space where her lips could've been.

and the way she'd said i can't like it wasn't a refusal.

like it was a wound.

back in her room, she dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed without turning on the light. her roommate wouldn't be back until morning. the silence felt heavier now — like it was pressing against her ribs, asking to be broken.

she didn't cry.

not really.

but her eyes burned.

and she was shaking.

not from sadness.

from too much feeling.

she sat up around midnight. turned on the lamp. pulled her notebook close.

and wrote.

not carefully. not poetically.

just raw.

you look at me like a mirror

but won't let me see you.

you touched my face like a maybe

and said it like a goodbye.

you say "not supposed to" like it's a door,

but you're the one holding the key.

her handwriting slanted. some of the ink smudged.

she kept going.

even when her hand cramped.

even when the page started to ripple from where her wrist had sweated through it.

she didn't stop until the sun started bleeding into the sky outside.

the next day was a blur — lectures, emails, too much noise and not enough breath. she floated through it.

until lunch.

when she stopped by the english department to check the workshop board — and found something waiting.

an envelope.

tucked into her cubby. unmarked. no name. no seal. just cream paper, folded once.

she looked around. the hallway was empty.

her heart stumbled once.

she opened it.

one sheet of lined paper. handwritten. ink slightly faded like it had been written with a pen that was about to die.

no greeting.

just this:

you weren't wrong.

i do pull away.

not because i don't feel it.

because i do.

and i don't trust myself

to want the right things

in the right way

at the right time.

but you make the quiet louder.

and that scares the hell out of me.

she read it once.

then again.

then a third time.

her hands were trembling.

no signature.

no instructions.

just that.

but it was enough to unravel something she thought she'd already tucked away.

and for the first time in two days —

she exhaled.

liora sat on a bench behind the humanities building, the envelope still clutched in her hand like it might disappear if she let go.

wind tugged at the corners of the note where it rested in her lap. sunlight filtered through the trees in faint, flickering patterns. the campus buzzed faintly in the background — footsteps, laughter, someone on a skateboard, the rustle of paper in someone's bag — but it all felt far away.

she read the note again.

but you make the quiet louder.

and that scares the hell out of me.

it was unmistakably billie's voice. not just in handwriting, or phrasing. in the rhythm of it. the restraint. the emotional math of someone trying not to say something — and saying it anyway.

liora traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.

there was no request. no ask. no "let's talk" or "meet me" or even her name. just a confession folded into careful lines.

and it did something to her.

not relief. not closure.

just... movement.

like the stillness inside her had cracked. like her heart, which had been holding its breath for two days, had finally exhaled just a little.

she folded the note. slid it into her notebook between two pages she hadn't shown anyone yet. pages she might never show.

but now—

maybe.

maybe she would.

later that night, she lay on her bed with the lights off, headphones in. no lyrics. just sound. ambient, soft, all low tones and long spaces.

and she didn't try to write.

she didn't have to.

because she knew this wasn't over.

whatever this was.

it had a heartbeat now.

and it was still finding its rhythm.

————————————————————————————

tags; @bxlIxebxtch @stOnerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation

[summercreolefanfictioner]

07. of ikebana and messy rouge stains

Valentine's Day came, and Toge rushed to get ready after practice, making sure he was styling his hair in a way that would complement his features. This time, he opted for a simple face mask that he could easily remove when he's eating food (or talking with her—gosh, he missed talking with her). Once he was done with his hair, he looked at himself in the tall mirror. His outfit was a simple long-sleeved white dress shirt underneath a black cardigan with matching dark pants and white sneakers. He didn't seemed overdressed, so he decided this would go.

There was a knock on his door.

"Toge, are you ready?" Gojo asked from the other side.

Toge casually opened his door and nodded, stepping out and pretending he was calm even though he was a nervous wreck. He casually invited Y/N out on Valentine's Day just because it was expected of them (although the elders have no idea they were having this date right now), and now he is thinking of what exactly people do on February 14th. Do they just eat somewhere or walk around? Where do they flirt without getting caught? Are they just gonna watch the sunset? If they kiss, will it lead to something else?

Toge wanted to punch himself.

What the hell! Stop thinking about sex.

Seeing his distressed expression, Gojo slapped him in the back so hard he felt a bone or two crack.

"Relax, Toge. You will do fine!" Gojo barked a laugh as Toge straightened. "Don't want to look pathetic in front of your beloved lady luck, you know."

After that, Ijichi dropped him off at the central park near the mall. "I'll just text you once we're heading back, okay?" Gojo informed.

Toge nodded, saving his number to be sure.

"Be careful!" his teacher said, then leaned down to whisper. "Use protection if you must."

The Cursed Speech user frowned. "Ikura."

Once Gojo left, Toge sat on the nearby bench and ruffled his hair in annoyance. He watched the other couples around him and took mental notes for reference, with some of them either beginning their own journey while some were not on the safer side of things (let's just say Toge thinks they weren't in sync or having problems.) A few minutes after, Y/N ran towards him, panting to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry! I had to run errands with the student council," she informed, sitting beside him as she schooled her nervousness. She scolded herself mentally for not taking a bit of time to make herself pretty for him, seeing how Toge dressed himself up in casual wear.

Why did he have to look so good? she frowned, unaware of how Toge was so fascinated with her at this moment. I should've borrowed a bit of makeup from my friends. No. That won't work. No one can find out about this.

Meanwhile, Toge was taking in her appearance from head to toe. Well, it was such a waste; she was still tying her long hair in her usual high ponytail. Still, this was a win situation for him. She's wearing her school uniform under her jacket, he thought. Furthermore, she covered her legs in black tights. Black hair, black jacket, black tights, black leather shoes—everything black contrasted with her fair features.

The darkness seemed like tainting her purity.

It was an odd thought he kept to himself.

Y/N handed him a small white paper bag. "Here. It's my chocolate for you," she said, her cheeks reddening as she looked away. The more she looked at Toge up close, the more she became aware that his face card was definitely serving.

Toge was confused with her reaction, mindlessly taking the bag, but not without leaning his face close to hers. "Tsuna tsuna." Why aren't you facing me? Look at me.

She will not give in.

She.

Will.

Not.

Give

In.

"I don't know what you like, so I made chocolate truffles," Y/N added as she continued moving her face elsewhere, only for him to follow her much to her dismay. "Inumaki-san, please. Just eat the chocolates and stop focusing on me!" she complained.

Toge chuckled, suddenly getting a hold of her wrists to make her stop, her face snapping towards his direction. He doesn't understand what is there for her to hide when her pouting face and cheeks as red as apples were so cute he could brag it to the whole world. Nah. He took it all back. He doesn't want the world to know now. If they knew what he knew, then they'll also have the same feelings as him. He felt a sudden possessiveness, fully aware he cannot control other people's feelings, yet wanting them to back off if they tried.

It wasn't still love, but it was getting there. Maybe it's a crush. Yes. Toge called it a crush, nursing it like a small bud of flower like the other flowers he watered in the school garden.

Toge let her go, smirking in delight before rummaging through the bag and taking out the box of truffles. Y/N was nervous. She might not cook that much, but if she was given a recipe, she can nail it. Yesterday, she made truffles in secret at school. If her father knew, he might take everything away from her and tell her there was no need for her to act like a normal lovesick teenage girl.

"You are to be Inumaki Toge's wife, and you should act properly. Squash those thoughts about love and other forms of weakness. Everything."

Toge removed his mask and popped one in his mouth, savoring the bittersweet taste as he maintained a deadpan expression. Once he was done eating, Y/N expected a reaction, only for him to bring out his phone and started typing.

"Let's go."

He slipped his mask back on and stood up from the bench, but Y/N tugged on the hem of his sweater to stop him.

"The chocolates!" she reminded. "Did you like them?"

In a normal situation, Toge would have told her that he did like them. However, today, he was having fun seeing a new side of her. He ruffled her hair and chuckled, smirking beneath his mask as he held a finger on where his lips were.

It's a secret.

Y/N understood, blushing furiously at Toge who slipped down his mask slightly and poked out his tongue.

"Inumaki-san!"

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

tags: @enouche @ch3esesoup @bloemrijk (comment below so I can add you to the taglist)

[blackcatxmagic]

It really felt like Brook kept saying the wrong thing. While he had hope that one day things wouldn't be like this between them, this wasn't that day - the pair had some kinks to work out in their relationship before it could feel truly easy again. They were getting there, but they weren't quite there yet. So Brook knew he'd have to re-learn how to talk to Mateo again. Not only was there the elephant in the room, the fact that they had complicated feelings for each other and that Mateo had moved across the country for him, but there was their dark shared history. Mateo kept talking like it was so easy for Brook to just let go, and maybe he should. It had been years, and Mateo himself had put it behind him. And like Mateo said, moving on didn't mean he would forget it. But it felt impossible to Brook, and the truth was he didn't feel like he deserved to move past it. Smiling somberly at his friend, Brook asked, "Can we talk about something else? Please?" It seemed the best way to steer this conversation into safer waters.

And it felt like Brook had misstepped when it came to the compliment too, which he could see now. Why would Mateo want to hear Brook tell him how hot he was? It was true though - Mateo was not only incredibly sexy, the fact that he didn't realize it made it even more true in Brook's eyes. Hearing that though would do nothing to help Mateo feel better - it would just be a disservice to him, and Brook cared too much about him to hurt the man anymore than he already had. So Brook just shrugged, letting it go, though he looked at Mateo meaningfully, as if to say that he understood, that he was self-aware to realize he was hurting Mateo, that he was sorry.

Could he say anything right tonight? When Mateo asked if he was trying to kill him, Brook didn't realize what the man meant for a second, but then it clicked - he had suggested swimming, and Brook knew that there were probably images dancing in the man's head of Brook wet and shirtless. And admittedly Brook had those same images. Just because he was with Silas didn't mean he wasn't still attracted to Mateo. But that hadn't been why he suggested it. Laughing awkwardly, Brook said, "Yeah, maybe not swimming then. It's getting late, and it might get a little chilly, so it's probably not a good time for that." Of course, that wasn't the real reason, and Brook thought they both probably knew it.

It meant a lot to Brook that Mateo had checked up on him, and he smiled gratefully at his friend. His smile faded just a little though when talk turned to magic, though he was the one he'd made his revelation. "No, I don't," Brook told Mateo, shaking his head. "Well not usually. I used it when I left Salem to sort of...like, cloak my location I guess. And I used it in one other instance since being here, but that was an emergency. Generally though, I don't anymore. It's just...safer that way." This was a much heavier conversation than Brook wanted to have, and it was a lot to unpack. He didn't want to tell Mateo the way using magic felt like an addiction to him.

"Yes, I would love to see it," Brook told Mateo. "So let's take that walk. I could show you some of the sights Cardinal Hill has to offer on the way, not that I'll be a great tour guide. I haven't been here that long, after all, though I suppose longer than you." He laughed, and then the pair paid for their drinks. To Brook, it had been an innocent remark about Elian, but he could see how Mateo might take it differently. "That's not what I'm trying to do. I thought we were like...two friends gossiping about people we thought were cute," Brook replied. They walked out together, and as they continued talking about this, Brook said, "That's not really what I meant, but...it's also not a bad idea if I'm being honest. Sometimes that's just what a person needs." They emerged outside into the cool evening air, and Brook glanced over at his friend, nodding. "Yeah, I know that's not really your thing. Maybe I could be your wingman sometime...if you don't think that would be too weird."

It was a disingenuous question; Brook knew what he meant. So Mateo didn't answer it, only allowed a beat of silence to linger between them, poignant. "Why do you think you don't deserve it?" he asked, finally, to try and understand. "You didn't do any of it on purpose." To Mateo, that made the difference. If Brook had intended for all of that to happen, then he absolutely deserved to live with the repercussions forever. But a mistake? An accident? Something that he could never have predicted or expected to happen? It didn't seem right that he should never have a chance to heal and move on from it.

He started shaking his head the moment his friend tried to wave aside the age factor. "You were a kid," Mateo insisted once more, this time low and fierce. "Brain development isn't even completed until around the age of twenty-five," he went on, "that's your prefrontal cortex, Brook, you know this. It's not fully matured in decisions or impulse control until then. You were very much just a stupid kid, involved in stupid things, with other stupid people and their stupid plans." He stared at him a moment. "And if you want further proof of that, then consider this: the decision you'd make today, would be drastically different than the one you made then, and that's how I know." It had taken his therapist a very long time to help Mateo see these facts himself, so he was aware that Brook likely wasn't in any space to truly hear or listen to it yet. He had to want to get better, before he would get better. That's what Mateo learned the hard way. "Don't you want to move past this? Moving on doesn't mean you forget."

Sadly, the other man was likely bound to always say the wrong thing where Mateo was concerned, because it didn't make a difference. Brook was taken, off limits. If Silas wasn't in the picture and Brook had simped over this nerdy professor look of his, those words would have gone down so much differently. But that's not their life right now. The sad fact was, Brook could compliment him, claim how handsome and attractive and whatever else have you to Mateo's charms, and it wouldn't land anymore. Because ultimately, it made no difference where Mateo wished it would. He might as well be some hideous frog person. "No," he tried to put on a good face, "I was just thinking I missed my calling then, to teach." It was a weak joke, but it was some attempt to get past how fugly he felt.

As Brook rattled off ideas of what they could do, Mateo lost himself further in his drink. Oh sure, swimming. The good doctor, wet and bare-chested? "Are you trying to kill me?" he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. "No," he spoke up, "I'm fine, just.. it's hot, that's all. I wouldn't mind a walk. Get some fresh air." A walk was safe, right?

"Just asked after you," he explained vaguely, with a shrug. He knew Brook's family, asked on occasion and if they could be discreet. "Oh, really?" Mateo looked surprised, to hear that his friend had someone keeping protective spells on him. "You don't use magic anymore?" He thought he could figure out why, though. It all seemed to stem back to that one horrible night, didn't it? But Brook could surprise him, could say it was for some other reason, of course.

"You want to see my shop? Right now?" A slow smile came to his lips then and he nodded, finishing that second drink in record time. "Okay," he licked some of that liquor taste from his bottom lip as he scooted his chair back loudly, "let's go then." Mateo stood, hearing the Elian question again. A third time? Once was casual, twice was interest, but thrice? That gave the definite impression that his friend had an ulterior motive behind what should have been an innocent, curious question. It wasn't hard to decipher what it would be, either. Brook must feel guilty, that he couldn't be with Mateo. "Are you trying to pawn me off on the first available person there is?" he asked in return, a bit shrewdly, though there didn't seem to be any upset over it, either. He knew he should move on, the quicker the better, so that they could get past that, so he understood Brook's possible motivations there. What was there to get upset over? It was only the truth, that Mateo needed to get over Brook.

"Is that the doctor's prescription?" he teased lightly. "Get under someone else to get over you?" He combed fingers through his hair, feeling like a lost cause. "I've never really... been the type, I guess," he said then, as he paid for their drinks and walked outside with Brook. "I'm too... awkward, in those situations." He was awkward, regardless. "I don't understand how someone can just approach another person they don't really know and be like, hey, want to come home with me tonight?"

[saltyfryz]

No clue how original this idea is but I thought of a pokemon villain

His name is Evan Lucius, a crazed ex pokemon professor who is obsessed with studying the way Pokemon evolve, being so obsessed he yoinks pokemon from the wild and forces them to evolve against their will

Hey also maybe dabbles in black market dealings of Pokemon, selling the spare parts from his failed research to shady people and gangs with enough money

Maybe he could be a twist villain of the reigion, acting all kind and friendly all the while using you as a pawn to further his experiments.

The pokemon he gives you could also represent this, starring off as meek or unsure but as they and you as the player evlove past needing his help grow stronger and form a sense of self

i would base the pokemon after the heart(fire type) mind(water( and soul(grass)

The fire starter looks all sad, and resembles a broken heart before evolving into something big and bulky, kinda wanna avoid the fighting type but im leaning heavily towards it LMAO

the water type could start off as something frazzled, maybe with wild furr and swirkly eyes, maube in a straight jacket or something before evloving into a monk like figure

The grass type.. Im not so sure on, maybe a moldy seed r somthing that grows into a tree with psychic powers

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Multiamory Month, Day Twenty-Eight: Magic (Valicer In The Dark AU)

The end of Multiamory March (as made by @polyamships) creeps ever closer, and today's prompt is a simple but fun one: "magic!" I have a number of AUs where magical things happen, so filling this one? Not a problem. :p Now, one might have expected that I'd do something for the All The Fairy Tales AU for this one, or perhaps the Medieval Fantasy AU, or maybe even the Valicer Forgotten Vows AU --

But when it came time to figure out something for this prompt, the first thing that actually came to mind was my beloved Valicer In The Dark AU. Which does indeed have magic in it -- just, uh, magic you don't want to mess with too much. Which led to me thinking about what the trio would have learned about magic, growing up in Duskwall -- and what Alice and Smiler might think about Victor getting into it once he embraces being a Whisper. And so the story below was born! I hope you enjoy. :)

--

Magic was dangerous.

That was a fact of life one learned early on, living in Duskwall. Magic, and anything related to it, was dangerous. The old tongue of sorcery was the domain of demons now, who used it to torment all who opposed them – from freezing them in storms of ice, to drowning them in massive waves, to burning them with whips of fire. And rituals? Well, you never knew what mysterious, otherworldly force would consent to lend you a bit of its power – or for what purpose. The city was full of stories featuring those who had dabbled in what they didn’t understand, and ended up paying a terrible price. Who had discovered that the power they so eagerly sought was also their inevitable downfall. Magic was dangerous, and thus best avoided.

Alice and Smiler had known that too – they’d grown up hearing all the stories, all the warnings, after all. And for the most part, they’d followed said warnings – Alice had confined her interest in the fantastical to her imagination, where magic could run wild without hurting anyone, while Smiler had channeled their desire to accomplish incredible things into alchemy, which often ran up against the side of magic, but never quite crossed over. Even after Alice suffered the death of her family and ten years in Rutledge Asylum, and Smiler finally ran away from home and was cheerfully swallowed up by the Advocates, neither of them were tempted much by the mystical.

And then they met Victor. Who – after some initial reluctance – wholeheartedly embraced life as a Whisper. Who poured through ancient volumes of spellcraft and sorcery, studying distressingly complex diagrams and practicing words no human tongue should be able to form. Who asked his ghostly mentor what rituals he knew, and how best to perform them. Who eventually came up with his own spells, designed to translate any language or ward them against spectral attacks or even drag them all temporarily into the ghost field. All the sort of terrifying, dangerous activities that any sensible person would want to avoid.

But – well. One could accuse Alice and Smiler of being a lot of things, but “sensible” was not usually one of them. And things Victor did – first, they were genuinely incredible feats of arcane power. Second, he always tried to be as safe as possible, and only use them for the whole crew’s benefit. And third – whenever he spoke a word that brought lightning arcing down from the sky, or drew a symbol that lit up a ghostly map of the city, Alice and Smiler would see the joy on his face –

And think, how could they deny the man they loved such pleasure?

[lleechaeyoung]

I JUST REWATCHED PIWON MOVIE AND I HAVE THINGS TO SAY

[teaandinanity]

Experiencing a truly unholy amount of joy at being able to use my stove and oven again for the highest purpose of a kitchen: Making Soup.