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spikedfearn · 9 days ago

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Heavy Lies The Crown

Chapter I

Sir Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

summary: Decades after the Rage Virus devastated the UK, the infected have thinned but the world remains lawless and brutal. You’ve been surviving on your own until you’re captured by patrols from a notorious compound hidden in the Scottish Highlands: Eden. Its soldiers are strange—clad in random mismatched tracksuits, long blonde hair hanging tangled and wild like heathen halos, each armed with beautifully maintained bows. Silent. Precise. Unsmiling.

And then there’s their leader. Sir Jimmy Crystal. A gold-chained, tiara-wearing, crushed velvet zip-up psycho with a God complex thicker than his drawl. He doesn’t want to kill you. He intends to keep you.

wc: 6.3k

a/n: So I started absolutely gooning for Jimmy from the moment he drawled “ugh fuckin’ geaux” in the ninety seconds of screentime he has and now here we are. And if you came to shame, save your breath—I already talked about the discourse around him here. My k-hole tracksuit cult-leading princess lives rent-free in my brain, and I’m charging him for every second. Stay mad. Stay wet. Stay blessed. Now ugh—fuckin geaux. Big shout out to @amaranthine-enihtnarama for beta reading, thanks pookie!! NO SMUT in this chapter it's all setup, sorry guys <333

warnings: dark!romance, post-apocalyptic setting, cult dynamics, abduction, forced proximity, authoritarian/power dynamics, God complex, psychological manipulation, ritualistic obedience, choking, breath play, breeding kink, creampie, corruption arc, sexual tension, mentions of blood and decay, mentions of death and violence, intimidation, d/s dynamics, forced bathing, captivity, worship themes, verbal degradation, possessive behavior, choking from behind, unsettling atmosphere, cult rituals, light threat of force, elements of stockholm syndrome, highly charged sexual context, dubcon overtones

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated please enjoy!!

Fic Masterlist/Main Masterlist

Chapter I: Annointed

The air here smells like wet iron and peat. It clings to your throat, heavier with each breath, as if the land itself wants to remind you what’s been spilled on it. A silence rests over the hills—not peace, but the uneasy stillness of something watching. Listening. Holding its breath.

You haven’t seen another living person in days. Weeks? It’s hard to keep track when the sun rises behind a haze of ash and dusk always comes too soon. Even the sky seems starved. The clouds hang low and bruised, heavy with rain that never falls.

The forest stretches ahead like a mouth left open too long. You step lightly. Leaves rot wet beneath your boots. A broken fence curls under moss, the last gasp of an island that once had tidy borders and polite signs. You pass rusted-out trailers on cinder blocks, windshields shattered, doors long gone. The doors always go first. People rip them off in a panic, thinking it’ll help. It never does.

The cold bites through your clothes. Not sharp. Just damp. Soaks into your bones. Makes the ache constant. Your breath ghosts in front of you as you walk, and for a second, you pretend it’s cigarette smoke. You used to hate the smell of it.

Now you’d kill for it.

Your stomach hasn’t stopped making noise. You ignore it. You’ve become skilled at ignoring it, the same way you’ve learned to ignore your own smell, the taste of metal in your mouth, the dull throb in your calves from days of walking with no real destination. You’re looking for food. Shelter. A map. Anything.

You cross a clearing and crouch low in the grass, just like you’ve done hundreds of times before. You survey the landscape: a ruined farmhouse collapsed under its own roof. No movement. No dogs. No smell of death and decay that you've grown almost nose-blind to. Could be safe. Could be worse.

Everything could be worse now.

You move. Cautiously. Deliberately. The earth here is soft and the wind carries no scent—just the musk of damp bark and pine needles. Still, something feels…off.

You pause and tilt your head to listen.

Nothing.

Too much nothing.

Birds don’t sing out here anymore. The ones that do don’t last long. Sound gets you noticed. Attention gets you killed. And this silence is the wrong kind—the hollow kind, as if the trees themselves are waiting for a bloodcurdling scream.

You take another step. A branch snaps beneath your boot. Loud. Too loud. The noise cracks like a warning shot through the quiet.

And that’s when your spine prickles.

Not fear; not yet. Something worse.

Recognition.

You're being watched.

The hair on your arms stands up before your brain can catch up.

You don’t run. You don’t call out. You listen.

The kind of stillness around you isn’t natural. It’s curated. Like someone hit mute on the world.

No birds. No bugs. Not even the soft flit of wind threading through branches. The entire forest has gone tight—drawn taut like the string of a bow, pulled back and trembling, waiting for the moment it breaks.

You slowly lower yourself into a crouch, hand pressed into wet moss. It gives under your palm with a faint squelch, soft and cold and alive with decay. The loamy scent rises up, thick and rich and sharp in your nostrils. Earth and blood smell too close sometimes.

Your heart thuds once, a heavy pulse.

Your fingers curl tighter into the dirt. Grounding. You’ve learned to trust instinct over logic. Instinct kept you alive when logic said the people you loved wouldn’t turn. Instinct taught you how to sharpen a stick into a weapon. How to scavenge rats. How to sleep with one eye open.

Instinct is telling you now: you are not alone.

You shift your weight slowly, inching backward through the brush. One heel catches on a vine. A small sound, but loud enough to make your skin go cold.

Your breath starts to pick up. Not fast. But deeper. Sharper. Your throat feels too open—too vulnerable.

You scan the trees. Nothing.

But the feeling doesn’t go away–it grows.

That same prickle at the back of your neck starts to burn. You can feel eyes. More than one set. You don’t know how—you just do. You feel them drinking you in. Not hungry. Not even curious.

Calculating.

You stand and backtrack carefully toward the collapsed farmhouse, thinking maybe you’ll duck behind the stone wall, find higher ground, get a better vantage point.

You take one step. Another. Then freeze.

Movement. Not in front of you. Beside you.

The sound is barely audible—just the faint rustle of fabric, the smallest crunch of gravel.

Your lungs go tight. Your mouth floods with the taste of copper. Your fingers twitch toward the handle of your rusted blade, tucked beneath your coat. Useless. Too slow. You already know.

Whoever—or whatever—is out here with you? They’ve been watching for longer than you realized.

And they’re close. Too close.

The sound comes first.

It doesn’t ring like a bullet or howl like a holler. It hisses. A sharp, slicing whisper that splits the space beside your filthy cheek and buries itself into the tree behind you with a heavy thock!

You freeze, breath clinging to your lungs.

The bark splinters. Chips rain down against your shoulder. A sliver catches in your collar, warm with friction. You feel it there, resting against your skin—proof that the shot wasn’t a miss.

It was a message.

Your pulse explodes behind your ribs. That thin line of stillness you were standing on? It breaks. Snaps. Shatters.

You wheel around, instinct gripping your limbs. One foot twists in the underbrush. You catch yourself against the tree trunk—the same one the arrow is now buried deep in, vibrating slightly as if it’s still alive. The shaft is black, smooth, and handmade. Fletching dyed dark green. No markings. No blood. Not yet.

You reach for your blade without thinking.

And then you see the second arrow—already drawn.

A figure steps out from behind the trees. Slow. Graceful. Like they’ve had all the time in the world to decide what happens next.

They wear a tracksuit—top unzipped, fabric torn at one sleeve, the color somewhere between piss-yellow and vomit-green. Their hair is long, tangled, hanging in ropes around their face. Their skin is streaked with dirt. Mud along the jaw. Ash on the hands.

And they don’t say a word.

Another shadow moves behind them.

Then another, and another. And another.

One by one, they emerge like ghosts stepping out of the woodwork—blonde, dirty, silent—clad in mismatched tracksuits stained with smoke and rain. Each one armed. Each one watching.

Some hold their bows. Some notched and ready. Others just stand with knives visible at their hips, bone-handled and used.

The archer who fired first tips their head to the side. Curious. Unbothered. Like you’re not a threat. Like you’re already theirs.

You don’t breathe. Your lungs refuse.

Another arrow hisses past you and strikes the ground by your foot. Close enough to kiss your boot.

Still no words.

Just eyes. Watching.

Measuring.

And then one of them smiles, just a little

It’s not warm.

You don’t plan it. You just move.

One moment you’re frozen, breath snagged between ribs, and the next—your muscles snap into motion like a trap springing shut. You pivot on your heel, throw your weight into the turn, and take off into the trees.

Branches slap your face. Mud sprays up the back of your legs. The forest blurs.

You run like you’ve never run before—like the ground might open beneath you if you stop, like air is poison and the only cure is speed. Your lungs seize in protest. Your legs burn. Your heartbeat crashes against your eardrums, a war drum in your skull.

Behind you, the forest doesn’t make a sound.

No shouting. No chase.

Just the sick, humming quiet.

And that’s worse.

Because it means they don’t need to run. They already know where you’re going.

Your boots slip on a slick patch of wet leaves. You catch yourself, barely, skidding through brambles that catch your clothes and tear at your arms. You don’t care. You don't feel it. All that matters is forward. Get to higher ground. Get to somewhere—anywhere—they can’t surround you.

You vault over a fallen log, fingers skimming the mossy bark. The scent of rot is thick in your nostrils. Dead wood. Old things. It clings to you like a second skin.

Somewhere up ahead—there’s a break in the dense canopy of trees. Light, maybe. A clearing. A way out.

You bolt for it, lungs screaming. Every step is thunder in your bones. You don’t look back.

But the air changes again.

A shadow flits past your periphery—too fast to track, too quiet to follow.

Another.

Then—

Crack.

Your foot catches on something taut and hidden beneath the brush.

Not a root.

A snare.

The loop cinches around your ankle, and before you can scream, your body slams sideways into the ground with a sickening crunch. The air punches from your lungs. You taste dirt. Cold. Blood. Pine needles jam under your nails.

Then—snap—a figure descends from the treeline like a wolf from a perch, boots landing heavy in the earth.

You try to scramble. Slip.

A hand grabs your arm.

Another closes around the back of your neck.

Then a voice. The first one you’ve heard.

Low. Calm. Male. Fucking delighted.

“That’s enough now, wee thing. Eden’s got ye.”

The hand at the back of your neck doesn’t squeeze.

It doesn’t have to.

It just settles there, heavy and final, fingers splayed wide like it’s already mapping your bones. It holds you in place—not hurting, not pinning, just claiming. Like you belong on your knees, pressed into the mud, spine curved and breath coming in sharp, humiliated bursts.

You twist. You kick. But the snare’s still wrapped around your ankle, biting into the skin. Any movement pulls it tighter.

You try to reach for your blade.

Another hand wraps around your wrist. This one is colder. Slimmer. It doesn't yank—it just presses, thumb digging in just enough to tell you: don’t.

You look up.

They're all around you now.

Six. Maybe seven. It’s hard to count through the blur of leaves and light and pain, but they stand in a wide circle, mismatched tracksuits streaked with earth and soot, hair hanging in matted ropes, eyes like damp stones. None of them speak.

One of them—barefoot, bow still drawn—grins, flashing a mouthful of decay. Some teeth are rotted through, black at the roots. Others jut out at odd angles, twisted by years without mirrors. One is missing several along the top row, exposing pale pink gums when they smile too wide.

“Slippery wee thing,” someone mutters from behind your shoulder. The one who caught you. The voice is deep. Smooth. Oddly kind.

You flinch when he touches your hair. Just a graze. Fingertips through the strands. It’s not affectionate. Not cruel, either. It’s closer to curiosity. A priest handling a relic.

They murmur to each other in low tones, too quiet to make out. The sound of their voices doesn’t feel like a conversation. It feels like a ritual.

One of them kneels beside you and cuts the snare loose. It snaps back into the undergrowth like a live wire.

You think—now. Move. Fight.

But the blade is already gone from your belt. You don’t even remember the moment they took it.

The realization sinks in slowly that you never had a chance. They weren’t hunting you. They were herding you.

You try to speak. A demand. A threat. A plea.

But all that comes out is a ragged breath and the taste of copper.

One of the archers—an older woman, face half-shadowed by dirt—leans down close enough for you to smell her. Woodsmoke. Sweat. Blood.

“He’s gonna be so pleased with ye.”

You’re cargo.

They move with purpose now.

The man behind you grabs the back of your coat and hauls you upright. Not violently. Just effectively. Like lifting a sack of flour. You stumble, one leg still half-dead from the snare. He steadies you with a hand to your spine, then turns you sharply toward the trees.

“Come along now,” he says, rancid breath hot against your ear. “Wouldn’t keep Him waitin’.”

They don’t blindfold you.

But they might as well.

The forest that follows looks like no place you’ve ever walked before. The path isn't marked—but it’s known. Worn bare by repetition. Sinewy footprints in the muck. Grooves dug into the soil from dragging something—or someone. The trees here lean inward, heavy with damp and time, their bark split and bleeding sap that smells sickly sweet.

The archers fall into formation around you, wordless. You hear their breathing. One whistles tunelessly through a gap in his teeth. Another pulls a long rag from her waistband and begins to wrap your wrists together—not tight, but tight enough.

“There. Now ye don’t get lost.”

The woman smiles. Three teeth. All bottom row.

You walk.

The cold bites deep now, not just into your body, but into your understanding. This is a procession. And you are the offering.

With each step, the terrain shifts—brambles give way to packed soil, then mud, then flattened leaves stamped down by boots. You spot bones underfoot. Clean ones. Stripped bare. Not fresh.

Not all are animal.

Someone carries a lantern ahead of you—oil-burning, the flame shielded by cracked glass. The light it throws is golden but small, and it doesn’t reach far. Enough to see the tracksuits shimmer damply in the gloom. Orange. Burgundy. Baby blue. One glittery purple jacket with rhinestones across the back that read PRINCESS.

It would be absurd if they weren’t so quiet. So coordinated.

So devout.

The deeper you go, the more the woods shift.

There are things hanging from the trees now.

At first, it looks like refuse. Rags. Rope. Plastic. But then you pass beneath one and realize—it’s a tracksuit jacket, tied by the sleeves, dangling like a flag. Faded. Bloodstained. Bullet holes across the front.

Another hangs beside it.

And another.

Rows and rows.

You keep walking. Your stomach clenches. Something between fear and nausea. The woman beside you leans in close as you walk.

“Ye smell good,” she mutters. “He’ll like that.”

Ahead, between the trees, a shape rises out of the fog.

Too square to be natural. Too still. A low wall. A break in the forest. Stone, maybe. Cracked and overgrown but not abandoned. Smoke curls from behind it. Not rising—crawling. Slipping through gaps like it knows how to sneak.

Then you see it—Eden.

Not a village. Not a home. A ruin made sacred by madness.

You’ve reached the edge of something ancient and wrong.

And He is waiting.

They lead you through the gate without ceremony. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Two archers bracket you like a pair of looming, mismatched statues come to life. One takes your elbow, fingers firm but not brutal, guiding you forward.

The other falls in step just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the faint whisper of hot breath brushing the back of your neck. Together, they move like a single, breathing thing—as if this ritual of capture has been practiced countless times before.

The gate itself is little more than a broken arch of crumbling stone and rusted metal, tangled with ropes and strips of torn tracksuit fabric. You step through it like a witness passing into a holy site. The air inside is different. It’s thicker. Heavier. The smell of damp earth, old wood, and smoky oil threads itself around you.

Your guides do not march. They don’t shove. They don’t drag. They flow, forcing you to match their pace until your body finds its rhythm between theirs. The hand on your elbow doesn’t grip harder when you falter, it merely corrects, a quiet pressure that steers you along the path. The one at your back doesn’t guide with force, but with presence, an overarching warmth that reminds you any move backward would be met with a wall of muscle and sharp steel.

Each footfall becomes an announcement. The sound of your soles scuffing stone is echoed by theirs, precise and orderly. Not a word is exchanged. Not a glance thrown. But every movement feels orchestrated—as if every hand that guides you, every step that matches your own, is serving the same silent god.

They lead you through the gate, and you realize it’s not just an entry. It’s a threshold.

A point where belonging is no longer a choice. A moment where obedience is the only language you’re allowed to speak.

There is no archway. No guard tower. Just two leaning stone pillars draped in mold and rot, bound at the top with torn strips of tracksuit fabric, knotted into fluttering banners that shiver in the breeze. The wind shifts, and the smell hits you like a wet slap—woodsmoke, sweat, burned meat, something sour rotting under it all.

No one says a word as you cross beneath it.

Inside, Eden is...wrong.

Not abandoned,not thriving. Held together by will alone.

Shattered cottages lean against one another like drunkards. Doors hang from rusted hinges. Roofs are patched with sheet metal and broken crates. Every building is bruised and sagging, but still standing—as if the place refuses to die simply because someone commanded it not to.

There’s no power. No lights. No hum of life. Just the hiss of smoke and the wet slap of boots in the mud as you’re marched forward.

You pass people. Not many. Maybe a dozen.

They don’t wave. Don’t smile. Don’t ask questions.

They just stop what they’re doing—sharpening blades, scraping hides, pulling weeds from cold soil—and watch. Some lean against walls. Others crouch like animals. One man gnaws on a charred rabbit leg, letting grease run down his chin, his eyes never leaving you.

Their hair is tangled, matted, stuck to their foreheads with sweat or filth. Their tracksuits are soaked, stained, misbuttoned or zipped up all wrong. Their teeth—what’s left of them—gleam yellow or black or don’t gleam at all.

And yet, they glow. Not with health, but with devotion. The same way a fanatic glows just before the end.

They know where you're going.

And what you’re going to see.

Someone lifts a shard of glass as you pass, using it as a mirror. Not for themselves—for you. You catch your reflection. Brief. Blurred. Strangers’ hands on your arms. Mud on your jaw. Cold in your eyes.

They pull you toward the largest structure still intact. A chapel, maybe,or what was once a manor. The stone is cracked, the windows shattered, the doorframe splintered where something once forced its way in. Ivy curls up the side in long, choking ropes. Animal skulls hang from the guttering, bones threaded with string and beads and bits of plastic like wind chimes.

The archer beside you speaks for the first time in miles.

“Head down. No talkin’. Only answer if He asks.”

A door creaks open. Your feet hit stone instead of soil. The temperature drops. The smell shifts again—woodsmoke thickened by incense, something sweet gone bad. The air is full of it,like a mouth that’s never closed.

The inside is dark. Not pitch-black—just heavy. Filtered. Lit only by oil lamps tucked in alcoves, their glass streaked with soot. The flames flicker low, throwing long shadows that stretch and collapse as you walk.

The room isn’t empty.

Figures move at the edges. Not many. Two, maybe three. They stand still, but not relaxed. Like they’re waiting for a command. One of them holds a cloth. Another holds a bowl of water—brown and lukewarm, the rim charred black. A third has something folded in their hands. Clean fabric. A tracksuit. Less torn than the one you wear.

They don’t speak to you; they don’t smile.

They just wait.

The woman who cut the snare finally lets go of your arm and gestures forward, toward a wide wooden door. Someone’s carved symbols into it—crooked, hand-cut, messy but deliberate. A crude crown. A sun. Teeth. A flower.

“He’s in there,” she says. “Be grateful.”

Your wrists are untied.

No one grabs you again: you’re expected to walk through that door on your own.

Hesitantly, you step forward.

The wooden door groans open under your hand—warped from time and rot, but still standing. The sound it makes cuts the air like a blade.

The room beyond is dark, but warmer than the rest of Eden. Firelight licks at the walls from a hearth in the far corner, casting everything in flickering gold. The scent is sharper here. Not just woodsmoke. Something burned. Something sweet. A perfume made from candle wax, dried herbs, and rot.

Your boots echo across uneven stone. It’s quiet. Not silent—calm, in that same unnatural way a hunting trap is calm before it snaps shut.

He’s there.

You feel him before you see him.

He’s sitting in a long chair that might’ve once been a throne, might’ve once been a pew. It’s covered in scavenged fabrics—torn blankets, netting, old lace yellowed with age. His legs are spread wide, one elbow resting lazily on the arm, the other hand rolling a cigarette between two fingers.

His face is in profile.

And even that profile is chaos.

A cracked tiara tilts across his brow, nearly lost in the mess of long, greasy blonde hair. One eye is framed by an old smear of soot or charcoal. There’s blood on his tracksuit jacket—dry. Flaked. A constellation of it across his collarbone. His neck bears the weight of several gold chains, the slow pendulum swing of an inverted cross briefly snagging your attention. Rings stacked on every finger. A small, curved blade rests against his thigh like it belongs there.

When he turns to face you fully, he grins.

And it’s nothing like a human smile.

His teeth are uneven—some chipped, some yellowed, one gone entirely. But that doesn’t dull the power of it. That grin could lead armies. Could make monsters kneel. It beams at you like he already knows what you are and what you’ll be.

“Fuckin’ look at ye,” he says, voice thick and Scottish and sharp-edged with delight. “Fresh out the trees. All wild n’ twitchy.”

He leans forward.

His eyes are blue, but not bright. More like cracked ice over dark water. Alive with something violently unhinged and cruelly amused.

“Ain’t touched, are ye? Not claimed? Not branded?”

You say nothing.

He smiles wider.

“Even better.”

He tips his head, brushing the long, tangled hair from his eyes, and the faint glow of the room catches the gold and molten red at his throat. His voice drops into something almost intimate, almost holy.

“Name’s Sir Jimmy Crystal,” he tells you, the words tasting like a threat and a promise all at once. “Remember it, s'the only name that’s gonna matter ‘round here.”

The silence that follows is thick. Final. As if the room itself has memorized it.

He stands slowly—not towering but imposing, filled with the kind of presence that reaches. That carries. He steps down from the platform, boot heels scraping stone.

“Come here, then.”

You don’t move.

His head tilts.

“What’s the matter, love? Nobody ever asked ye polite before?” He chuckles, the tension in his shoulders radiating all the authority of a leader. “You’ll find I’m a very gracious host.”

Then, quieter—yet no less impactful—“when I want t’be.”

He closes the distance without waiting.

One hand comes up and brushes your jaw with the backs of his fingers. His knuckles are scraped, bruised. There’s blood under one nail. But his touch is almost soft.

“They said you fought,” he says. “Said you ran hard. Nearly got one of Jimmy Jimmy’s boys in the eye.”

He leans in, nose close enough to scent you.

You don’t flinch.

He smiles like that’s a gift.

“Yer not a Jimmy, though. You’re…somethin’ else.”

He steps back, hands on his hips. Studies you.

Then, finally:

“Petal.”

The name hits like a hot nail through the center of your chest.

“That’s what ye are, ain’t ye?” he continues. “Pretty wee thing, soft ‘round the edges, got thorns when you’re pressed.”

He gestures wide, like unveiling a painting.

“You’re mine now, Petal. Eden’s newest bloom.”

He steps forward again, crowding you slightly—he wants to see what you’ll do. What you’ll become under his heat. His shadow. His name.

“Say it,” he murmurs then reiterates, “say it back to me.”

Then nothing.

No further command. No raised voice. No gesture to prompt you.

Just his eyes—locked on yours, heavy and unwavering, his body stilled like a predator mid-pounce. All that earlier swagger, the grin, the biting charm—it drops. Slips off his face like a mask tossed aside.

What’s left is something still and unblinking.

His stare is pure scrutiny. Not rage. Not even anticipation. Just…expectation.

The kind that doesn’t account for refusal.

The fire crackles somewhere behind him, casting gold along the worn-out throne behind his shoulder, and still he doesn’t move. His jaw ticks once, slow. You see the faintest twitch of his fingers at his side—restless. Not angry. Just ready.

He doesn’t speak again.

Because Sir Jimmy Crystal doesn’t ask twice.

The room stretches.

You feel it in your chest first—tight, tense, a coil winding up behind your ribs. Your throat is dry. You don’t remember when your breath last came easy. You’re too aware of your heartbeat. Of the way your wrists still bear the red ghost of rope. Of the mud drying on your ankles. Of the way he’s looking at you.

Like he already owns you.

Like this is just a formality.

Your mouth opens.

And for a second, nothing comes out.

Then:

“Petal.”

Your voice sounds strange. Foreign. Like it didn’t come from you but was breathed into you. You don’t recognize how soft it comes out—how it hitches a little. How it lands in the air between you like a stone dropped in a still pool.

His head tilts. Just slightly. One corner of his mouth lifts—not a grin. Something quieter. Possessive.

“Good girl.”

The words land like heat across your spine.

He steps in again. Closer now. His boots bump yours, but he doesn’t touch you yet.

He just inhales. Deep, deliberate, like he’s dragging your presence into his lungs.

“I knew you’d be easy, underneath all that bark,” he says softly. “They always are.”

And then his hand comes up. Slow. Measured. He touches your jaw—not rough, not even possessive. Just assertive. His thumb brushes the edge of your lip, like testing the softness of something before he bites.

“Petal,” he repeats, voice lower now. “Gonna hear that name moaned through these halls, aye? Gonna have all of Eden know who the prettiest thing in it belongs to.”

The silence that follows is not awkward.

It’s complete.

He leans closer, nose brushing yours, voice barely above breath.

“Say somethin’ else, then. Something better. Say thank you.”

The words land soft, but they split your ribs open.

Not a bark. Not a threat. Not a demand, even. Just spoken like it’s inevitable.

His hand remains on your jaw. Fingers resting just beneath your ear, thumb dragging slowly over the corner of your mouth. The pressure isn’t enough to hurt. But it’s not gentle. It’s training.

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t take it in right.

The room feels too small now. Too close. The air clings to the back of your tongue, hot and damp and sour-sweet, like you’re breathing someone else’s exhale. Smoke, rot, and something metallic. Something intimate.

You feel your spine go stiff, shoulders rising like you might pull away—but your feet don’t move. Not because you’re frozen. Not exactly.

Because you’re listening.

And you’re waiting for him to say it again.

He doesn’t.

He just watches. That calm stare. That awful patience. As if there’s no doubt at all that the words will come.

Your mouth parts slightly. Not to obey. Not yet.

To stall.

To feel what it would be like to say it—to give him what he wants and taste how it feels in your throat. To feel how it might curl against your tongue and rot something inside you.

You don’t want to.You do.

Your heart punches the inside of your chest.

You blink—once, slow—and then tilt your head forward, just enough that your lips brush against the edge of his thumb.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

But the reaction is immediate.

His nostrils flare. His hand tightens, just a breath, enough to tilt your chin higher.

“Go on, sweet thing,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me think you’re ungrateful.”

And something breaks. Not loudly. Not violently. But with a quiet, traitorous tremor in your stomach.

Your tongue is slow to cooperate. Your voice doesn’t come easy. But it comes.

“…Thank you.”

Your voice sounds like a betrayal.

It sounds like submission.

It sounds like you meant it.

You hate that. You hate how easy it is to say.

You hate how it feels good to give it.

His smile widens—not wild. Not cruel.

Pleased.

“That’s my girl.”

The words are barely a whisper, but they hit like a nail through silk.

He steps even closer now—flush against you, chest to chest. You feel the heat of him. The weight of him. His free hand comes to rest on your hip, fingers curling just above your waistband.

“We’ll make a proper little thing outta you yet.”

And then, voice lower:

“Say it again. Like you mean it this time.”

He’s still touching you.

One hand cupped along your jaw, thumb grazing your lower lip with the intimacy of a lover, the calculation of a surgeon. The other hand low on your hip, fingers curling with idle pressure. Not possessive. Not yet.

Just poised.

Waiting.

His voice has that same half-smile cadence, but the edge is sharper now—threaded with something heavier. The kind of weight that comes before a strike.

He wants it again.

And this time, he wants it perfect.

You feel your mouth go dry. Your muscles ache from how still you’ve been forced to hold yourself. Your wrists itch where the rope had left its imprint. Your brain is screaming for space—but your body doesn’t move.

Not because you’re weak, but because you’re calculating, too.

You don’t say it right away. You let the silence stretch, just a breath longer than it should. Just long enough that it starts to feel wrong. You see it in his posture—the slight twitch of his hand, the flicker in his eye.

And that’s when you give it to him.

“Thank you…Sir.”

You say it sweet.

Too sweet.

You tip your head a little as you say it, lashes lowering like a smirk in motion. You speak with the kind of sugar-coating that’s almost mockery. Just enough to make it unclear.

Polite. Playful. Dangerous.

His thumb stills on your lip.

Then lifts—slowly, deliberately—tracing the curve of your mouth before sliding down your chin. His other hand firms against your hip.

And he doesn’t speak.

He just stares at you.

That same silent intensity from before—hot enough to blister. A fire without flame.

“You think I won’t know the difference?” he says at last, voice low and sharp as a knife dragged across bone. “Think I can’t smell when a thing’s just performin’?”

His grip tightens—not to bruise, but to remind.

His eyes roam your face like a wolf studying a lamb that forgot it was meat.

“You will mean it, Petal,” he murmurs. “One way or another.”

He leans in again—closer now. Lips near your ear, voice so quiet you feel it more than hear it.

“And when you do, it’ll drip off your tongue like prayer.”

You feel the press of his breath against your jaw, warm and patient and ruthless.

Then he pulls back—not far. Just enough to look you in the eyes again. Holding you in place by your silence.

“Now,” he says. “Be sweet. Try again.”

He pins you down with just his gaze.

The heat of his body radiates into yours—smoke and oil and something darker, like the breath of a house right before it catches fire. His hand at your hip has grown still, but it hasn’t let go. The other hovers at your jaw, no longer cupping it, just near—like he’s giving you space to hang yourself.

You feel the words curl in your throat like smoke before a scream.

You could obey.

You could soften your voice. Bow your head. Let the praise come warm and slippery from your mouth like honey melting over hot stone. Let him believe you.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

Instead, you tilt your chin up. A small gesture. Barely there. But it shifts the whole balance of the room. His fingers still in the air near your throat. His nostrils flare—just once. You don’t miss it.

And when you speak…

You lace it with venom.

“Thank you…my King.”

You make it sound filthy.

Not reverent. Not frightened. Not grateful.

You say it like it’s a joke. Like you’re daring him to earn it.

His mouth parts just slightly—no smile now. Just breath.

You watch something dark flicker behind his eyes. It doesn’t rise, doesn’t lash out—but it pulses once, slow and dangerous. You’ve struck a nerve. Not one that makes him angry.

One that makes him hungry.

He steps closer, boot between yours. His chest brushes yours. That awful stillness in him thickens, slows, sharpens.

“That what I am to you already?” he says, voice hushed. “Your King?”

His hand moves again—slow, deliberate. The backs of his fingers trail down your throat.

“Careful, Petal.”

Your heart is a hammer in your ribs now.

He moves around behind you without warning, slow as smoke, one hand dragging across your collarbone as he passes.

You don’t turn.

You feel him behind you. His breath against your hair. His voice just behind your ear.

“You keep speakin’ like that,” he murmurs, “I’ll start to think you want to be ruled.”

You can’t see his face, but you hear the smile in his voice.

“And you don’t want me to think that.”

A pause.

His hand settles at the base of your throat—not tight. Not soft. Just there.

“Because if you do…I’ll give you the crown myself.”

His hand stays at your throat for three long breaths.

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You don’t give him the satisfaction of swallowing beneath his palm. But the silence that stretches between you is not victory.

It’s ritual.

You feel his body behind you—heat and weight and tension, close enough to make your skin tighten, far enough to make you ache. His breath grazes the curve of your ear like a blessing dressed in threat.

And then—

He pulls back.

The absence is as sharp as a slap. The cold rush of air across your neck feels like exposure, like being unwrapped. You almost—almost—step back to reclaim his heat.

But you don’t.

You hold your ground as he moves around you again, slow and loose-limbed, like a lion circling the last twitch of a dying thing.

When he stops in front of you, his grin is back. Soft. Filthy. Relaxed.

But his eyes are still locked on you like a snare.

“That’s enough for now,” he says, almost gently.

He reaches out and brushes something from your shoulder—a bit of leaf, a smear of dirt, it doesn’t matter. His fingers linger longer than necessary, then drop.

“You’ll need rest. Food. I’ll see to it.”

He turns from you like it doesn’t hurt him to look away.

“We’ve got time.”

He takes two steps toward his throne before glancing back over his shoulder.

His smile is lazy now. Pleased. Possessive.

“You’re not gonna leave, Petal. Not because you can’t.”

He sits down. Spreads his knees wide. Drags his hand along his jaw, watching you like he’s already undressing your soul.

“Because by the time I’m through with you…you won’t want to.”

He gestures lazily, and the room stirs like a beast waking from slumber. Figures shift from the walls, rising soundless as mist. Two of them move toward you—a man and a woman. They don’t ask questions. They don’t hesitate. They only bow when he nods.

“See she’s bathed,” Jimmy says, brushing a hand down the arm of his chair like he’s brushing dust from a relic. “Get the stink of the woods off her. Put her somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet.”

A tiny shift goes through the room—almost imperceptible. A glance exchanged. A breath held. Not protest, no. Not that. Not with him. But surprise. The kind that doesn’t rise from disobedience, only from obedience so deep it doesn’t comprehend difference.

He doesn’t name them. Doesn’t call out by their variations of the same holy name. They just know.

They step closer and one of them takes your hand. Not roughly. Not lovingly. Just certain. The other moves to stand behind you, brushing the snarl of your hair from your neck like she’s making way for a blade. Not because she’ll use one. But because she knows he can.

They lead you toward the door, and the room doesn’t speak. Not a word. Not a shift. Not a glance that doesn’t already belong to him. They accept it the way soil accepts a seed falling from a hand that can choose where it grows.

“Go,” he says finally, voice soft and sharp as steel. “Rest tonight, Petal. You’ve a long road ‘fore you.”

And then he leans back, sprawling in that long chair like a man resting between victories, brushing the pad of his thumb across his lower lip as if tasting the air your name has changed.

“An’ don’t worry,” he calls after you as the doors creak open, voice rising just enough for it to fill the space between the walls. “I’ll be seein’ ye soon. Real soon.”

No one questions. No one speaks.

In Eden, when Sir Jimmy Crystal chooses, no one ever needs to ask why.

#love when my fictional men are a walking red flag #motya put this chapter best when she said “this bum has too much confidence LMAO”#could i smell him through the screen? yes. and that's okay!! let me be the toothbrush he never uses 😩#sir jimmy crystal #sir jimmy crystal x reader #sir jimmy crystal x you #jimmy crystal x reader #jimmy crystal x you #jimmy crystal #28 years later #28 years later spoilers #jack o'connell

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sunrizef1 · 2 months ago

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Pushing it Down and Praying

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader, Oscar Piastri x Ex!Reader

Warnings: litteraly idk, emotional cheating (maybe)(not really)

Authors Note: this got away from me but I do rly like it

Requested: Yes/No

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liked by rolemodel lando and 121,008 others

yn and it feels like the end of a movie I’ve seen before

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user1 she’s so pretty

user2 I <3 ceilings

user3 me when I’m writing about my ex Oscar Piastri

user4 Oscar mention

user5 why is Lando in the likes

user6 ceilings, plaster

user7 ✨

user8 I miss dad

user9 the way they never posted eachother on main but yall are still attached to that relationship

user10 can we leave her alone with the Oscar comments

rolemodel love you

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TWITTER

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INSTAGRAM

lando added to their story

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yn added to their story

oscarpiastri liked your story ♥️

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TWITTER

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INSTAGRAM

lando

🎵 All My Ghosts - Yn Ln

liked by oscarpiastri georgerussel and 3,887,009 others

lando cuz I hate all my habits but I happen to love you

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user11 oh! Oh! Well-!

user12 oh darling that song is about Oscar piastri 😭

user13 is this cute…?

user14 as someone who's heard the rest of this song/album idk if this is the move

user15 idc reclaiming a song about an ex is actually adorable don't @ me

user16 cuz allllll my ghosts are with meeee

user17 the implication that comes with using all my ghosts… like I feel yn would say that her ghosts are Oscar at this point

user18 in the context of the last verse I think this is nice

user19 no yn like…

user20 idk how to feel

user21 don't think I haven't noticed that neither yn or Tucker are here

user22 Oscar liked… wtf are we doing

user23 oh I'm gonna lose my whole mind

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liked by rolemodel oscarpiastri and 678,087 others

yn pushing it down and praying… song and mv out now

comments on this post have been restricted

rolemodel so proud of you and this video

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yn love you

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MESSAGES

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yn added to their story

lando replied to your story

lando

yk what I think I do

And I'm grateful for that

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yn nobody knows what its like to be us

tagged: lando

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lando no, they don't 🫶🏻

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user24 ooh this clapback to the twitter detectives ik what this is

user25 this feels like a real healthy reaction to everything that happened actually

user26 these grown adults reacting healthily

user27 they’re adorable idc

user28 are these song lyrics???

user29 yall this is “spring into summer” it’s unreleased, she sang it a few weeks ago at a show. It’s also definitely about Lando lol

user30 in case y’all were curious about more of the lyrics for this song: “Hold it against me, cool to the touch, Nobody knows what it's like to be us. Somebody finds me in the shallow end, Love you like I mean it just because I can.”

user31 also: “You're always gonna be someone that I want. We have too many years between us. If I could jump into the past, I'd only change one thing, I'd never hurt you first, I'd never let you leave. And now I'm here forever, runnin' back to you, Always.”

user32 oh those lyrics are about her releasing pushing it down and praying aren’t they

user33 I saw all the comments and went and listened to spring into summer and I fear it’s so adorable I can’t

rolemodel I loved playing your ex in the mv tysm

lando yeah u guys rly look alike

rolemodel :(

user34 I need spring into summer released I fear

user35 oh I love them

user36 nobody knows!!!! No one!!!! Not one person!!!

liked by author

user37 I just think it’s really cool how they both got over the other song and stayed together while still being healthy and strong

user38 these are my babies

lando yeah yeah I love you or whatever

yn love you too or whatever

lando 😦 call me!!!!

user39 why do I get the feeling that's the first time yn has said ily to lando lol

oscarpiastri congrats 🍾

yn thanks Oscar :)

lando thanks Osc

oscarpiastri you’re welcome 👍

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Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

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countrycritter · 3 months ago

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Hear me out… Reader who fosters kittens when on leave 🥺

They get home from deployment just on time for their friend in the fostering program to send a pic of a box with “Kittens For Free” on the side of some rickety old backroad. And a text from her:

‘Got some kittens for you to take!! 😭’

So reader goes out there and brings them back to town and gets them evaluated. By the end of the day, Reader has a carrier of four two-week-old calicos.

And then the kitten hell begins. Feeding them every two hours, even at night. Sitting up at one in the morning cradling a mewing kitten that just wants its bottle. Weighing them to make sure they get stronger as expected from their charts. Keeping them warm with a cat plushy that has a battery operated heartbeat and heat pack.

By week two, Reader had dark eye bags but is completely overjoyed with the little kittens who are now able to wobble around after each other.

Their team, the 141, comes over for dinner and to watch the football game. They warn the guys that they have a couple of tiny visitors. They’re confused at the lack of context but brush it off and arrive at Reader’s home. Reader yells for them to quickly close the door and they look down to see four baby calicos skittering around their feet. Meowing and sniffing at these random guys they’ve never seen before.

Reader is laughing and bringing them over to the living room to introduce all the kittens.

By the end of the night, all the kittens have their favorite 141 member picked out.

A darker calico with a loud meow is lying in Price’s lap while quietly kneading and purring on his thigh.

The second calico kitten, with white socked paws, chews on Soap’s finger and attacks his hand whenever he spreads his fingers out.

The third is mostly orange with a few gray and white spots. It sits perched on Gaz’s shoulder while rubbing its soft face against his cheek and chirping quietly.

Finally the fourth kitten, one with a half-black half-orange face, naps in Ghost’s hoodie pocket. It meows every time Ghost moves to get up so he’s forced to stay in the same spot just so this tiny kitten can sleep peacefully.

Reader now has multiple pictures in their camera roll of the guys with the kitties.

The 141 will definitely be coming back before they get adopted just to see the little babies one last time.

#cod #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod x reader #tf 141 #cod imagine #call of comfort #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #scitterscatter #I love cats so much bro #especially calicos 🥹

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miss-cincaide · 8 months ago

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Can we try…?

Summary: Megumi knows how to get you to try new things in bed. It’s like a little dance between you two, but even when all the steps are right, there’s still plenty of room for it to take a different route, Or the time Megumi wants to try something new and it turns into a quickie

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Megumi Fushiguro (aged up!) Kinktober prompt 7: Quickie WC: 1.9K Warnings: Minors DN, 18+ content! Contains (p in v, unprotected), trying new kinks, quickie, light choking, pet names and praises, cursing, PwP

Megumi has an approach, a method to the way he tackles ‘new things’ and ‘sex’ in the same context. It’s never a spontaneous- spurr-of-the-moment request in the middle of getting hot and steamy, or a prolonged nagging until you give in. Instead, it’s always this meticulously planned mission that lasts over several days- if not weeks—slowly giving you hints and time to ease into the idea. To figure out what you want; are you curious? Scared? Comfortable? Aroused? Are you okay with him asking you for it or is it off-limits entirely?

He always does it in a way that gives you time to think—a chance to set your boundaries without feeling pressured or scared that you are disappointing him. Just react and move on, no questions asked.

And it drove you fucking wild.

The kind of wild you’re ready to drop your panties, bend over and receive his cock with a gracious ‘yes please’ and ‘fuck me baby’ in one breath. The kind where you edge him on through flirty texts while he is away on his mission, and if you’re really desperate, then some naughty pictures too. Just enough that when he comes home at midnight, he’s just as fucking hot and bothered as you’ve felt the entire day. Rock-hard on, more teasing which leads to a messy, loud and steamy round one in the shower- the usual catalyst of that equation.

Normally that is.

But as you stare at the computer and the ‘accidentally open’ history full of search terms spread over the last few weeks, you don’t know what to make of this particular kink. Your hand shakes slightly, moving the mouse to the ‘delete history’ button, then away from it, then back to it. The frown on your lips grows more profound as you bite the inside of your cheek in thought. You don’t know what to do with it. Cockwarming. What the heck even is that? You click through some of the links. Definitions and explanations, but still don’t get the complete picture of it. Or at least what’s so arousing about it. You take a step back from the screen, glance at the clock, and conclude that you don’t have a lot of time until Megumi comes home. Of course, you could postpone deciding- there’s never any pressure for sex or otherwise when he’s around. But also, you haven’t seen him for a few days. You missed him, and want to feel the connection, the intimate closeness that came with being vulnerable and trying something new with your loved one.

You take a long moment to consider the act itself. Is it so out there that you’d never want to try it? No. You’ve done plenty of penis in pussy action, a lot of it left you whimpering and asking for more. And part of your aftercare was spooning and cuddling. Technically it wasn’t something you two hadn’t done yet, but you also knew you were gonna struggle with feeling him close without chasing the high of an orgasm. Was that a deal breaker?

Fuck it!

You closed down the computer and headed back to your joint bedroom to freshen up before settling under the warm covers, silently waiting for Megumi to come home.

You must have dozed off waiting for him because you woke up to the feeling of Megumi climbing into bed with you. His wet hair ticking the back of your neck, and the smell of your mango body wash filled your senses. His arm came to wrap around your waist, and you instantly wiggled closer to him, feeling the heat of his bare chest through your thin nightgown and the unmistakable outline of his half-hard cock through his boxers.

The feeling instantly made you more awake. “Hmmm, you’re home and showered already, Gumi?” you groan out, salvaging the feeling of his lips showering your cheeks, your neck and your bare shoulder in kisses. You’re definitely enjoying the princess-wake-up treatment.

“ Got done early, missed you” Megumi mumbles, pressing a long kiss on your bare shoulder “ How is my baby doing?” the playful tone and care in his tone made you smile and snuggle closer to him, throwing your leg back and he caught it in between his thighs. He adjusts a little, then begins a soft rocking motion, at first trying to get as close to you as possible until you are cocooned up in his arms. Then it turned into sensual grinding.

You are practically purring at the sensation, the warmth and the closeness. “ I miss you too.. So I.. ehem.. Thought if I napped a little, I’d get to see you sooner,” You slowly blink the sleep away as Megumi chuckles, pressing another long kiss to your neck. Purposefully avoiding the covered skin. “Gumi!” You whine then raise your shoulder, shaking off the nightgown strap until it slides further down your arm, exposing your collarbone and the top part of your tits to him.

You hear his humm, a clear indication that he is listening as he covers the newly exposed skin in kisses “What is it? Is my baby unhappy with something?” Megumi smirks against your skin, making sure to roll his hips just right as he asks. You feel every inch of him, from his needy tip to perfect lengths, and you grind right back against him, your hands seeking his out on your waist before tugging it down to where your nightgown meets your thigh. “Does my baby want something?”

“Megumi” You’re whining now, rocking together with him. You want him, and you weren’t ready to untangle yourself from him anytime soon. You want him closer, closer, to lay in bed wrapped up in each other's arms. “About the thing- why?”

“ Why?” Megumi repeats slowly, blinking in thought, his long lashes brushing against your cheek as he tries to formulate his feelings into thoughts. “Because I want to feel my baby close, to be as close as we can physically be without rushing or needing to clean up the mess.” Megumi takes a shaky breath, kissing up your neck to your ear “Can– can I?”

You hummed a little. You could understand that sentiment, in a way, “But there’ll be no pleasure.” You mumbled quietly. “Won’t it be boring?”

“Does everything have to pleasure and excitement?” as if to prove his point, he presses another long kiss on your shoulder, holds his lips there, looking at you through long lashes. His gaze is intense; he is eating you up with his eyes, turning your insides on fire and mush all at once.

You fall in love with him all over again. From the messy hair, gentle touch, and worshipping kisses to the way he looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in existence. Most precious to him.

“Let's try”, you whisper, and you see him hesitate for a second, clearly not sure if he’s pushing you too much, and it makes you smile.’ God you adore this man’, you think to yourself as you press a kiss to his forehead, another on his hair, and then duck down to his lips. The kisses are soft and loving, a stark contrast to the way you grind your ass against his crotch. Your nightdress hikes up until it's just your bare skin against his damp boxers.

Megumi breaks the kiss, biting down the moan on his lips as he drops his head on your shoulder. “Fuck baby, you’re too good to me” Reaching out he clutches your hand in his while the other one leaves your thigh to pull down his boxers. “Too good.” Another kiss is on your shoulder while he adjusts your leg, shifting it from between his legs to on top of them.

“You’re one to talk” you breathe out, spreading your legs wider, salvaging the feeling of his cold fingers between your legs. Checking to make sure you’re okay, that you’re aroused enough, relaxed enough. Megumi doesn’t want to hurt you, and every time he takes extra moments to check on you, it melts your heart; “I love you” Your eyes meet his for a second as he leans over your shoulder.

“Love you too, baby”

You both moan as he pushes inside you, slow and steady. Inch by inch until he’s nestled balls deep. You can feel him twitching, and it takes absolutely everything from you not to rock your hips. “God, I’ve missed you, Gumi.” You clench around him, and he curses.

“Fuck baby, Fuck. if you do that again I’m going to lose it” Megumi’s practically trembling in your arms.

“Do what Gumi?” You blink innocently, knowing he won’t be able to see it with his face buried in the crook of your neck, panting like a dog in heat. You know precisely what you’re doing. You can’t help it. “I’m not even–” You gasp as he pulls out and thrusts into you. The hand on your thigh drops between your legs, skilled fingers knowing exactly how to move to leave you breathless, while the palm of his second-hand lands on your throat.

“Ohh just like that, Gumi, don’t stop” You whimper, turning your words into gasps and moans as his hand tightens ever so slightly around your throat. Let's go, then tightens again as he rolls his hips just fucking right and you meet them with a thrust of your own, your leg on his thigh spreading wider “Mmm s’close Gumi, ahmm, close”

“God baby, yes, just like that pretty baby, clench just like that. You’re so good to me, your pussy feels so good, fuckk you’re so pretty like this-”

You moan at the sweet nothingness in your ear, each breathless my pretty baby making you weak. You feel his thrusts quicken, the fingers on your clit rolling the bud a little rougher as Megumi cums first. The twitch, the hot cum, and the way he’s so deep, rocking his hips as if trying to go even deeper, sends you right after him.

Everything stills, your hands clutch at each other, your head thrown back, barely getting air from the death grip on your throat, your hands clutch at him, nails dig into his skin. He isn’t much better with the way he clutches you.

You’re trembling; he is trembling.

The moment passes, and his grip loosens. You take a deep gasp of air, slumping into the sheets. Megumi rubs your leg, keeping it propped up against himself, thrusting a little deeper around the slick and the cum in a desperate attempt to keep his softening cock inside your warmth.

Despite yourself, you giggle, and your eyes practically shine with mischief. “I thought cockwarming was without movement-”

Megumi stiffens, and you don’t doubt his cheeks are tomato red. “Shut up”

“-and I thought not everything needs to be excitement and pleasure.” You’re enjoying this a lot, almost as much as the sex.

“Seriously, shut up.” Megumi raises his head and gives you a pointed look, which doesn’t look the least bit menacing when he’s bright pink, half from the embarrassment of having his words thrown back at him and half from the orgasm.

“Or what?” You smile, twisting your body just a little more to face him. You feel him slip out of you in the process. Your eyes flicker downwards for a second before Megumi grasps your chin in his hand and forces you to look him in the eyes.

“Or it’s round two. And this time I won’t be gentle”

All you can do is grin, another taunt playing on the tip of your tongue. Quick loving sex after being apart for a few days is amazing; a rough several-hour-long fuck as round two is a treat you know you won’t be able to pass up.

Maybe ‘Cockwarming’ had it’s uses after all..

Author note:

Main |Raven|Rules & Requests |Masterlist | Cred & Other

All fics are unique works by © miss-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

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zaynessbeloved · 2 months ago

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Suppressing desires

Synopsis: You never expected your quiet friendship with Zayne—the cold, brilliant cardiac surgeon—to spiral into something that burned beneath your skin. Between long shifts, cold coffee, and fleeting moments, you tried to ignore the pull between you two. But life was hard, and desire was harder to suppress. Filming yourself became your secret escape. You never thought he’d find your videos. You never thought he’d watch. And when the truth breaks free, so does everything between you.

Content warnings: Friends to lovers, slow burn, camgirl x viewer dynamic, explicit sexual content, masturbation (camgirl content), mild voyeurism (consensual context), sexual tension, emotional angst, miscommunication, guilt, soft dominance, possessiveness, power dynamic, soft dom Zayne, oral sex, begging, overstimulation, rough sex, aftercare, cute shower scene, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, confessions during intimacy, possessive!Zayne, light choking (consensual), hand on belly kink, manhandling, praise kink, deep emotional release, cuddling, vulnerability, comfort after conflict.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 5.1k

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - more soon

He hadn’t meant to watch it that night. But that excuse had lost its weight the moment he came to the sound of your moans.

Zayne sat alone in his apartment most nights now, the silence more suffocating than usual. The kind of quiet that wasn’t restful, but sharp-edged and constant—like the hum of a surgical light long after the patient was gone. He buried himself in work, deeper than ever before, clinging to it like a tourniquet. Double rounds. On-call weekends. Extra consults he didn’t need to take but did anyway, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind obedient.

He hadn’t opened the site again. Couldn’t.

That night—that one night—had started as nothing but release. Exhaustion. A disembodied need he tried to chase into numbness. He hadn’t even remembered paying for the video until he saw the receipt in his inbox days later—proof, in black and white, of the line he crossed. He deleted it without opening it. Deleted the browser history. Deleted the app.

But nothing could delete the memory.

You haunted him now. Not in the way of ghosts or grief, but in movement in the dim light. The way your hips moved beneath the lens. The shudder in your thighs. The wet sound of your fingers sliding through your slick folds, and the way your chest rose in uneven, stuttering breaths when you neared the edge.

He remembered too much. He saw your face in the middle of the night when he blinked. Heard your quiet, broken gasp when the silence in his apartment stretched too long. And worse—far worse—was what came next.

The arousal. Undeniable. Thick and low and crawling down his spine until his hand was fisting the sheets or pressing into his lap, his body reacting with shameful need before his thoughts could even catch up. He didn’t even have to touch himself anymore. You lived beneath his skin now. Every memory blurred with the shape of you, the sound of you, the unbearable want of you.

And so he pulled away. He hadn’t decided to. There was no conscious effort. No dramatic vow to create distance. It just happened. He found himself hesitating when he passed the café. Scrolling past your messages instead of answering right away. Saying less. Giving nothing. And when he saw you that one last time—flour-dusted apron, tired smile, slipping him a macaron like always—he wanted to throw up from how normal it all was.

You didn’t know. Of course you didn’t, how could you? You greeted him like nothing had changed, made a small joke, asked about his week. And he couldn’t look you in the eye. Not the way he used to. Not when he had seen your mouth open in a moan, your body shaking as you came, so beautiful and undone that it nearly brought him to his knees.

He had always been good at restraint. That was his entire life—control, discipline, precision. He prided himself on never crossing lines. Never indulging what didn’t belong to him.

But now… now he was tainted by the weight of what he’d taken. He couldn’t unsee you like that. Couldn’t pretend he hadn’t touched himself to the sound of your pleasure. Couldn’t be the same Zayne you smiled at, so easily, so trustingly—not while his body betrayed him every time your name so much as drifted through his thoughts.

So he distanced himself. Because it was the only thing he could do.

He told himself it would pass. That if he stayed away long enough, if he buried himself deep enough in work, the memory would fade. He told himself you deserved better than the man who’d watched you like that. Who couldn’t face you without the blood rushing straight to his cock and the shame blooming hot across his skin.

But it didn’t fade. And every day that passed only made the guilt grow louder—clawing against his ribs, not just because of what he’d seen, but because of what it meant. Because maybe…just maybe…he hadn’t watched you by accident at all.

There were moments—late ones, usually—when Zayne let the truth crawl up the walls of his apartment and press into the hollow of his chest.

He missed you.

Not in the casual way people said it, not like a “we should catch up” text sent out of politeness. It was deeper than that. Messier. Something more like grief. Something that sat under his skin like a bruise that never faded.

The past year had crept up on him in quiet ways. What started as coincidence—the coffee shop, the check-ins, the light teasing you managed to pull from him on tired days—became routine. And Zayne didn’t build routines with people. He didn’t let anyone close enough. But you… you’d bypassed all of that without even trying.

He should’ve known better. He should’ve set boundaries from the start. That would’ve been the smart thing. The safe thing.

But you smiled at him like you saw something behind his stillness, behind the sterilized walls and grey suits and unreadable gaze. You joked when others backed off. You understood the pauses in his messages, the weight in his silences, the sharp way he sometimes said too little instead of too much. You made space for him—for the real him—without ever demanding it.

And somehow, without realizing it, Zayne started looking forward to the little things. The text notifications with your name. The way you added just enough syrup to his coffee to piss him off. The sound of your voice through the noise of a busy café, instantly grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He let himself care. And then he watched you…at the edges of pleasure. And now, everything was fractured. Because the truth—the awful, quiet truth—was that he hadn’t just seen you as a friend. Not for a long time.

Zayne knew what you deserved. He’d known it from the beginning. Someone light. Someone who brought joy like oxygen. Who laughed without restraint and danced in the kitchen and would tell you to fuck off and skip work just to lie in bed all day. Someone better. Someone normal.

Not him.

Not someone who lived under the weight of other people’s hearts, who only came home to silence and cold floors and microwave leftovers. Not someone whose affection came wrapped in sarcasm and eye contact that lingered too long because he couldn’t say what he wanted. Not someone who loved in restraint and apology and ghosted conversations when the shame got too loud.

You gave him so much without even knowing it—your attention, your time, your trust. And he? He tainted it. Took you into the dark and watched you like he had the right. Got off to it. And then ran.

What kind of man did that? Not the kind you deserved. But the most unforgivable thing—the part that made him press his palms into his eyes at night until stars danced behind his lids—was that he didn’t just want your body. He wanted you.

The quiet you. The exhausted, eye-rolling, stubborn you. The version of you who laughed too hard when the whipped cream machine broke and stood with hands on your hips like the world owed you something. The one who leaned on the counter and called him predictable for ordering plain coffee, who slipped him macarons like it was an inside joke, who looked at him like he wasn’t just the surgeon—like he was Zayne.

He wanted a life with you. A real one. One where he came home and found you curled on his couch with a mug too big for your hands. One where he woke up tangled in your limbs and brushed hair out of your eyes before kissing your temple. One where you sat on the kitchen counter complaining about your classes while he made time to cooked for you and made sure you ate something that didn’t come from a vending machine.

He wanted mornings that stretched slow and warm. Shared showers. Matching mugs. Sundays where neither of you said much because you didn’t have to.

And maybe, in a different world, he could’ve let himself believe in that. But this wasn’t that world. This was the world where he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. Where every time he thought about seeing you again, his body remembered too much—the flush in your cheeks, the arch of your back, the tremble in your thighs—and his shame swallowed every kind thing he could’ve said to you.

So he stayed away. Said less. Gave less. Pretended less was fine. And still, when he closed his eyes, it was your voice he heard. Still, when his fingers curled around the edge of the mattress at night, it was you he imagined curling into his chest in the morning.

And the worst part? He knew you saw it. The shift. The silence. The difference. And it was only a matter of time before you asked him why. And Zayne wasn’t sure what would break first—his resolve, or the lie he kept trying to live with.

————

It had been nearly two months.

At first, you didn’t even have the energy to notice it fully. Life was relentless—coursework stacked higher than your sanity could manage, shifts at the café bleeding into study marathons that left your back sore and your eyes burning. You were in survival mode, held together with caffeine, stress, and pure spite. The days blurred. Sleep was a luxury. Eating became mechanical.

And Zayne? Zayne simply… faded.

Or maybe he withdrew. Quietly. Strategically.

At first, you told yourself it was fine. He was busy—always had been. Surgeon hours, demanding cases, sleepless nights. It made sense. And besides, your own world was chaos. You didn’t have time to cling to every unanswered message or missing smile. You were barely holding yourself together.

But after weeks of the same dry, clipped replies—if he replied at all—the truth began to weigh heavier than the excuses.

He hadn’t come by the café. Not once. And that wasn’t nothing. You noticed it in the way your eyes drifted to the door every time the bell chimed. How your heart still leapt—just a little—before your brain caught up with the letdown. You didn’t say anything. Not to your coworkers. Not even to yourself, at first. Because it felt like jinxing something fragile.

You texted him. Light things, soft things. Dumb jokes, photos of your busted espresso machine with “RIP” typed underneath. Even a photo of the last pistachio macaron, captioned you missed your chance, old man.

Most of it got no reply. The few responses you did get were sterile. Efficient.

Busy. Sorry.

In surgery.

Later.

You called twice. Once, it went to voicemail after five rings. The second time, he picked up—breath tight, voice clipped, as if you’d interrupted something you weren’t supposed to.

“Zayne?” you had said, soft, hopeful.

“I can’t talk,” he replied, low and sharp, background noise too chaotic to place. “Emergency bypass. I’ll call you later.”

He didn’t.

And still, you waited. Waited because you’d come to know Zayne—not just the sharp lines of his face, or the way his mouth tugged when he smirked. You knew how long it took for him to open up. How care from him came in gestures, in precision. In remembering how you took your coffee, in placing his palm over yours when words failed him.

This wasn’t him forgetting you. This was avoidance. You could feel it. The way people do when they’ve been dropped without the courtesy of a fall.

You didn’t know what exactly changed. You went over scenarios, again and again, dragging your own memory through every small interaction. Had you said something wrong? Texted too much? Not enough? You even wondered—on nights when the loneliness ached a little too deep—if maybe he’d gotten tired of you. Realized you weren’t worth the softness he offered.

But deep down, past all the spiraling, the dread, the overthinking—you knew this wasn’t boredom. Or indifference. This was deliberate. And it hurt. More than you let yourself admit.

So one night, after a particularly shitty shift where a customer made you cry in the back room and your professor smugly handed back your project with a disappointing grade and too much red ink, you walked home in the rain. Alone. No umbrella. Soaked to the bone. Shivering.

And that night—that exact night—something inside you snapped. Because you were done. Done pretending not to notice. Done excusing the silence. Done wondering what the hell you did wrong when he wouldn’t even give you the decency of honesty.

You stood in your tiny apartment, hair dripping onto the floor, and stared at your phone like it held answers. It didn’t. Just unread messages, unanswered questions, and a contact name that used to make your heart skip.

And now only made it sink.

You wrapped yourself in a blanket. Sat on your bed. Let your frustration burn low beneath your ribs, steady and unresolved. Because if Zayne wasn’t going to speak? Then maybe you would.

You tried for another two weeks. Texts. Calls. Even one stupid meme that made you think of him—something dry and sarcastic and exactly the kind of humor he used to pretend not to laugh at. You sent it without thinking, half hoping it would shake something loose.

It didn’t.

Everything stayed the same: unanswered, unread, unreturned. And slowly, your frustration melted into something worse. Something heavier.

Hurt.

It settled in the pit of your stomach and made itself a home—not sharp like a blade, but dull, persistent. A quiet erosion of all the trust you’d built, day by day, moment by moment, in soft smiles and slower conversations that had once felt like safety.

You didn’t understand. You’d always thought highly of him—more than he probably realized. It wasn’t just about his career, though that alone could’ve been intimidating. Zayne was… steady. Quiet. Thoughtful in a way that never needed to be spoken aloud. He noticed things. He remembered them. He showed up in the background without fanfare, and somehow that meant more than all the dramatic, hollow promises anyone else ever gave you.

And somewhere along the way, it started to matter. A lot.

Too much.

You liked the way his glasses slipped down his nose when he was tired. The way his dry remarks always carried a thread of warmth buried beneath them—like he wasn’t as cold as he wanted the world to believe. The way he looked at you, sometimes, when you caught him off guard. Not wide-eyed or stunned—just present. Like he really saw you. All of you.

And maybe, deep down, you were starting to fall for him. But you never dared to say it. Because your life was chaos. Cracked at the seams. Uni was a warzone, work was survival, and half the time you were scraping by with four hours of sleep and a granola bar as dinner. Zayne was a surgeon. Respected. Calm. A man with a path so clear, it felt blasphemous to imagine him sidestepping it for someone like you—messy, disorganized, exhausted.

You were barely keeping yourself afloat. And now… the one thing that felt like an anchor—your friendship with him—had started to sink too. Slowly. Quietly. Without warning.

That’s what hurt the most. Not knowing why.

You replayed every conversation, every joke, every soft moment. Searched for the crack, for the mistake, for the shift in his gaze that might’ve told you when things changed. But there was nothing. Just absence. Just silence. Like a door closing without a sound.

It was a Thursday night when it all hit you at once. University had drained every last bit of patience from you—another group project where you carried the weight, another professor who condescended with a smile, another assignment deadline that loomed like a guillotine. And then came work, where the line stretched to the door and your manager blamed you for the broken milk frother. A man snapped at you for getting his order wrong when he hadn’t even spoken clearly. A teenage girl rolled her eyes when you handed her the wrong size cup.

By the end of the shift, you could barely keep your hands from shaking. You clocked out late. Walked past your apartment. And just kept going. No headphones. No destination. Just footsteps and cold air and the ache in your chest that refused to quiet down. The streets were quiet—late enough that the bars were winding down, too early for sunrise joggers. You shoved your hands deep into your coat pockets and stared at the sidewalk like it could offer you something you’d lost.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. You just knew that if you stopped walking, you’d cry. And not the soft kind. Not the cinematic, beautiful kind. No—it would be ugly. Angry. Frustrated and furious that someone like Zayne—someone who used to make you feel like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in the world—could just vanish. Without reason. Without a word. The thought made your throat close. You turned a corner. Slowed. Pressed your fingers against your eyes as the burn started to rise.

You missed him. You missed Zayne. And the longer the silence stretched, the louder one truth kept echoing in your chest. Something between you had broken. And you still had no idea why.

————

It started as a drizzle—the kind of rain that didn’t feel real until it soaked through the collar of your coat. You barely noticed it at first, too deep in your own spiral to care. But then a cold drop smacked hard against your cheek, and you blinked.

Then another. Then dozens. And before long, the sky opened up above you.

You stopped walking as the downpour hit in full. Cold. Sharp. Merciless. You tilted your head up, let it slap against your skin like it had a point to make. And for some reason, the only reaction you could manage was a laugh. A single, bitter, humorless huff of a sound that cracked at the end.

Of course. Of fucking course it had to rain. So cliché.

You stood there, soaked and shaking and done with everything—this day, this week, this version of your life. You let out a breath so heavy it felt like it carried your entire soul, and then… you walked. Not toward home. Not toward shelter. Just… forward.

Cars passed, tires hissing through puddles. People bustled past with umbrellas, barely sparing you a glance. You might’ve looked deranged—soaking wet, clothes clinging to your body, hair dripping into your eyes, walking like you had nowhere left to be.

And then one car slowed.

You didn’t notice it right away. Not until the brake lights flared beside you and the low purr of the engine crawled into your awareness. The passenger window rolled down, letting in a wave of warm air and the sound of your name spoken low and sharp—like disbelief wrapped in concern.

"—What the hell are you doing out here?"

You stopped. The rain blurred everything, but not his voice.

Zayne.

You turned slowly, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat. For a second, you genuinely believed you were hallucinating. Your mind, fractured and soaked through, playing tricks on you. But then you saw him—hand on the steering wheel, brow furrowed in stunned alarm, hair damp at the edges like he’d just come from work. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

He looked… shaken. But not as much as you.

You said nothing. You just stared. And he had none of it.

“Get in the car,” he said—low, urgent, seeing straight through your silence, your soaking sleeves, your cracking expression.

Still, you didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, voice dipping softer. “You’re freezing.”

That did it. You swallowed hard against everything rising up in your throat and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat without a word, dripping rain onto his pristine upholstery. You stared ahead. He didn’t comment. Didn’t even flinch. He just started driving. But the silence was suffocating.

Your breath caught in your chest, your fingers curled around the damp hem of your coat. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye—the way he gripped the wheel a little too tightly, the way his eyes refused to meet yours for more than a flicker. He looked calm. Composed. Like this wasn’t the first time in two months you’d seen each other. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t left you wondering what you’d done wrong.

You hated how casual his voice sounded when he finally broke the silence. “I didn’t expect to see you out here. This late, and in the pouring rain, no less.”

You turned your head slowly, disbelief etched across your face. “That’s what you’re opening with?”

He glanced at you, brief, unreadable. “You’re wet and shaking. What would you prefer?”

You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. Loud enough to make him blink. “You’re unbelievable.”

He didn’t reply.

The tension wound tighter. You could see his jaw clench, the flicker of something behind his eyes that he didn’t want you to see. He kept driving, like it was just another day. Just another shift. Just another one of your normal, quiet encounters—like he hadn’t been ghosting you for weeks. Like he didn’t get to act like nothing happened.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, you unbuckled your seatbelt with trembling fingers.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said flatly. Then you got out and slammed the car door so hard the whole vehicle shook.

You didn’t even feel satisfied doing it. You just had to do something—anything—to keep the tears from breaking loose in front of him. You were halfway up the building steps, feet squelching with every step, when you heard the car door open again. Then slam shut.

“Wait.”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to see him being composed again, not when your chest was tight and your teeth were clenched and everything inside you was fucking unraveling.

But he didn’t listen. Zayne sprinted after you—into the pouring rain, shoes slapping the pavement, soaking within seconds—and you heard his footsteps echo behind you before he caught up.

“Wait—damn it—just wait!”

You turned around, rain cascading over your face, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst right through your ribs.

He stood a few feet away. Dripping. Soaked. Chest heaving slightly from the run. His hair was plastered to his forehead, eyes wild and hurting. And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t look composed at all.

You turned on him. Not loud. Not theatrical. You didn’t scream or shove at his chest, though your body burned with the want of it. The rain poured down harder now, so cold it felt like punishment. The streets were slick with silver, your hair clinging to your cheeks, your fingertips numb. And still, you didn’t yell.

You seethed.

“Two months, Zayne.” your voice shook with fury you could barely hold in. “Two months of silence. Of short replies and canceled calls and empty space where you used to be.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. You didn’t let him interrupt. You couldn’t. Because if you stopped now, your voice would crack—and you refused to give him that.

“I was going through hell,” you continued, quieter this time, but no less sharp. “Uni is a nightmare. Work’s draining the life out of me. I’m barely surviving most days. And do you know what the one constant in my life used to be? You.”

His expression changed then, just slightly. Like something inside him finally registered the depth of it. The weight of what he’d done—or hadn’t done.

“And then you just…” you laughed again, bitter and breathless. “You just disappeared. Like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t supposed to notice.”

Rain dripped off your jaw. Your coat hung heavy on your shoulders, soaked through to the skin, but you didn’t move.

“I texted. I called. I made excuses for you. Told myself you were busy. That you were tired. That maybe I’d done something wrong. Do you know what it feels like to doubt yourself every fucking day because someone you trusted suddenly decided to vanish without explanation?”

Zayne’s jaw tightened, his glasses streaked with water, his suit soaked beyond saving — and still he didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t offer a single fucking word. And it made something inside you snap.

“Say something,” you whispered, furious. “Anything, Zayne.”

He looked at you—eyes full of guilt and something deeper, something cracked wide open—but still, nothing came.

That silence? It undid you, made you so angry. You turned away, your throat burning. “Fuck this.”

You made for the apartment entrance with shaking legs, your boots squeaking against the wet tile as you yanked open the building door. The instinct was to slam it. To shut it in his face, in his silence, in his guilt. But you didn’t. You left it open.

Because despite everything, he was soaked through. Because you still cared. Because some pathetic, stubborn part of you still held out a hand toward the connection you’d once shared—the one he seemed determined to ruin.

You walked up the stairs without turning around. But you heard his footsteps. Wet and soft behind you. And when you unlocked your apartment and stepped inside, trembling and breathless, you couldn’t stop yourself from spinning on your heel—eyes red with unshed rage.

"You could’ve told me. Anything. Anything, Zayne. You could’ve said you were overwhelmed. Or that you didn’t want to talk. Or that I annoyed you. But no. You said nothing. You just vanished. Like a fucking coward.”

That one cut deeper than you meant. You saw it in the flicker of pain that crossed his face. But you didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. You huffed sharply, tossing your keys onto the table with a loud clatter, too hard, too much, and kicked your wet shoes off like they were enemies.

“Get in or go,” you muttered, voice hoarse. “But close the door either way.”

You turned from him again, hands trembling, heart racing, and this time you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you’d break. And right now, you were holding the last of yourself together with fraying thread and spite alone.

The door clicked shut behind him. You didn’t turn around, but you heard it—that small, weighted sound. A huff escaped your chest before you could stop it, a mix between disbelief and bitter relief. He stayed. Of course he did. Despite everything, despite the silence and the distance and the way he’d hurt you—some small, aching thread of hope still clung to your ribs, whispering that maybe he wouldn’t walk away this time.

You hated that hope.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath as you strode into your room, shoulders squared in frustration, limbs stiff from cold and fury. “Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

The anger gave you something to do. Something to cling to. Your hands moved on instinct, yanking open drawers with too much force, shoving aside old clothes, socks, forgotten sweaters. You found a pair of sweatpants—soft cotton, probably from your uncle’s old stash—and an oversized t-shirt that might've once been your ex’s but had long since lost meaning. They were clean. Dry. Comfortable.

Not nearly enough to fit Zayne’s tall, broad frame properly. Good. Let it be uncomfortable. Let him drown in it.

And still… you dug out a towel. Because you knew him. You knew how he got when he was sick—quiet, fussy, prone to pretending he was fine while sniffling into his sleeve and stubbornly refusing to take anything stronger than lukewarm tea. You hated how that memory softened something in your chest even now.

You marched back into the hallway and tossed the bundle of clothes and towel at him—not hard, but not gently either. You didn’t say a word. Just turned and stomped toward the bathroom, your own change of clothes clutched to your chest.

Zayne caught the clothes with a grunt, silent, soaked and still at the threshold like he wasn’t sure he deserved to go any further.

And then you shut the door. The shower came on in a sharp hiss of water, and you stood under it without even checking the temperature, letting it scald your skin, hoping the burn would melt something—the knot in your throat, the tremble in your hands, the goddamn ache in your chest that still wanted to reach for him despite everything.

You didn’t cry. But your jaw ached from how tightly you clenched it, your nails biting into your palms as the steam curled around you. Because if you didn’t get control of yourself now, you’d explode. And you didn’t want to say the things you were thinking.

Didn’t want to scream about how dare he come back acting like nothing happened. About how sick it made you to still care, to still think about whether he’d be warm enough, dry enough, comfortable enough—when he’d left you alone with silence and doubt and confusion for two goddamn months.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom door, Zayne stood in the quiet, the clothes limp in his hands, his own wet frame slowly steaming in the warmer air of your apartment. He didn’t move right away because he couldn’t. Your voice still rang in his ears—low, trembling, furious. Not just angry. Wounded. Like he’d taken something sacred and shattered it with his silence.

He hadn’t known. Not truly. Not until tonight. He thought he’d pulled away cleanly. Quietly. That maybe you would notice but wouldn’t feel it like this. He had told himself he was protecting something. Sparing you from the mess of his own failure. That it was better this way, to leave without saying too much, before whatever quiet affection lingered between you could twist into something irreversible.

But he’d been wrong. So deeply, undeniably wrong. And now the proof of it clung to your skin, raw in your voice, etched into the way you threw clothes at him like they were both a comfort and a punishment. He didn’t blame you. Not for a single second. Because this was his fault. All of it.

And the worst part? He still didn’t know how to fix it.

He changed into the clothes—awkward, uncomfortable, the fabric tight across his chest and barely reaching past his wrists. He ran the towel through his hair in silence, chest aching with every minute that passed, replaying your words over and over until they carved themselves into him like a wound. Because he couldn’t shake the image of your face in the rain.

He had done that. And nothing—no silence, no apology, no excuse—would make it disappear.

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uranometrias · 1 year ago

Text

✮ꜜ : ❛ long time coming : aaron hotchner x fem! reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

summary: after getting hurt out in the field, you're on leave for a month. coming back felt long overdue, that is until your plans with the team lead you to a situation that feels a bit too close for comfort after such a traumatic time. what's worse, your feelings you've harbored for your boss have no choice but to come to light when he makes the odd choice to address you as 'agent' rather than your name after one month of being apart, and years and years of back and forth will-they-wont-they.

content warnings: making out. allusions to sexual assault + r4pe (but only in the context of the case). reader has slight signs of PTSD. anxiety/panic attacks. reader runs into a few pushy men while out at the club. drinking / drunk confessions. reader has a crush on her boss, it is also implied that reader finds derek attractive, and he reciprocates these feelings. hotch is very good at calming reader down. no usage of y/n. reader is described as having shoulder length hair (can be read as a wig/weave) angry/disappointed hotch! reader has been hiding her anxiety / nightmares / memory issues from the team. mentions of vomiting. kissing. mentions of elle & the events of the fisher king. no distinct timeline, but can be read as s7 with the iconic team (hotch, emily, derek, jj, penelope, rossi, & spencer)

"Okay, I didn't know we were going all out. I would've prepared better." you smile shyly as Jennifer pulls you into a tight hug. When Penelope had called you early that morning with an excited decree that you'd been cleared to return to work you hadn't been sure how to feel. You hadn't bothered to ask how Garcia of all people was privy to information you hadn't received from your bosses yet, there was no getting a straight answer when it came to the Technical Analyst.

It had been her idea for the entire team to get together. You'd been out of the office for a full month, and in that time you'd tried your hand at maintaining your bonds with the rest of the group. It of course wasn't the same, but you knew that you'd needed the time. The last time you'd joined them on a case things had gone horribly wrong. You shudder at the thought, you had been doing so good at forgetting about it all, but seeing them again made it all come back.

The unsub had been your run-of-the-mill anger excitation rapist, a creep that had been using an elaborate ruse to entice and entrap women. It had been Emily's idea for the two of you to go undercover, the unsub had been killing two women every week, women who in many ways were polar opposites of one another, a trait that you and Emily shared. Long story short, in the midst of your plan to lure and trap the Unsub, you'd been separated from Emily and cornered.

You’d been carted off by the creep who kept you stuck for three hours before the team used his mistake to find you. By then though, the damage had been done. You remember the look on Rossi's face when he and Hotch came busting in, and found you looking bruised up with a bloody face, and a gun barrel to the side of your head. You'd never seen Hotch quite as scared, at least not since everything with Foyet nearly three years ago when he lost Haley and almost Jack.

You'd been too out-of-sorts to hear the way they'd tried to reason with the Unsub. And you hadn't realized your abdomen was losing blood until a gunshot rang out, bullets whizzing past your head as the unsub curled into himself before falling to the ground. You didn't know much, you thought maybe your eardrums had exploded with the way they were ringing, and you'd half expected to smack your head against the ground and end up with an annoying concussion.

Instead, you'd been met with the sight of your boss. He'd yelled something you weren't privy to, mouth moving as he seemingly forced the rest of the team out of their stupor long enough to get a medic inside to look you over. It was like you said, the details were fuzzy, but nothing had managed to wipe Hotch's worried expression as he fussed over your safety, out of your mind. However, if you were honest with yourself for one measly second, that was nothing new.

Nothing seemed to fill up your mind the way your boss did, and it was stupid, and deplorable all things considered. But it's not like it had even been something you'd asked for. It just happened one day. You shake these thoughts of your near paralyzing emotions away, pulling yourself back to the present as you took in JJ, who despite her perceived candor looked great. "Oh come on Jaige." you huff, and you appraise her more openly. "You look amazing, as usual."

She grins, albeit shyly, and she's waiting, maybe for your approval maybe for something else. She's trying to be discreet as she sweeps your for obvious reminders of what happened, and you feel nervous. Most of your injuries had healed up well enough, and the scratches that littered your face had been covered in a smattering of makeup. You felt comfortable in your pretty girl cocoon, all done up with a bright smile on your face that was surprisingly believable.

"Can I hug you?" she asks, and you can tell she's been holding it in, waiting to ask. You nod your head, a quiet chuckle escaping you as the blonde seems to scoop you into her arms. She's careful not to squeeze too tight, but the love is felt all the same. "God, it's been so weird without you around." she hums, and while the rest of the team is already huddled inside, probably in a booth Penelope picked, you're so happy she's the one here telling you this now.

"Now you know how we all felt when they sent you to the Pentagon." you whisper back, and you hear her bemused giggle as she steps back, and she takes you in again. Your red minidress was a stark contrast to the usual business-casual attire you wore everyday to work. Your hair was curled, pinned back with a gold claw clip, hair just barely ghosting over the divots of your collarbones. You'd opted for a shorter do' following everything with the unsub.

"Never leave us again." she pleads, and you feel this warmth blossoming in your chest at the way she's staring at you, almost like she really means it. You'd joined the team back when Elle and Gideon had still been around. At one point you'd been the rookie, the new girl nobody knew what to expect from. JJ had been right there beside you, even back then. She had been sweet, assertive, your first real friend on the team. She'd welcomed you before anyone else.

In time of course, things had changed, JJ had a husband, kids, a hoard of other units that were plotting on her skills at all times, but she was still JJ. Still that same first friend that helped you to see the Behavioral Analysis Unit was the only place for you. "I'll do my best." you promise, and she grins. She links arms with you before you both head inside the bar. There was music playing, some alternative indie song that wasn't half bad.

"Here's the girl of the hour now." Emily exclaims, and it's clear they've already started tossing back shots. JJ's head is instantly shaking in mortification. So it was going to be one of those nights. Penelope meets you both, pulling JJ from your arms and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek sweetly, before she's turning to you. She's got tears already brimming in her eyes, and you can't help but giggle at the dramatics of it all.

"I'm so happy to see you." she squeals, and you find yourself hugging back despite the sting of your abdomen. "You look so beautiful." she adds a second afterwards. "What are you looking to get lucky?" she asks, as she uses her hands to push you away slightly, hands resting gently on both of your shoulders. You feel your face growing hot at the implication, and you see the way she's looking at your facial expressions for a signal of your lies. Curse her proximity to profilers.

"I just wanted to look nice." you reply and Penelope lets you off the hook. She leads you to the table, and you're just in time to hear the group finish up their hellos to JJ. She's sitting next to Morgan, who's bright-eyed as he looks up at you. You find yourself fussing with your hair, playing it cool as you press your lips together, re-smearing your lipstick as you waved your hand.

You weren't sure why you felt like the new kid all over again.

"It's good to see you, pretty girl." he croons, and you grin. Morgan was flirty, had been since you met him, and if you weren't so disastrously into Hotch, you think he'd be all on your mind. Well, you know... more than he was. There had been times where you'd been partnered together, and it almost felt like the tension was going to cut you in half. Sexual tension aside though, Derek was your friend.

They all were, and despite what your mind tried to tell you as you sobbed yourself through nightmares during your break from work, they were genuinely happy to see you. "I'm glad you're okay." your eyes flit over to the youngest member of the team. Spence is looking relieved as he too looks up at you with eyes full of relief. He's next to Emily, and she's already downing another drink. She'd be complaining about a migraine the next day, you could hear her now.

"Thanks, Spence." you coo, and you offer him a wink as your eyes fall on the only present member of the team that hadn't addressed you. Rossi had made a point to send his hellos, but due to a previous standing appointment, he wouldn't be joining tonight. You couldn't hold it against him, Rossi was scoping the prairie for wife number four. He offers you a faint smile, the group instantly falling into chatter.

"H-Hey Hotch." you mumble, and he's closest to you, sitting on the outside of the booth as the rest of the team tried their hardest to pretend they weren't expecting this. He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead he takes you in. He wasn't blind, he'd seen you before, you'd always been beautiful, but there was something about you done up like this. Red dress, red lip, bold makeup, and heels that showed off your legs, and accented your model-esque posture.

It was obvious that you were still a bit nervous about being out and about, and you were out of practice with being around the team. He imagined after a bit though you'd be back to yourself. You, and the rest of the girls would be falling into a rhythm in no time. He stands to his feet, much taller than you, as you take a small step back to give him space. "It's good to see you up and about, Agent." and his voice is low, clearly as a courtesy to the bustling of conversation behind you.

"Agent?" you repeat, and the word is so foreign. It makes you take another step back, the bottoms of your Louboutin's clacking against the ground. You looked a bit hurt, but you played it off quickly. "Come on, Hotch. I think we're a little past those formalities." you chuckle awkwardly, and you find yourself looking towards the bar. Yeah, you were definitely going to need a drink. He seems to curse under his breath, but you're not sure if that's due to you, or some internal conflict you weren't privy to. You don't wait to figure it out either.

He doesn't have the opportunity to reply to your correction, because you're looking to Emily, JJ, and Garcia. "Wanna get some shots?" you ask, and you sidestep Aaron, making sure you don't look his way again, as the girls immediately exclaim their agreements. Penelope's sliding out of the booth first, Emily and JJ following her example as they head straight towards the bar. JJ's shooting you a knowing glance as she looks between Hotch and yourself.

"You coming boys?" you extend the invite to Derek and Spencer, who are quick to nod along, both men trailing after the others as they head to the counter to order more drinks. You prepare to follow after them, ready for the welcome respite from your mind swimming in circles.

"I didn't mean to offend you." you stop short, spinning on your heel to meet the gaze of your Unit Chief.

"Well you did." you reply, and your voice is small. "I've known you for almost seven years, and here you are treating me like a stranger." you mumble, and you find yourself tugging at your dress. "I mean, I know it's been a while, but geez Hotch, it's still me." you say and he winces. You're not sure what the last month has been like for the others, but you know what they've been like for you. Torturous. It's been Hell.

"I know." he says, and your eyebrow raises, unmoved by his words. "And again, I didn't mean to offend you." he promises, and he clenches and unclenches his fists by his side. "After everything that happened, I guess I just assumed you'd prefer a more professional approach." he mutters, and you scoff quietly. Classic Aaron Hotchner, running away from interpersonal conflict with his tail tucked between his legs. "You don't even seem comfortable with us tonight."

You blink. Okay well he had a point there, but you were trying.

"It's not that I'm not comfortable." you mutter, and you look over your shoulder at the rest of the team. "I guess I just didn't expect to feel so out of place being out and about." you shrug your shoulders bashfully. "Everyone's normal, everything seems the same." you continue, and you notice the way that Hotch's lips have pressed into a hard line. "And it's like no time has passed at all for anyone else, but for me it's like I never moved." you blink, shivering at the thought.

Hotch's eyebrows furrow inwardly as he takes in your words. "I still feel like I'm-" you trail off, feeling a wide lump growing in your throat. "It's like I never left." you course correct, eyes shutting briefly, lashes brushing against your cheekbones. "Like no matter how much time passes, it still feels like I'm there with him and I'm-"

"I understand." he cuts you off, you think maybe to salvage your pride or to keep you from having a panic attack at the thought. "And you're certain you're ready to come back to work? You know you can take all the time you need." he reminds you, and you are immediately nodding your head as you wave a tired hand his way.

"I can't stay cooped up in my house anymore." you mumble. "It's becoming counterproductive." you huff. "I'm ready." you add a second later. "Apart from this awkwardness, I'm also perfectly fine." and it's a lie, you'd been having nightmares every night. Restless, sleepless evenings full of dread, and jump scares of your own creation. "I mean, I'm here aren't I?" you offer a tight smile as you reach out and tap Hotch's shoulders twice, a tense little conversation ender.

You don't want to stay huddled up with him anymore, not while he was looking at you like he was trying to see into your soul. You turn on your heel, dress swishing side to side as you head for the group. You find yourself in between Emily and Penelope, the blonde to your left immediately sliding a drink in front of you. You down it in a second, the intense burn as the alcohol rested in your chest was a welcome reprieve from the anguish and anxiety you'd been feeling.

You forget about Hotch, and all your heavy feelings by the time you're on your third drink. Your heels feel much too heavy under your feet as you stumble into Emily, the brunette chuckling vibrantly as you hang off each other, the music playing overhead lulling you into a false sense of security. It was nice being like this again after so long, laughing at the dramatic banter between Derek and Penelope. You wondered if they'd remain purely platonic forever.

Trading gossip back and forth with Emily and JJ was always a treat, especially as Spencer tried to keep up with eyes wide as saucers while Emily finally cracked the secrets of her coveted Sin-To-Win weekends. You weren't sure what was funnier, the peeks into Emily's life outside the unit, or the horrified looks that crossed Spence's face with every new tidbit of knowledge he learned about his coworkers. You found your eyes flickering over to Hotch again.

He was stoic as ever, but looser than he would be in the office. He seemed to enjoy being a quiet observer much more than he preferred to be in the mix. He leisurely swirled his glass of scotch, and you felt that familiar buzz of warmth in your chest when you managed to catch him smiling as he quietly passed conversation back and forth with a newly drunk Penelope, and Derek, who looked exasperated.

"Are you just gonna stare at him all night?" you jump a bit, turning to face Emily with surprise swirling in your irises. "If you keep it up, he's gonna catch you." she adds a second afterwards and you tense, head nodding as you scold yourself. You peel away from the bar, drink clutched in your hand. You had to get away from the bar for a second, maybe the cluttered dance floor would be the best distraction.

"Sorry." you mutter, and Emily offers a airy laugh. "He's just usually so serious." you lean into Emily, who nods along. She'd met Hotch after you, but still she'd managed to become so close to him it was almost surreal. She seemed to always know what he was thinking, they were in sync. Unlike you, who seemed to always be on the other end of a hard stare from the man. For a while you just began to assume he hated your guts. Or better put, he was indifferent to your existence.

That was why his look, that look he'd given you as he cradled your head while he waited for backup had been burned into your skull. All that went out of the window the second he'd labeled you 'Agent' though. God, how stupid were you? Emily's amusement makes your eyes roll. "Can I be honest?" she asks, and you nod. Penelope and JJ have migrated to the dance floor, JJ grabbing the good doctor and bringing him along with them. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sure, Em. If you think it will help." you reply audibly.

"I haven't seen him this relaxed since everything went down." she admits, and you're surprised. As if somehow your presence had been enough to set the stone-serious man at ease. "The first few days after your accident he was a mess." she adds, and she's got a surprising about of stability to her tone to be as inebriated as she was. She lowers her voice some as she leans into you, "He showed up late." she mutters this like it's some sworn secret just meant for the both of you.

"I'm sure Strauss was just riding him about another mishap in the unit." you try, and Emily looks unconvinced and unimpressed with you. "He's our boss, it's kind of his job to worry about us." you finish.

"Yeah, I guess so." Emily concedes, and she looks like she's done talking about it, so you find yourself relaxing. "Still. I've never seen him go that hard against an unsub, maybe you're not the only person that's feeling something." she leaves you with that, trying to keep from tipping as she marched towards the group. You chuckle quietly to yourself, ignoring Emily's words as you focus on finishing your drink. It seemed you'd inadvertently been trying to be alone all along.

You felt some of the tension melt from your shoulders now that you were standing at the bar, away from those prying eyes you couldn't lie to. There's this sound of heavy footsteps, and then the clearing of a throat, as you turn to be met with the sight of a man. He looked to be about your age, cheeks and nose covered in a little smattering of freckles. He's got a head full of shaggy hair that hangs in his face. He takes a quick step, sliding up against the bar beside you.

Way too close.

"Hey." he mumbles, and you appraise him boredly. It's not like he was ugly or anything, but despite Penelope's words you were not looking to get lucky tonight.

"Hi." you offer a dry greeting, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as the bar seemingly became a beacon for thirsty men. Just as you were politely stepping away from the freckled man, you found yourself bumping into another man who'd slithered up to the bar, your ass pressing against his crotch as his hands wound around your waist. A sleazy chuckle escapes the man's mouth as you gasp. "I'm so sorry." you exclaim, and you're quick to peel away.

You feel trapped though, there were at least four guys, they all seemed to be friends, they all seemed to be in kahoots.

There's a third and fourth man joining the fray, they all looked to be about the same age, height, and weight class. This was probably their routine: approach and overwhelm whatever drunk girl they might have happened upon. It looked like you were tonight's target. "Hey, what's the rush?" the guy closest to you drawls, and you wonder where all your years of training have gone. His arm raises, and it feels like he might hit you so you flinch way too violently.

"Stick around, we'll order the next round." the next demands, and his breath smells like booze. It stinks, and it's hot as it puffs across your face. You almost break your heels backing away from them, suddenly feeling self conscious a`nd way too vulnerable in your short dress.

"No, it's alright, really." you try, and you stumble again. "My friends are right over there." and you point in their general vicinity. "Have a great night though." you offer politely, and you're trying to make your grand escape. One guy, a shaggy blonde haired man is quick to grab you by your forearm, and it's like you're back to that day. Your bureau appointed therapist had been talking to you about your anxiety, how a range of things could become triggers and transport you mentally.

"That wasn't a question. Stay a while." You're stuck, absolutely frozen in place as your entire body tenses up. Some Special Agent you were, the bureau would be so disappointed in you. Your team would be so disappointed in you. All it took to turn you into a pile of nothing was a bit of confrontation. You could remember a stronger version of you, that girl would've had these men on their knees for even thinking of laying hands on you. God, you missed that girl.

His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging into you harshly as you find yourself surrounded on every side.

"L-Let me go." you huff under your breath, and you crane your neck. You spot JJ, the blonde's eyes locked on yours as the reality of what's going on forces her to sober up. "I just-" and you jerk away, stumbling back completely. You're surprised you don't scream as your glass drops to the ground shattering as glass sprays in every which direction. You feel like your ankle's twisted as you fall back on your ass. You expect to feel the embarrassing thud that came with smacking your ass on the hard floor of a bar, but it never comes.

Instead you feel cocooned by a familiar scent. Strong arms are looped around you, but you suppose your lack of disgust at the action is just a testament of your comfortability. "Are you alright?" it's mumbled against your ear, and the low tone of his voice makes you shiver. All you can really offer is a tight nod as Aaron's guiding you behind him. You don't get to see Hotch in action, not when JJ, Penelope, and Emily are flocking you like Charlie's Angels.

You feel the first signs of the need to barf pricking at you, and you know that you need to get some air. You needed to breathe.

"God, are you okay?" Penelope asks, and you're not sure if you are being dramatic. I mean, it wasn't like they'd done anything really. Now you were gonna look like the freak that ruined a fun night.

"I'm sorry." you chirp, and you miss the way Jennifer and Emily share a hard glance. It's not until you're feeling brisk air whipping around your face that you realize they've taken you outside, and you haven't stopped apologizing. I'm so sorry. Penelope's got wide eyes, quickly brimming with tears as you find yourself crumbling to the ground. Your hand's quick to clutch around your chest as you try to inhale. The dramatics of it all made you even more nauseous.

You should've stayed at home.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Emily's cooing, and it seems being out like this has sliced through her tipsy stupor. She's focused just like she would be on any regular sort of day. "I need you to breathe." she instructs, and JJ's crouching down in front of you, brown eyebrows draw inwardly as she takes in your clearly frantic state. Every puff of air that escapes you is tight and sounds like it hurts. You can just barely hear the sound of a commotion taking place inside.

You do hear JJ's quiet exclamation of "I'll stay with her, go check on Hotch and Derek!" before Penelope and Emily are heading back into the packed building. She calls your name, and it takes a while for you to regain your voice. She's devoid of pity, which you appreciate. JJ knew more than anyone how much you hated being seen as a burden, or someone to be sorry for. Pride was a killer. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" and it's then you realize your choppy little intakes of air weren't doing you any favors.

It takes a great deal of effort for your vision to be less blurry. Your ears were full of cotton, and your head was swimming. You feel bile again in the back of your throat, and you jerk away from JJ's reach. You feel like you're suffocating, transported away from the random bar in the middle of Virginia, and back to a place you'd fought so hard to escape. You were certain you'd remember that unsub forever. His evil eyes, the way he tried to use your entrails like paint.

You remember how Elle had changed after she'd been attacked by Garner. How she had changed so much that she had no choice but to step away from the Unit. Would that be your life? You didn't want that life, but it was clear you needed something, you needed help. You couldn't focus on anything else, but what had happened. You'd ruined a night out because the act of being cornered was enough to transport you back.

JJ's still peering at you as if she's waiting for you to start panicking, and maybe you were. "I'm sorry." you huff again, and JJ's shaking her head at you.

There's a deep frown etched into her face as she sighs herself. "Stop apologizing." she insists, and your lashes are wet with unshed tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes should've never put their hands on you." she proceeds. "You know that don't you?" she continues, and you don't know how to respond, so you don't. JJ reads you like an open book, and she smacks her teeth. "Well now you do." she says this firmly. "And I'm sure Hotch and Morgan are teaching them that lesson right now." you tense up again.

"I didn't mean to ruin the-" JJ's offering you a hard glare that shuts you up. Another bad habit you'd picked up since the incident. You were working on it, trying not to blame yourself for things you didn't cause. "I'm sorry." and this time it's not because of tonight. "I was so nervous about tonight.-" you take in a hiccupped breath. "I just wanted to prove that I could bounce back." you explain, and it's the first insight you've allowed anyone. "I figured if I pretend everything's normal, soon enough it would be, but it's too much." you huff.

"And that's okay." she promises. "What you went through isn't something anyone's expecting you to forget about in a month, alright? It's gonna take time, and there will be days where it'll hurt a lot more, and there will be days where you're feeling like your old self again." she promises. "What you need to understand is that we-" she pauses as you take it in. "are your family." she finishes, and your lips start to twitch, you're not sure if you'll smile or cry.

"I know-" you proceed, and she holds a hand up in front of you.

"Let me finish." she pleads, and you inhale before nodding. "I don't- none of us want a repeat of what happened with Elle." she says quietly. "None of us want to show up to the unit one day and see your badge and gun sitting on your desk." JJ sighs. "So if you ever start feeling anxious, or terrible, or just like you're back... there." and you wince at the mention. "I want you to call me, call one of us. Don't deal with this alone, alright? Not when you don't have to."

JJ hugs you before you have time to respond, but her words sink deep and make you feel warm inside. "Thanks, Jaige." you mumble against her hair. She squeezes you tighter, and you believe it's to make up for her shyer hug earlier.

"You're welcome." she mumbles back, and then she's pulling back. You don't have much respite, Penelope practically tackling you in a hug of her own. You hadn't even realized the rest of the team has left the bar, you were sure the mood of the night was much lower.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Penelope exhales, and you do too, breathing fine again, save for a few hiccups that escaped you every so often. She lets you go after a beat, and you're quick to take a small step back, suddenly feeling anxious once more.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." your eyes meet Derek and Emily's. "Thank you." and you're chuckling quietly as Derek pulls you into his side. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and you warm inwardly. Spencer does hug you, and it's a shock. One of those hugs that you never take for granted, because it could be a while before you get another. Once he's pulled away you find yourself still hovering, listening quietly as they all decide the night's not over.

You respectfully bow out, you'd had enough for one day. It's then you notice that Hotch is all by himself. You quietly excuse yourself, but you find that they're not really listening now that you were safer. "Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is very quiet. Hotch looks up from his phone as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You take in his face, and it's clear he's been in some sort of scuffle. Most notable due to the fact he's got blood smeared under his nose.

"I should be asking you that." he retorts, and your eyebrows furrow in.

"Y-You already did." you remind him, eyes darting away. "Why are you over here by yourself?" you shoot off a round of questions, the wind whipping around, and making you crave the comfort of your bed. You maintain a respectful balance, you weren't in any rush to be all up in someone's space.

"I think I've had enough of crowds for the night." he retorts. You don't realize until it's happened though, your hand reaching up to swipe at the blood that's slowly drying on his upper lip.

"Get into a bar fight?" you ask, and you hold your breath for the answer. Hotch looks down at you, and there's this unreadable expression on his face. You realize that this is nothing new. Hotch had never been easy to read, he was one of the greatest profilers you'd ever met, one of the greatest people. But he'd always been an enigma. His emotions were an Alcatraz all on their own.

"You should see the other guy." the classic rebuttal to a question like yours. It doesn't make you smile, mostly because he's not smiling either. "Are you okay?" and he's got you by your wrist, eyes zoned in on the harsh mark the guy from the bar had left behind. "He never should've touched you." his voice lowers, and there's an annoyance attached to his tone. "I'm so sorry." you find yourself huffing.

"You shouldn't have fought him." you say matter-of-factly. Your fists fold up at your sides, your lips pulling down into a frown. "It'll give everyone the wrong idea." you say, and you wrench your hand away from his grasp.

"Everyone?" he repeats, and he looks confused, classic Hotch.

"Me." you correct, "I'll get the wrong idea." you whisper. "I might actually think you like me." you admit quietly.

"We wouldn't want that." he replies, and his tone is far from mocking. You hate that it makes you crack a smile. You hate that he's always the one that manages to get that reaction out of you.

"Hey, are you two coming? We're all heading to Mo's." Emily calls, and you snort at the fact that their alcohol riddled mind had caused them to forget you'd already declined. You take a step away from Hotch, and you hate that you stumble. You were hating a lot of things tonight. Maybe you weren't as sober as you'd thought.

Aaron looks to you as if he's waiting to see your answer before giving his own, and maybe he was. The second you're politely explaining that you're ready to head home, Aaron is offering to drive you. Derek is whistling, Emily and JJ offering you smug little smirks. Penelope is trying to keep herself secured to Earth. "He's gonna take her home." he whispers to no one in particular, and it's a horrid attempt.

"We all heard, babygirl." Derek replies to her, and you find yourself a bit stuck. The thought of spending the eighteen minute car ride with your boss make you want to scream, but you'd taken a cab. Your own car was parked in the driveway of your place. And he doesn't look like he' taking any goodbyes either way. Rounds of goodbye and see you laters are soon offered. "Take care of our girl, Hotch." Derek calls, and you hear Spencer as he starts to rant about Derek's turn-of-phrase.

Our girl. Hotch finds that the words repeat in his head like an obnoxious echo. "Why are you doing this?" you question quietly. "If you're just trying to make up for the whole Agent thing, there's no need." you proceed, and you take a small step back.

"I'm not trying to make up for that." he replies quickly. "But, you're drunk, and you've been through a lot tonight." he reminds you as if you're ditsy or something. "It wouldn't be smart to leave you by yourself." he continues, and he inhales deeply. He watches the way you watch him, like you're unsure, like you're suspicious. "That isn't a testament of whether or not I think you can handle yourself... and neither was fighting that man at the bar." he promises, and you blink.

"No?" you ask, and your tongue feels extra dry. Like you've licked a stripe of sandpaper.

"No." he reaffirms. "You mean a lot to the team. We wouldn't be the same without you." he says this bit like he means it, and you can't find any trace of a lie residing in his face. He does mean it.

"Thank you, Sir." you reply under your breath, exhaling the word. The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you shiver.

"Can I take you home?" he asks, and you know you're reading into it more than you should. You know what he means, what he's really asking, but delusion was healthy every now and again, right?

"Y-Yeah." your head nods, voice wavering slightly as you take hold of the bottom of your dress. "Yes." you say more firmly.

"Okay." you stand there for a few moments more, passing charged glances back and forth. "You never answered my question earlier." is what he says to break the moment. "About how you were doing..." he proceeds. "I've asked you twice, and both times you-"

"Deflected?" you offer, and his head nods. "I guess I'm just scared you'll see right through whatever my answer is." you admit, and you cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Emily and JJ will at least humor me." you explain. "Penelope won't ask... mostly because she's scared of the answer." you chuckle awkwardly. "Derek and Spence, well I guess they're like you too... but you're here, and they're not... so here we are."

Hotch appraises you for a second, but he doesn't say much else. You're grateful for that, but equal parts annoyed that he wasn't leaping to tell you that you were harder to read than you thought. No such luck. Still, you're surprised when Hotch grabs you by your arm, much gentler than earlier, and he's slowing his stride to be in step with yours. You don't realize you've leaned fully into his side until you feel him tense up. He doesn't say anything though.

A win is a win.

You didn't know much about the inner workings of Aaron Hotchner's mind, but you did know that if he was uncomfortable with your proximity, he would have said so. The walk back to Hotch's car is silent. At least outwardly, inside you were panicking. He opens the passenger side for you, and you imagine a world where this was normal. Where it didn't take you being hit on by sleazy men at a bar to be having these moments with Hotch. But it was impossible.

"Did it hurt?" you ask, once the car is moving. He's adjusted the temperature, a soothing warm pooling from the vents. You're surprised at how quickly he drives, you'd half expected him to be one of those slow as molasses drivers. Hotch looks over at you incredulously, his eyebrows raise, but he doesn't look agitated nor annoyed with you breaking the silence again.

"You'll have to be more specific." he replies, and you hum. You pause for a second, trying to find the right words. At the last second you decide saying it straight would be just as good as anything else.

"Punching that guy?" you ask, and Hotch's lips quirk upwards, he was amused with you. In truth, he had no idea what he was thinking. As soon as the girls had ushered you away, he'd found himself swinging before he could think of the repercussions. All he knew was that you'd sounded scared, you'd sounded unlike yourself in a way that made him angry. Everyone saw how you had changed, the elephant in the room was hard to ignore. But you were trying, he could give you that.

"No." he mumbles, and that likely has a lot to do with the fact that he hasn't come down. He's still on edge, still watching you like you might at any moment start spiraling. "Besides, it was worth it." and he says this a bit under his breath, you hear it all the same. "I doubt he'll try it again." he admits, and you feel liberated. It was nice to have someone fighting for you, fighting the fights you weren't capable of.

"Thanks, Hotch." you hum, and it triggers a yawn.

"Back to Hotch?" he asks, and you look over at him confused. You kick your feet back and forth, careful not to dig your heels into the plush of the car's floor.

"Would you prefer I call you sir?" you ask, and he is tapping on the brake, the car slowly peeling to a stop as you come up on a red light.

"No." he answers sternly. "It's not like you." he admits, and the light is turning green again. He steps lightly on the gas, the car surging forward "Especially if you're only calling me Sir, as payback for me calling you Agent." he says, and even though you had tried your hand at pretending the greeting hadn't bothered you, it was obvious he had read right through you.

"Why'd you do that?" you question and your tone is a lot more clipped than you had intended.

"So it did offend you?" he retorts, and you feel anger flaring up. You swallow this feeling, hands balling up by your side.

"Hotch." you snap, and he smirks fully, eyes back on the road. "Can you be serious, please?" you ask, and you probably sound pitiful.

"The last month I've just been..." he trails off momentarily, and you wonder if he's emotional, or just being dramatic. "I should have known better." he expresses. "I should've been there to make sure that what happened didn't." he says, and you tense up. "He never should have gotten the chance to get close enough to cart you off." he completes his thought, and you're shocked. You never would have guessed Hotch blames himself for what happened to you.

"That wasn't your fault." you promise, and you mean it. You'd never once thought of blaming Hotch for what went down. "You were confident in the plan, you were putting your faith in the team."

"There is a very thin line between confidence and arrogance." He rebuttals instantly. "We got cocky, and you suffered because of it." he looks so destroyed as he says this. "And then you showed up tonight, and tried to pretend everything was fine." he notes as you remain silent. "It just reminded me that we're too close." he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The longer you stay in the unit, the more you become numb to the things we see. You start to ignore the signs that you're not alright." he says, and you'd never thought of it that way.

"Hotch..." you exhale.

"I called you Agent to set up a boundary, or at least I tried." he says this like he's beating himself up. "But then I saw the way it hurt you." and he looks ashamed. "And I never want to be someone who does that to you." you're warring with your heart then. "So I wont do it again." he promises, and he looks to you briefly. "I'll call you by your name, I won't deflect." he adds as your mouth drops open just briefly.

"But, it's not right for someone your age to be so closed off. It's not right for you to pretend to be okay just to keep up with the people around you. If you weren't up to being out, you should've stayed home, our opinions don't outweigh your safety." he lectures you. "They never will." he adds a second after, and he's so sure as he says this. He's slowing down, coming up on your place.

Your leg is shaking slightly, that pesky feeling of anxiety creeping back up on you. "We're here." he says under his breath as if you weren't aware. You don't budge, you can't. You have so much to say, but where do you start. Hotch has shut his car off, almost like he too has a lot sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I just wanted to prove I could handle it." you admit, and you're crying. "I didn't want to be another Gideon or Elle... or Spence." you cringe at the memories. "I didn't want you guys to handle with me with kid gloves. I didn't want you to see me as the girl who needs the kid gloves." you express honestly, and now your tears are falling in quick precession. "I'm sorry..." you swipe at your face. "I don't know why I'm crying, this is so stupid." you hiss at yourself.

"No, it isn't." the response earns him a surprised glance. "It's good... this is good." Hotch is quick to use a hand to swipe at your tears. He hates the sight of them, but loves what they mean. Your heart's still soft, pliable. You haven't fully succumb to the horrors of the job. "Consider this me atoning." he prompts. "You have my ear, say whatever you need to say." he looks over at you again, and seems to mentally backtrack. "If it'll help you." he adds.

You sniffle audibly, hands clenching and unclenching as the car suddenly feels much too hot. "It's not your fault, okay?" you repeat, and you say it with more certainty. "I just need you to know that." you sniffle again, but your tears keep falling, even as you try to blink them away. "Hotch, you're our leader for a reason, and you were there to save me that night, and you were here to save me tonight." you remind him. "I don't want you to pull back, not when I'm finally making some progress with cracking that hard exterior of yours."

Hotch's lips quirk at your words, and he looks down at his lap. "I've never meant to pull back from you." the inflection with the last words sticks. "I thought I was doing right by you... pulling the band aid off before you got in too deep." he says. "But that was wrong of me, I can admit to that. I'm sorry." and his apologies are like kisses. They wash over you, and force you to believe him.

"Don't apologize to me." you plead, "Just promise not to leave me behind, treat me like an outsider again." you continue as his head nods, and you can trust that he's listening.

"I can do that." he promises.

That seems to be the key to unlocking the dam of your emotions. You choke on the feelings, a quiet sob escaping you as you clasp a hand over your mouth. How dramatic, and pathetic, and God awful were all these feelings. But they'd been years in the making, right?

"Are you alright?." he asks under his breath, worry palpable.

"Do you know that the only thing that kept me from losing it that day was you?" you ask, and your boldness won't leave you, clearly it was now or never. "You told me to 'keep breathing'... you said it over and over and over, and I listened." you explain, and he remembers the day too well. "Even though everything hurt like hell, and there was so much blood." you reminisce. "And I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but there was this look." you exhale sadly. "This look you had on your face that made me think... 'maybe it's not just me'"

It isn't. He knows that instantly. You've plagued his mind so severely for so long that he can just barely remember a time where you weren't one of the only things he thought about, worried about, cared about. But he had his post to think about, he was the Unit Chief, your boss, your superior. What would the team think? What would Strauss think? Did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, did those worries outweigh his need, his innate desire to see you safe and protected from harm? Absolutely not. So what was the real problem?

"Hotch..." you inhale deeply, voice cracking distractingly as he gives you his full attention. Something you'd dreamed of, wanted more than anything since the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him. "Aaron." you correct, and you breathe again. "I've been thinking of how to say this... i've been rehearsing it over and over again, because I wanted to get it right, and I just knew tonight would be the night I'd have to have the balls to either say it or let it go forever." you admit.

"Say it..." and he's rushing you, but you suppose that's deserved. You were still stalling, dragging this out way more than you needed to.

"I'm in love with you." and it was out there, and you couldn't take it back. You stare him down, worried about his reaction, about how he would respond. "And it took me getting hurt, and being sent home, away from the team for me to realize." you inhale shakily. "I kept having these-these dreams about that night. All these different scenarios about how things could've turned out different, how I could've died had one thing been out of place." you process.

"You're the reason I'm still here, you're the reason why this team can function, and you're the reason why I- why I came tonight even though my anxiety told me it wasn't safe. Because, somehow I knew that as long as you were here... I'd be okay, and I am." you say, and it's a lot, too much maybe. His reaction is hard to read at first, face just as stoic as most times, but his eyes.... his eyes hold the truth. They melt, pools of warm honey dancing in the darkness residing there.

"And it's inappropriate... and wrong... and silly... but- I couldn't go another day without you knowing, without you hearing from me." you explain. "When you came up to the bar tonight I just... I've never felt this way before... lucky, protected, safe.... and-and I'm not asking for anything from you... I'm not expecting something in return, I just wanted to get it out there... I think we both know it's been a long time coming..." and your words are being swallowed as Aaron leans forward. The middle console is a bridge, a roadblock.

It doesn't deter him though, not from using a hand to gently cup your face, mouth slotting against yours as if it belonged there. You're dizzy, shocked, surprised, but you don't let this mess you up. You can't possibly allow anything to mess up this moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... the seconds tick by with neither of you moving to break the kiss, hands and tongues and breaths fanning over one another as you get acquainted in the most perfect way.

Still, life dealt lots, and yours consisted of a need for oxygen. It's the only reason why you break apart with heady gasps, eyes dilated and fogged with emotions much too heavy to really explain. "Oh, you can't do that." you explain, and Hotch's bemused, eyebrows raising upwards, as his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.

"I can't?" he asks, and he sounds so much lighter now.

"No, you can't. I'll get the wrong idea, you know." you explain, and he smiles brazenly at your callback to earlier. "I'll actually believe you're in love with me or something." you say, and Hotch is slow as he leans back in, a peck being placed right on your lips as your eyelashes flutter, and your heart beats out of control.

"We can't have that, can we?" he's following your lead with the callback, and your cheek presses into his palm.

"I don't know." you answer, and your voice is faint. "I'm scared this'll be a dream." you proceed as Hotch's eyes scan over your frantic face. "I'll wake up and find out that this was all in my head, and the only memories I get to hold on to are from that night." Hotch's lips purse, head shaking in denial as you inhale shakily.

"No, not this time. an ambitious remark. "This time it's real." he promises. "This time I'm here with you to make sure that all those things you felt that night, and earlier by the bar, are how you keep feeling about me." he answers truly. "I'm here to love you back for as long as you'll have me. Is it alright for me to feel that way?" he asks, and your hand jumps up to keep his squished in place against your face.

"You can feel however you want." you reply, and he laughs, a full blown chuckle escaping him as his face seems to light up like a thousand suns. His eyes glisten, twinkling as he looks down at you, like everything was right in the world. And to him it was. Nothing and nobody could hurt you here.

"Good. Then I choose whatever this between you and I leads to, I choose the feelings that come with that." You smile grows to an almost blinding brightness as you reach across the console to hug him, and pull him into your arms. He's quick as he presses a peck to the top of your head, eyes still dancing over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe he was, that part wasn't your business, all you knew was that loving Aaron was easy, it could be.

A long time coming, but a wait well worth it. Lucky you.

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pushingdaisies1 · 6 months ago

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hihi I am not sure how to submit a request because I have never really done one before but isit possible if u could do a myunggi x female reader fic😓😓🙏🙏 I haven't really seen much ffs about him and I really want to see his protective side being portrayed🙌

➜ ౨ৎ Paz Con Usted.

― ꒰ PAIRING: Lee Myung-gi x Reader! ꒱ ― ꒰SUMMARY: Your last relationship wasn't left on the best of terms. It was a small little fling, only lasting for five months. But the way he left was sudden and abrupt. He told you flat out that he wanted to end things, and that was that. Didn't give you any time to ask why, was it your fault? He had mentioned once or twice about his ex-girlfriend. But after making up this grand charade to your face you didn't expect to be the rebound. But in hindsight... you were. Now you are here, being told that you have an opportunity to abolish your debts. A hefty prize, an amount of money you've never seen in your entire life. This was the worst time to run into your jaded ex-boyfriend. But maybe he still had some room in his heart left for you. You weren't so gullible, fool me twice and whatnot. But him swooping in to stand up for you definitely made you feel those same old butterflies rise in your gut.꒱ ― ꒰WARNINGS: Honestly the biggest one I can think of is you and Myung-gi being messy. Like within the context of your prior relationship.. if that makes sense... yk? Start is kinda angsty!! Woops!! There's no violence (excluding regular squid game violence mentioned) but Thanos is Thanos!! No Jun-hee slander here folks. Mentions of Abortion (Jun-hee.) Consequences of Myung-gis actions with a somewhat happy ending!! yay!!! Like you two don't like reforge a whole relationship but no bad blood by the end of this..... wooo!!! Use of She/her pronouns once for reader. Also this is a tad bit long n may have spelling mistakes , woopsie...꒱ ― ꒰AUTHORS NOTE: Ohh no dw!! Yes ofc , here you go!! I really do hope you liked this!! I tried to stay as in character for Myung-gi as possible. He's very much a 50/50 character amongst fans. His actor's so funny and I honestly like his character. Like you envy him but you cant help but feel sympathy for him in moments. Crypto bro who I wanna dissect/look at under a microscope!! Also like... look at him... he's a cutiepatootie. He has his moments but like bro Jun-hee defender forever lmao. Also, I got this title from a beautiful song. It's by the band Ataquemos!! It's just so sweet and a generally warm song. I think it fits Myung-gis's motivations at heart. I tried to deliver on this as hard as I could, enjoy!!<3꒱

☓﹕You never thought you would see Myung-gi again. After your breakup, it all seemed a done deal. He hadn't truly explained his reasonings to you. About... splitting ties with you. I mean it was utterly absurd? Throughout your entire relationship, you always tried to do and be better than before. ☓﹕Always listening to his woes even if they were a little bit baffling for your tastes. What was his problem? You could tell he wasn't being entirely honest with you about everything. His past relationships, his history. But that was his business and not yours. But your breakup definitely surprised you out of left field.

☓﹕He wasn't answering your calls for a good week leading up to it. You were worried sick about him. Thinking that something terrible must've happened. You were so naive to his true intentions. When he finally answered your multiple texts and missed calls, he only followed with, "I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore. I loved you I really did. But I'm not in a well enough place to continue with this relationship. I hope you can understand. I'm breaking up with you and blocking this number. I'm sorry." ☓﹕The familiar sensation of your chest winding tight took over your entire body. Your hands began to tremble as you held your phone. No tears at the sight. But you were practically blown away. Ghosts you for a week and then break up with you over TEXT?! ☓﹕This was jarring beyond the humiliation and general grief you felt swelling inside of you. Did you mean that little to him? What was his fucking deal? He'd even met with your parents on a couple occasions. You at least thought you were serious enough for him to at least break up with you face to face.

☓﹕You didn't even bat an eye about the fact that he was a crypto-bro! Or, that he never truly got over his last relationship. I mean you at least never thought he did. Throughout your past committed relationships, you valued the honesty in partners about what their dating life had been like before meeting you. ☓﹕ It felt like their openness was full transparency, you know? Even if the relationships they had before meeting you were full-blown train wrecks. But Myung-gi was a whole different story from other previous partners. It was odd but again you never tried to pry at him. Were you truly in love or just blind with infatuation?

☓﹕It had been a month since he had cut you off from his life. It had been a month full of bitter spite and just... sorrow. The amount of loans you had taken out definitely started to pile up. You had teetered on the line too many times at work. Eventually losing your position after you accidentally blew up at a coworker. It didn't take you long for your debt to increase even more after that. ☓﹕With how bad the job market was you stayed unemployed for too long according to the bank. Job interviews weren't pulling through. You were practically drowning in unpaid loans and growing unpaid rent bills. Never were you a person to take handouts from friends or family. You were too stubborn for your own good. It was so isolating as your landlord continued to threaten to kick you out if you didn't have all that money in a week. If he was nice enough, he'd outstretch it to two.

☓﹕It was one humid evening when you were waiting for a train. That a man approached you. He looks clean-cut, a businessman-looking briefcase held in one hand. His faint eery smile didn't falter at all as he slid down right next to you. You had spent the afternoon visiting friends for once and running errands with what little you had. One headphone is looped and tucked around the left ear. Of course, you noticed him. He stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the middle-men office workers office workers, or the families trying to get home and escape from the summer heat.

☓﹕You kept your eyes straight ahead. "Pleasedon'ttrytoconvertme..." you repeated over and over again in your head. All you wanted to do was just rinse and repeat the same routine you had accumulated. The same pathetic routine you lived with ever since Myung-gi broke things off with you. But you were totally moved on now! It's been a month... that's a lot of time... right? ☓﹕ The sharply dressed man beside you broke your train of thought. Addressing you very formally, he offered you the opportunity to play a game. What game? , ddakji - for a cash prize every time you flipped his card to the opposite side. By the time you finally gave him an ounce of acknowledgment, most people had already gotten on their designated train. The station was empty and you still had awhile so why not? ☓﹕Shockingly you had won a majority of the rounds. Your arms shot up as soon as you saw his card flip over. He may have gotten one or two slaps in after you flat-out told him you had no more money on you to pay for your losses. "That's okay, you'll pay with your body.", excuse me? ☓﹕By the time he handed you the money he now owed you, he quickly started to latch up his briefcase. Trying to bring levity to the situation, he stopped you before you could get any other words in. From his pocket, he slipped out a card. A circle, triangle, and square on the front of it. Flipping it over it looked to be a phone number. Examining it with keen eyes you heard him mutter "Have a great rest of your evening." under his breath. Before you could thank him or do such a thing he was already gone. ☓﹕Vanished right before your eyes. Your head spun around, eyes landing on the now arriving train. Time to think about this and more once you finish your trek home.

☓﹕If it was only a little game, how hard could it be? You needed the help desperately. No matter how pathetic it was you called the number. Giving the unknown voice on the other end your name and birthday. Quickly and precisely they explained where and when you would be picked up. ☓﹕Seemed easy enough from your point of view. The place they referred you to was one of the largest shopping centers in Seoul. The time was way after the park's hours. It was odd but guaranteed a spacious and empty environment for the pickup to happen. As you listened you couldn't help but feel a low twisting in your gut. This felt wrong, not right at all. You were too far gone now. So you agreed to the terms and hung up the phone.

☓﹕The day finally arrived. You tried to get your assets in order. Told ones closest to you that you'd be busy due to a "new job offer." It was shocking how they all bought the lie. You just wanted to make a quick buck to lessen your debt, that's all. Your eyes flicked down to your phone as you clicked it on. The breeze rustled your hair. The home screen of your phone reads that it is finally midnight. You had gotten there earlier than told on the phone. ☓﹕Just to shake the impending nerves away. It felt like a bust because right on schedule, a van arrived. A masked man rolled down the window and stated your name. Your eyes widened as that pit feeling got deeper and deeper. The door of the van slid open and you slid inside the vehicle. Getting a feel for the van you right saw the slumped-down bodies beside you. Your throat tightened as you tried to find answers to your questions. Before you knew it heavy gas started to fill the backseat. The car whirred to life as you slowly collapsed, finally unconscious.

☓﹕By the time you awoke, you were met with the sounds of classical music and a bed. The metal squeaked gently as you sat up in the bunk bed where you lay. People who were dressed in similar attire as you, with numbers on their chests and backs littered the beds around you. Some were already starting to climb down and stand around on the main floor of the dormitory. Standing back, you were puzzled by where you now were. You were practically whisked away from your life on the outside. This wasn't disclosed in the phone call.

☓﹕Murmurs could be heard in the wide crowd of participants forming in the middle of the room. Others were scared of what this might entail, while some were dumbfounded by the swift change in scenery. The same masked men with different variations of their masks walked out, one outwardly greeting the bewildered players. Immediately as soon as they started taking questions, people kept on giving and giving. By now you had joined the crowd, standing more by the back wall of beds.

☓﹕All of a sudden your ears get all warm and irritated as soon as you hear a specific voice. The same voice of the guy who ripped your heart out and left it beating on the cold floor. Asking for his phone and wallet for market checking of all things? You were staring directly at the back of his head as he whined in annoyance. If it was anyone else, you would've been remorseful. These "guards", had stripped everyone of their personal belongings and usual clothes. But hearing that prick made your head get all hot and all rationality gets just as fuzzy.

☓﹕On the screen they displayed multiple of the players. Their individual names, and the debt amount they had to their name. Myung-gi's face flashed on screen with his hair mostly hidden with a bucket hat. Playing the same game you had when the recruiter found you in that subway. His face getting slapped, holding his cheek. You especially heard ringing in his ears when you heard he had CHARGES against him?

☓﹕During the time you had spent with him, he never once brought that up. Nor the crypto coin scam he ran on multiple people. Other player's faces followed after his. One person's debt reaching into the billions. But your head was spinning at the fact that maybe you didn't know your ex-boyfriend that well. You weren't judgemental of the fact that he dealt with cryptocurrency. Which was probably your biggest mistake. The rose-colored glasses were even more damaged now. Who really had you been dating for those five months?

☓﹕After the square guards' passionate but monotone speech, consent forms were immediately dished out. Four guards stood at each individual post. Handing participants pens to sign the contracts, the rules all in bold. Your number was somewhere in the middle of the large range of game participants. So let's just say you stood around in that line for a while. You didn't really take the time to strike up a conversation with anyone.

☓﹕An older woman, the same one who was arguing with her son earlier was behind you. She was kind enough to take the initiative. She seemed like a nurturing sweetheart. Her words were kind to you as she asked you why you were here and other small talk. It was the most sympathy you had heard from someone in a while. Finding the time to crack a grin of three as she commented "You look like a respectful kid." It was the most conversation you had... since you had gotten here.

☓﹕You two both discussed how this may work. The entire you mostly listened as she talked about how this all seemed "too bizarre for her tastes." You chuckled, cluelessly shrugging with a "We'll find out soon enough." Her son the entire time was trying to get his mom's attention. But she was determined to keep on talking to you. Until it was your turn to sign your signature. ☓﹕Glancing over the rules your head cocked to the side a little. Already here, it felt useless to back out. Leaving with nothing is worse than leaving with something. Readjusting your hold on the pen you quickly signed the contract. Gently placing the pen back down where it sat before, your mind now clear, you started to walk out and away from the four single-file lines. ☓﹕Until you heard a scuffle at the other side of the room. Chu Su-bong and another player were towering over another player. You don't realize who the victim was until you hear the purple-haired one rather loudly announce the name "MG Coin." You wanted to scoff at the cheesy name. Clearly, if those guys were picking a fight with Myung-gi they must've been the people who invested in the coin. ☓﹕You know what? , serves him right. Facing his comeuppance face-on and head-on. But you couldn't help but feel some odd form of pity as you watched Su-bong almost swing on "MG Coin." Thankfully the other player riled him down. The two walked off and the air in the room stayed as stale as it was before. Something inside of you was eager to approach Myung-gi. Before you could stop yourself your feet were already walking to where he was sitting.

☓﹕He looked so small and so pitiful. His head was in his hands as he rubbed his face. Your steps were precise as you walked towards him. Your arms were crossed as you looked him up and down. "Was I just some joke to you?" You sneered. As soon as he heard you his head shot up. Eyebrows creased and mouth agape. The last time he had spoken to you, he didn't expect you to be here of the sort at all.

☓﹕"What are you even doing here?" He whispered, trying to keep his volume to a low. Not to make another fool of himself again. "I should be asking what you're doing here? Oh wait, never mind, I know. Guess I was dating a criminal. I wasted a lot on you. Supporting you, listening to you, being an above-average decent human being for you? And you repay me by keeping me in the dark about something as big as this?" You snapped back at him. Not holding back any resentment that grew towards him during your mutual time apart.

☓﹕"It's not like that-" Your eyes went wide and your jaw fully dropped. "No, I think it is like that. You don't hide stuff like this from someone Myung-gi! What was I even to you? And by your actions.. clearly nothing." He couldn't stop the scoff escaping him, which just pissed you off even more. "Do you ever stop talking? Everything was always my fault when it came to you. But when I tried to explain myself you'd immediately patronize me." ☓﹕"Patrionize you?! You didn't tell me you were wanted by the authorities! For five months, I thought you were just struggling. That's why I helped you so much. That's why I practically let you live with me after a while-" The realization came to you. Was he just using you to hide from the cops? He put his hands up in between the two of you. "When I met you I was in a rock and an even harder place. I-I was trying to turn a new leaf... I had hurt so many people. But you took me in and I..." ☓﹕"And you what? Found an easy cash grab to live off of until you felt guilty enough in that bitter heart of yours?" Your words pierced every muscle in his body. "I loved you, you piece of shit. I loved you a lot. You met my parents! You saw the best of me. You are acting like our time together was nothing. I for sure thought it was something and guess you didn't feel the same." A sigh left you as you got everything out. Everything that started to slowly form after you got that text.

☓﹕"... Are you only here to scream at me? Right now, here? Gotten it out of your system?" His words were like an even deeper twist of the knife. He clearly could see on your face that his response was the incorrect thing to say. He tried to stammer out an apology but you were already backing away. "I'm here to revel in your misery. I've seen enough... good luck." ☓﹕Turning around you noticed a specific player in the sea of people looking at you. She was sitting by one of the bunks. A hand gently cradled her stomach. Her eyes looked glazed over with unshed tears. Her stare was icy and almost demeaning as you looked back at her. They told a story that you didn't quite understand, at least not now. Shrugging it off you went to go find a place to cool down before the first game.

☓﹕It was comical hearing what the first game was. A children's game you used to play with your classmates when you were young. Shouldn't be that off-putting on the outside. Definitely was more with the larger-than-life doll staring all four hundred and fifty-six players down from the finish line. An older man, the 456th player, immediately ran up before the games even started. Yelling that this wasn't just any ordinary game. That lives were at stake and the doll had motion sensor eyes?

☓﹕You definitely started to believe him along with many others once the first player died. One by one gunshots rang out. Bodies were either piled up at the entrances or littered across the sandy ground. People immediately changed their tune and began to run in a lot more of an ordered fashion. Because the doll would only pick up the first person's motions. In following the orders this stranger shouted you actually made it to the finish line. You shockingly made it out alive... only after the first game. ☓﹕After a good chunk of the players were left, everyone was escorted through that colorful maze of stairs back to the dormitory. People were practically cowering in fear and begging for mercy from the guards. The same stranger who had practically saved the lives of every remaining player urged for a vote to take place. Since it was in the forms and already promised, it had to be done. ☓﹕The bloodshed you saw was terrifying. People dropped like flies even if their hands were trembling. It was mortifying to see so up close. By the time your number was called you immediately felt a sense of determination. You weren't desperate enough to watch others lose their lives while participating in gruesome children's games. Nor did you want to die here and have no one you knew realize you died. You'd rather get your body stripped for parts.

☓﹕It wasn't shocking that Myung-gi went for the opposite side as you. You clearly barely knew the man, so anything made sense at this point. It was neck and neck, practically so close to having your side win. But one person broke that, and the opposing side ended up winning. Their cheers were met with broken hearts and people who had just lost a fraction of their hope. ☓﹕The air in the room was building with tension. As players were given food one by one by the circle guards, the entire time in line you could only think about one thing. The girl who was staring daggers into your soul. You didn't know if it truly was something to worry about. But hell you had a ton of time to kill. So you thought the best thing to do was to try and ask the million-dollar question.

☓﹕You slinked back to the side. Your eyes scan around the spacious area to look for her. You recognized the same head of the older woman you had conversed with. During the first game, you noticed that in a fleeting second, the two had conversed. It must've been something to do with that. Right away you started walking over. Her son giving you the perfect moment to approach player 222.

☓﹕She was eating her food, not noticing your steps. At least that's what it looked like. You gripped the water bottle in your hand. Clearing your throat, you two made eye contact. Her gaze was less hurtful. More hollow, as if she was yearning for something. But you had no idea what. Words were stuck in your throat, you were at a loss. ☓﹕"Can I help you...?" Her tone was cautious as she let her tin of food rest in her lap. Her arms were more closed, resting towards her side. You stammered out a "Here." Your hand offered up the water bottle. Her eyes looked at the hand, and then back to you. Almost as if she was waiting for you to finish your sentence.

☓﹕"I-I saw you earlier in the game ... I know it's impolite but it was all just me guessing I didn't mean to offend you-" You were surprised you weren't cartoonishly slipping on a banana peel here. Expecting her to cut you off, she still kept on staring back at you. "Thank you." She whispered as the palm of her hand opened. You immediately handed her the water bottle.

☓﹕The quiet was suffocating. Everyone's conversation and consumption drowned out your subconscious. "Are you Jun-hee?" You abruptly questioned her. She lost all the color in her face. Instead of responding to you verbally, she nodded her head as she stared down into her lap.

☓﹕You could easily connect the dots. Myung-gi had mentioned her by name once when you asked him about his previous partner. She was here, trying to win to make money for Myung-gis unborn child. You had lived five months blissfully unaware of this, of any of this. "Is that why you were watching me earlier?" You asked with a tremble of your lip. Repeating her prior action, she nodded her head. ☓﹕"Oh my god... I... I'm so sorry." Your words were a mess as your past relationship with this perfect guy broke apart. You had fit each other so perfectly. You didn't expect this behavior from him, how could you? Jun-hee was clearly holding in a lot. But she couldn't muster any anger. You clearly were clueless about his lies. By the way, your eyes went wide and your mouth parted, she couldn't stop herself from feeling pity for you. ☓﹕"When I told him, he originally wanted me to get rid of it. Said that we'd handle it." She spoke up as her tone of voice wavered. "I had already invested into that Dalmation coin and he was being hounded by the cops. By then I found out about its failure, he already left my life without another word. I decided that our child didn't have a father anymore and kept it. It's been six months."

☓﹕Anger burned in your chest. Jun-hee looked like a sweet girl. She was so beautiful, like a little button. You felt wronged and betrayed but also vengeful? She stopped you from thinking any harder. "I don't need him. So please do not feel bad for me. When he left he lost his chance. I tried too many times to be there for him, but he didn't try once for me. He's not a good guy."

☓﹕Your head lulled in recognition as you listened intently. "I-I seriously had no idea. He told me a whole other story." She simply shrugged at your response. "That sounds like Myung-gi." She remarked in a reserved way of speech. You couldn't help but crack a small laugh in defeat because it sure was him. ☓﹕You felt pure remorse running through your veins. You extended a vine of friendship to the poor girl. "I know we know each other for the worst of reasons. But... I hold only anger for that man. If you need anything or anyone, you have a friend in me Jun-hee." You lamented as your shoulders lost some of the tension they held before. ☓﹕She plastered a small but noticeable smile on her face. Either real or fake, you took it as a win either way. "I appreciate your kindness." She politely remarked as her head bowed at you, you did the same. "You are a good person. I hope we make it out together and can form a real friendship." That seemed to lighten her spirits. "I hope so as well." Her words were direct but her tone was soft and gentle. ☓﹕You were already bothering her enough. With a small wave of your hand to bid her farewell, you began to walk away. Opening up your tin of food you spent the next couple of hours picking at the once-enclosed meal. You were too stuck in the past. Every sweet moment you had with Myung-gi rotted and turned sour. The only things that gave you any ease at night were thinking back to your exchange with Jun-hee and the warm glow of all the prize money in the middle of the ceiling.

☓﹕The next morning came as a definite wake-up call. The same classical elegant tune blared over the speakers. You wished you could curl back into bed with the pillow muffling the repentant noise. But thanks to the system in place you were stuck here. People were quickly rising out of beds, no one really stopping to sit.

☓﹕Walking down to stand at your bed post you noticed two familiar figures conversing. Myung-gis bruised face and Jun-hees stern brow. You could remember the fight that broke out in the middle of the room, and the reason why he looked so beat up. The same purple-haired guy, Su-Bong beating down on him with the help of what looked to be his sort of right-hand man. Only until the same player who broke the vote count tie stepped in. Myung-gis and Jun-hees exchange didn't look pleasant but no time to focus on that. Guards were already walking in, ready to escort every current participant through the game hall.

☓﹕After making it through the long and winding staircases, you were brought into a large room. It almost resembled an elementary playground. With the bright colors and two rainbow roads, as well as the back walls resembling a sort of school structure. You were set to make teams of five with ten minutes on the clock. Nobody wasted any time in finding teammates. You were having a hard time locating one to join.

☓﹕Time was ticking down bit by bit. It felt more like five minutes to decide who to team with as you saw people right away strategizing. Your fingers danced at your sides as you cautiously walked around. You had gotten rejected from two groups. One because they were already full, with wishes of good luck as you walked away. The other one was because they were also full and you didn't have "the look." ☓﹕Suddenly you heard someone trying to get another person's attention. When you looked back you saw that someone was trying to get your attention. The same guy who was ready to beat Myung-gi to a pulp if he had the chance. The same guy who was pushing people over in the first game as if they were only dominos. He walked with pride as two men followed behind him, one of them the same person who was also beating up on Myung-gi. ☓﹕"Owww Senorita... you're too cute to be alone. Let's play this game together." He purred as he approached you. His arms were crossed and his chest was clearly puffed up. Player 124 clearly didn't look happy about this. Chewing at his inner cheek with an unpleased look on his face. Player 256 was clearly awe-struck with the guy, practically ready to kiss the ground he walked on. ☓﹕You would rather get gunned down than be stuck with this guy and his lackeys. It was a hefty gamble... that's why you never participated in the act. Besides he may get you killed in the next game, if not in this one. So you flashed on a polite but guarded expression. "Sorry but, I'm alright over here." Player 124 scoffed in relief as Su-Bongs head turned back, almost as if sending him a long and lengthy message only with a glare.

☓﹕"It's only you over here though. Come onnn... I'll protect you the whole game. You don't have to worry about anything when you are in the Thanos world. It's a pretty perfect deal." He smirked with confidence. On accident you let a sheepish laugh slip out. He took that as the initiative to push even harder on your buttons.

☓﹕"Whatever the game is I'll destroy anything that tries to tear us apart." He hummed with a boyishly sinister way of speech. You've denied him multiple times by now. Before another polite "no" could be added to that list, you looked up to notice Myung-gi. He was standing in between you and Thanos. His feet are firmly planted in the ground. The clock just now ticked past four minutes.

☓﹕"Ahhh MG Coin, I'm a little busy over here." Thanos snarked as he took a step back. Myung-gi huffed out a reply, "She said no man. So listen to that and go find two other people." By the way, Thanos's expression appeared; he thought this was humorful. "Are you looking to continue where we last left off, MG Coin? I think your purple and new red would look nice together." He replied with promise laced around every word. ☓﹕Myung-gi wasn't backing down and you were taken aback. His body guards Thanos from approaching close to you a step further. Why was he doing this? The clock on the wall took no pause for this. Clearly, this little confrontation was only wasting time. Thanos backed down but "took it to heart." He placed his hands on his chest in a quick heart rate motion. "You hurt my feelings MG Coin. Thanos never forgets." He emphasized his statement as he and the two other players walked away in the opposite direction.

☓﹕As as the three men leave out of sight he's already turning around to face you. "Are you okay?" His voice was signaturely dry but almost sweet. Outwardly trying to sound as apologetic as possible without saying it. You hadn't seen Myung-gi act like that in a while. It definitely made something in you stir. But you weren't going to say anything of that. He was met with a similar closed-off attitude he was met with by Jun-hee. This time with anger simmering beneath the surface. ☓﹕"Is that your way of apologizing?" You remarked with no remorse. "I-I do feel terrible about what I said. Please... I'll explain it to you after you join me." Your eyebrows creased, your expression reading like he had just dropped a bomb of news onto you. "You don't have a team and the people I partnered with - we need one more person... I'm begging you." His voice was finally filled with genuine emotion and emotion that wasn't him whining about problems he caused. ☓﹕"Fine." Your response was one note but that's all that he needed. He led you over to the group of older men. They were much more friendly faces than some of the participants you had to interact with. The game was finally introduced, more like the game and minigames were introduced. Right away, as soon as the monotone voice on the speakers was done explaining the ins and outs, you all started talking about what games would be your biggest strengths. ☓﹕Watching each team go up was like a game of chance. Either both teams would cross the finish line with triumph and hurrahs of joy and relief. One would have their moment in the spotlight of victory while the other would be mercilessly gunned down. Teams who didn't even make it past the second or third game would be shot without notice by the time the timer was done. You tried to stay as focused as you could, examining the surviving team's strategies for your group's potential success.

☓﹕By the time yours and Myung-gis's team went up, there was still a pretty size-able audience left of players. You kept your hands gripped into fists as a circle guard locked your ankles together. The previous rounds of gunfire from the guards still rang in your ears. But your top priority was to survive all five games and make it out of this one alive. You weren't going to die running around a rainbow road playing some small little minigames anytime soon, that was below you. The five of you felt that same momentum coursing through your veins , and then you were off.

☓﹕The sportsmanship that coursed through the crowd with previous teams was already heavy. But experiencing that yourself felt electrifying. Like the only time players who wanted to leave and those who wanted to stay felt truly equal. It was another asset that pushed you and your fellow teammates to finish every game with perfect precision. Your mind wasn’t focused on your potential demise when your turn arrived. The cheers made you focus on the task in front of you.

☓﹕It was with Myung-gis's final kick that your team made it. You made it with time to spare! Arms quickly locked together, each final step you and your teammates made was quick and firm. Everyone erupted with applause and cheers as your team jumped around with utter relief and joy. You had the freedom to walk out with your spirits still held, being led back to the dormitory by a couple of the guards. ☓﹕Making it back, there were only a few teams in there. You had recognized the same familiar face of the older woman. The same woman who was conversing with Jun-hee and one of the winning teams. Other groups of players were littered around in tight units. Only some looked back to the door to see who arrived back. ☓﹕ It was a lot more quieter now compared to before the second game began. This made sense since more five-player teams still had to compete and make it out alive. The door unlatched open and you were absorbed in the ambiance of whispers and emptiness. You gave gentle nods of recognition as your older teammates boasted about your combined success. You noticed how sullen Myung-gi was. ☓﹕Your stomach contorted as a deep sigh left you. "Hey." He heard you call out to him. You were walking directly behind him. He slowly spun around to face you. His eyes bore into the ground under the two of you. "I-I know I... I know I messed up. Especially with you and I am sorry." He looked up to face you. But you were trying to guide him away to a more secluded area of the multiple bunks. He followed you like a lost puppy. ☓﹕You sat down on the edge of a random bunk, the metal under you squeaking at the sudden pressure. He sat down right beside you, arms hanging low in his lap. You looked to him as to give him the room to speak, to "explain himself." You could hear how tight his chest was while he spoke. Bursts of air left his upper frame at every grating word that left his mouth. ☓﹕"When I met you... I was a mess." Your head lulled in a nod as a sign for him to continue. "I had hurt so many people, so many people I once held close to me. But you didn't know who I was. You looked at me like... no one else had. You were someone who still thought of me with some respect. I-I didn't want to ruin the image you had of me so I was a coward and hid that from you." A shaky chuckle left him. His words were so warm, they reminded you of the good times you two shared together. But you were past feeling pity for him, it was more so guilt now. Guilt for a relationship built on falsities that you participated in. ☓﹕Your head turned in his general direction. But your eyes didn't meet him. "Were you using me?", you bluntly asked. "No... I took the help you offered me. I was happy with you-" Your eyes began to water. "I know about Jun-hee." He almost looked surprised as the two of you locked eyes. "... I didn't know about it. I didn't know she kept it." A sheepish chuckle left you as you wiped away falling tears from your eyes. Dribbling down your cheeks, staining them with your constant reminder of turmoil. You didn't want to cry in front of him, but he noticed. ☓﹕"My life was falling apart. I had people out there who wanted to see me hang for what I had done. Which ... wasn't entirely my fault if you think about it. I met you and you closed up all my wounds. You didn't look at me with shame so many others did. I finally felt good about myself for once in a very long time. But then my feelings just grew too complicated. I didn't want to pop our little bubble.. so... I ran away." ☓﹕"You're an asshole." Your words had so much emotion in them. But he couldn't help himself. "I know I am. I regret the times I could have been better... for you." A long and lengthy pause for silence grew in between the two of you. You rubbed your eyes as you thought of whatever you could say next. You were too tired to argue with him. "Do you promise me that if you make it out of this alive, with her, you'll be a better man..?" It was a dumb question to ask of him. Could men like Myung-gi ever change?

☓﹕"Yes. One hundred times yes." He nodded his head adamantly. Your expression was bittersweet. Your head lulled in a nod one more time before you just sat there with him. He turned his head away from your direction. Staring down into the floor, the silence shared between the two of you was almost comforting. It was a familiar sort of ember that burned in the coldness that was your entire relationship. -> "I hate your guts." He smiled, hearing an emotion that wasn't resentment in your voice. "You have every right to."

― ꒰AUTHORS NOTE: Aghhh I know this one was really angsty I'm sorry!! Guys, I love angst can you tell? The idea seemed so somber like u 2 r so tragic it’s aghhhhhh. I really hope this was an enjoyable read. If you’re interested in sending me a request , check out my currently pinned post<3 Ly all , byeee!!! ( ^ . . ^ )

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m4iya · 4 months ago

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⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Matcha green tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls and coconut jelly for @frosted-flakes!

Collab? Kenma Kozume (fluff, post high school, mutual pining + forced proximity)

Your phone had been blowing up with notifications all day since last nights stream. Who knew your viewers would get so heated over a couple jokes? Heck, was it even your viewers? It seemed more like the ones that were freaking out weren’t actually watching for the full context.

Well, that’s what you said every time. It kept them watching, right?

Though, being tagged in rants and comments wasn’t the only thing happening this time. You were receiving an absurd amount of messages from viewers as per usual, but also from other streamers and influencers. The most common words present within all of them being:

“Guess who mentioned you in their stream last night!”

This time, it felt a little different from other controversies you’d been wrapped up in, so you couldn’t help wonder who this mystery person was, and what you had done to earn yourself a mention.

One scroll on your timeline told you just about everything you needed to know. A post sat at the top of your feed; a video captioned “@/mc of all people?’

Clicking on it, a clip of someone’s stream began to play; a QnA of sorts.

“Kodzuken, will we be getting a collab with anyone soon? Can you drop any names?” The streamer read aloud before pausing to think.

“Hmm.. there’s a few things in the works, but I don’t know for sure when they’ll be out.” He replied, absentmindedly flicking through the questions on another monitor.

He paused for a few seconds before continuing to speak. “I’m not the best at reaching out to people, but I’d like to see what kind of content I could make with @/mc. She’s pretty funny.”

Proceeding to continue with other questions, he completely ignored the way the comments blew up at him.

Out of every streamer you knew, he had to be the absolute last person you’d have expected to even have any idea of who you were. You'd been watching his content for a while, having seen him at influencer events and such. Though, you'd never been able to approach him at any of them, often using 'I was talking to my viewers, that's why I couldn't approach him' as an excuse to yourself.

Even though it wasn't exactly your objective as an online personality, you figured that controversies and out of pocket statements would be one way to get his peoples attention. It wasn't like you were exaggerating your personality per se, you were always pretty outspoken, so the only extra steps would be recording or streaming your antics.

Even though it looked like it worked, you had no clue where to go from here. Would you send him an email? Or a message? And what would you even collaborate on? What would happen to his view count if he did make content with you?

You tapped onto his profile on Twitter, scrolling through his recent posts as you wondered what to do. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the top of your screen: A message request.. From him!

Kodzuken hey, this is @/mc, right?

You had a pretty large following, and he had mentioned your name in his stream. Staring at the message for a few seconds, you wondered if he was trying to be funny.

MC u really aren't the best at reaching out to people lol and yeah thats me

Your messages maintained an air of nonchalance, hiding the way your eyes were peeled—waiting for his next response, your heart thumping loud enough for it to reverberate through your ears.

Kodzuken thats a little mean anyways i'm assuming you saw my stream in that case so how does a collab sound?

MC I'm not too busy tbh I should be free next week. u sure u wanna collab with me? ur viewers will probably freak out over it

Kodzuken my channel not theirs 🙄 what do you wanna do for the stream?

MC something simple maybe some type of challenge? are u free to call so we can set it up?

Kodzuken give me a sec ill call you

Your hands shook in place, palms sweaty as you waited for him to call you first.

When your phone eventually rang, you let it sound for a few seconds, clearing your throat. Answering the call, you held the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" He spoke first, his voice being exactly how it sounded on stream.

"Hey!" You internally sobbed over how that might've sounded.

And so the conversation began to flow, the two of you brainstorming ideas and details about the collab. It would be held on his channel, with you editing the stream into a video for your own channel. Before the two of you hung up, he asked for your number so he could send over his address. You wondered why he couldn't just send it over DMs, but your heart was already racing too fast for you to even bother asking.

You got to work immediately, organising your schedule and allocating time to buy the things you needed. He said he had most of the basic things already, but to make things funnier, you suggested a couple ingredients that you'd buy yourself. The idea was to hold a cake baking challenge with odd ingredients. Without telling each other what flavours you were using, you needed to decorate as nicely as you could, and you'd taste each other’s dessert at the end. One of you will guess incorrectly, and the penalty will be to post something on the other's social media account after the stream.

You both agreed not to do anything rash, but also not to plan or rehearse the ending too much. It had a mix of the chaos that was usually in your content, and the viewer interaction that he'd implement in his own. Preparing things behind the scenes, you both kept each other updated until the day arrived, and you nervously made your way to his place.

Standing in front of his home, you took a deep breath before knocking on the door. You heard the shuffling of slippers from the other side, stopping abruptly at the front door.

"Who is it..?" A voice groaned from the other side.

"Um.. me?" You nervously answered.

A faint gasp sounded from the other side before a flurry of steps took off, leaving you wondering what just happened. Could it be that he forgot that you were coming over today?

He returned around a minute later, opening the door immediately. You noted how crinkled his clothes looked, his voice as though he'd just woken up. The skin of his face was dewy—freshly splashed with water, the evidence visible on the hoodie he wore. It wasn't the one he usually had on in his streams.

"Sorry about that." He muttered, attempting a chuckle. His laughter definitely didn't come off as nonchalant, not with his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

Though, you definitely weren’t feeling too confident yourself. Your hands were clammy as you bent over to pick up the bags that you brought with you which contained the things you'd both be using in the stream.

"I'll help." He quickly offered, taking the things in his own hands with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Butterflies. Your stomach churned in a way that it hadn't done since high school.

Following him inside, you realised how big his home was, surprised that he seemed to live alone. As you walked to his kitchen, he gave you a haphazard tour, which was limited to the rooms you both passed. He steered you away from the direction of his own room, telling you that it was 'just a little messy right now.' Looks like he really was asleep.

Once you reached the kitchen, it surprised you to see his camera and tripod already prepared. He placed the bags down on the counter, walking towards his setup.

"Should I set up my stuff as well?" You asked as you pulled it out of one of the bags, having brought it just in case.

"It's fine, I'll send you the footage." He replied.

With that, you prepared the materials you'd both be using. He provided the bowls, spoons and mixing tools. You handed him an apron and wore your own, giggling at how he struggled to wear it despite it being so simple. You offered to tie it for him and he did the same, even though you were more than able to do so yourself. You lifted your arms as he took the fabric around your waist to tie it, gently weaving one piece over the other.

"Is that too tight?" He asked. "Want me to loosen it?"

"Yeah, just a little."

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as he spoke from behind, helping you with this short, mundane task. Things were all over the place today, and you weren't sure how you'd get yourself under control.

The two of you went through a few more things, and soon began the stream. You greeted the viewers, and introduced yourself to those who didn’t know you.

And so the stream went on, unfolding much more differently than you had initially expected. It seemed that the people who were criticising you had either stuck around to see what would happen, or had simply left.

You cracked jokes with each other while mixing your ingredients, using the mystery flavours that you had poured into separate bottles last night—so tired that you could barely remember what was in them.

At the end, you both decorated the cakes together in an attempt to make them as appealing as they could be. Yours was coated in red frosting, and you used white buttercream in a thin piping tip to write out his name in cursive on the surface of the cake. His was haphazardly covered in pink frosting, purple polka dots shaped from fondant scattered over the surface and the sides. He had decorated the edges with sugar pearls and rainbow sprinkles, running out of time before being able to write your name on it.

Cutting each other a slice, you both took turns tasting it. You could barely contain your laughter as he cut into his—the centre was so moist that the knife he used was coated in batter as he removed it from the cake. You opted to eat a piece of the edges instead.

Exaggerating your reaction, you coughed, walking off camera to grab a drink of water. The ingredient he had used was chilli, and it wasn't settling well with you at all. His laughter echoed through the room as you drank from the cup of water; probably because of the slightly exaggerated reaction that you had rehearsed with him before the stream in the case that he happened to choose something spicy.

As he took a bite of your slice of cake after you had returned to the stream, his face contorted; confusion? He chewed once, then paused, scrunched his eyebrows, and continued chewing.

"Is that—" He coughed. "Is that coffee?"

You could barely contain your laughter at his reaction. Well, he wasn't completely off. It was coffee, alongside a couple different spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, and.. well, you lost count after the first two.

"Not exactly! Wanna try again?"

He held his nose bridge, 'deep in thought'. You both knew that one of you needed to get it wrong to go through with the penalty. A few obviously wrong guesses later, it was decided that he'd be the loser. After talking to the chat a little, answering some questions and interacting, it was revealed to them that you'd soon upload a video on your channel, which would contain extra content, and that the penalty post would also be up on his account. With that, he concluded the stream, slouching over the table with a sigh as you took a seat on one of the tall stools, picking at the cake he had made.

"At least the frosting tastes good." You laughed, taking a spoon of it.

"Yours wasn't actually too bad," He muttered. "Just.. very flavourful."

The situation suddenly set in; it was now nighttime, and your belongings were scattered everywhere. How were you supposed to just pack up and leave? That same feeling from earlier was now completely overwhelming you as you felt your face warm up. What exactly was going on? Keeping your eyes on the slice of cake, your face began to heat up. In your peripheral, you noticed his head turn.

"You okay?"

“Just a little tired,” You smiled, avoiding his gaze. “I should probably get leaving soon." Reaching behind your back, you fiddled with the knot in an attempt to untie it. The quicker you could pack up, the quicker you'd be out of this mess.

Though, even the apron wouldn’t budge at all no matter how hard you tried to undo it.

"Did you superglue this or something?” You chuckled, exasperated. “It’s so tight!”

"Oh,” His head perked up. “I loosened the first tie, but I double knotted it just in case." He stepped towards you, offering to fix it yet again.

"All done." His hands reached over to the collar, lifting it over your head to which you pulled it down, folding the apron in your lap.

"Guess I'll do yours as well?"

You stood from the chair as he turned his back to face you. This was definitely something he could've done himself. Though as you fiddled with the fabric—in the deafening silence of the room, the way his breath suddenly hitched became overly apparent.

At this point you honestly couldn’t tell whether it was yours or his who’s breathing you were hearing. Your eyes scattered as undoing the fabric of the apron was the last thing you were thinking about right now. It was a little late to be realising this, but he was much taller up close than he seemed online, and given the way the apron wrapped snugly around his body—he was also a little thinner than you imagined. Not to mention the stray hairs at the nape of his neck that had escaped from the bun he’d made.

“..Are you done?”

Shoot. Who knew how long you were standing there with your gaze scattering everywhere? You quickly untied the knot with a single swipe, and he lifted the collar over his head, handing it to you. As you reached out to take it, you noticed how tightly he held it, seemingly not wanting to let go. It did seem a little out character for him to be so forward—having been the one that initially reached out to you first, inviting you over and being completely unlike how you initially perceived him. Not that you had thought he was mean, he just didn’t seem like the type to be so outgoing.

Or maybe it was motivated by something. Maybe the small patches of plush pink painting his cheeks, the way his lips were slightly parted so as to prepare himself to speak, his gaze focused on you for the first time today—maybe things were a little different for him as well. You for one knew yourself, being well aware of what you’d been going through today.

“..Do you have something to say?” You prodded, teasing although your voice was small, shaky, and laced with nerves. You definitely weren’t in any place to be picking on him.

He cleared his throat, gaze leaving yours once more. “..Do you have plans tomorrow?” Your eyes fluttered to his slender hands, their grip loosening as he spoke.

“No,” You replied. “I had nothing planned for this week other than—well, this.” Taking the apron from his hands, you set it on the counter. His hand moved to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face, “Do you live far?”

“A little.” Your car was parked outside, but you weren’t the biggest fan of driving at night, and alone as well? Not happening—not unless it had to. “But I drove here, so i’ll just-”

“You can stay the night.” He interrupted.

“No, I can’t—really-“

“I have space for another person.”

“I don’t even have a change of clothes!”

“I have spares.”

You were surprised that he’d offer something like that, and double down on it as well. Well, his place was huge; but you didn’t i expect him to go around telling random people they can stay over. Especially when he’s only met them once. He was now stacking the dishes in the sink, yawning as he did so.

You couldn’t help tease again, stepping towards him. “So you actually want me to stay over?”

He clicked his tongue, turning on the water. “And if I do?”

That.. wasn’t what you expected to hear. You couldn’t see his face, but the redness glazing the tips of his ears told you that he’d probably been going through the same things as you all day. Well, it was more than just today for you; and you wondered the same for him.

extra:

“Hey, we forgot about the penalty!” You recalled, slipping into one of his spare hoodies.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair as he scrolled through his phone, opening the camera. “Sit over there.”

“Here?” You took the seat on a chair in front of his setup, crossing your legs. The two of you giggled as you set up the photo, with him directing you to wear his headphones.

You took the photo of yourself, throwing up a peace sign, and captioned the post ‘get used to this face, ur gonna be seeing it a lot more’.

Watching the replies immediately come rushing in, you laughed together. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time you’d both record something together.

from my 100 followers event ✩ other works

#anime #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #fluff #haikyu fluff #manga #haikyu x reader #kenma #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #kenma fic #kenma hq #hq kenma #kenma x reader #haikyuu kenma #hinata shouyou

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daegall · 4 months ago

Text

☆ unexpected company.

➷ in which the Gods give your boyfriend a shitty past few weeks, and you attempt to make up for it.

pairing: son of poseidon!jeno x daughter of apollo!reader

genre: reverse hurt comfort, fluff, angst, established relationship!AU

warnings: mentions of injuries (i think???)

word count: 2k words

a/n: jumpscare guys omg what the fuck i havent written since christmas 2 years ago LOOOOL um anyways........ comeback ? everyone say thank you jeno bc he is always and will always be my inspiration <3

btw this is basically . pt.2 of late night company so if you wanna go read that for just a little bit of context go crazy!! (you can read it without it tho)

The last few weeks in the infirmary have been busy, buzzing with clumsy teens and kids who carelessly run around in a sparring with someone clearly much stronger than them. You guess they get it from their god parent. As much as you love the infirmary and taking care of people, you're tired. Really tired. However, your (finally official) boyfriend for 2 months has always been there to help you through it.

Jeno Lee is someone you never expected to be so loving, but really, you should have known when he gave up his own team's flag just to go help you fight off Clairise during a capture the flag match. Despite his very busy schedule, Jeno loves to hang out around you, cracking jokes when you tend to crying, injured kids, getting you water when you don't realize you need it, and always attentively listening to you, whether it be a rant of frustration, or just a chat. Your favorite part is when he kisses you and tells you of how good of a job you've done.

As mentioned, Jeno has a very busy schedule. As expected, from a child of one of the big three gods. However, recently it's been… really packed. When Jeno does have the mercy of free time, he's always sleeping. You haven't seen him in two whole weeks. He's never talking to his friends, you never seen him swimming anymore,a nd worst of all? He's not eating. He loves to eat─and he's not eating. This calls for an emergency visit.

If only you had the ability to. You're in charge of the infirmary, however, and can never seem to find a replacement since your siblings always avoid the job and run away. You contemplate running away from your duties. For Jeno. You could send Jaemin to check up on him… no, he'd end up flirting with any girl (or guy!) he sees on the way. Damn Aphrodite kids. Finally, you decide to act on the former thought.

You don't even make it to the door, before you notice a very familiar presence by the door.

Your breath hitches as your eyes meet Jeno's. They look… tired. Nonetheless, you can still sense the love behind them, and it stirs something in you. You feel a small flame light in your heart, as if he's the one that set it on fire. The fire spreads to your feet as you make your way to him, to your fingertips as they reach out for him, and it's as if that fire has radiated on him, because he instantly melts into your touch, his nose bumping into your palm as he sighs out in what you can only make out to be satisfaction.

Despite his happy demeanor, you still can shake off the feeling of worry that stirs within you, noticing how his shoulders are tense─how he limps as you escort him towards a bed, how exhausted he looks. You wonder if this is how he felt when he saw you that night, on his dock, crying. If so, you'd never want him to feel this way ever again.

"I was just about to come to you, you know," You laugh softly, as you take a seat next to him and grab his hand in yours. It's warm, you've missed how warm it was.

Jeno's fingers instinctively curl between yours, and you feel the callouses of his fingertips on your skin, and it's oddly comforting. His head leans against yours, and he's strangely touchy, as if you were his battery source─like sunlight to a sunflower. "Oh? You were going to sneak out for me?"

You roll your eyes fondly. "I'd do anything for you."

"I know,"

And when his lips press against your temple, its you who melts this time, transforming into a giggly, grinning mess.

"I've missed you, you know,"

Jeno knows. He hopes you know that he's missed you even more. He's missed you every time he sees a band aid, he missed you every time someone made a lame joke, he saw you in every sunrise and sunset, he missed you when he gazed into water─which happens a lot, as a child of Poseidon. If he could, he'd abandon all these missions─what the hell are camp counselors thinking anyway, sending a kid off to beat the largest, most hazardous of creatures? He guesses that's the price of having power.

Jeno doesn't want power, however. He wants you. If power is in the way of him seeing you, he'd rather give it all away to the first person who asked, he'd give everything away for you.

"I've missed you too, baby,"

Your eyes tear away from your connected hands, trailing up to meet his own. They're longing and earnest. You smile, in hopes to comfort him.

It works, it always works. Jeno grins back, his other hand reaching up to brush your hair from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. He notices a small chunk of your hair is shorter than others, and thinks back to the letter you sent him, the one where you ranted out of frustration when your siblings pranked you during your sleep and cut your hair. He smiles.

"Tell me about your missions," You mumble, encouraging him to fill you in on everything you missed out.

"Well… I kicked ass. Got my ass kicked. End of story?"

Jeno yelps and laughs when you punch at his shoulder. "Fine, fine, it was… fun,"

"Really? But isn't it scary to be doing that all alone?"

In an instant, Jeno's face changes. Alone. He's been feeling that lately.

"uh… yeah, you could say that."

You notice the way his lips curl down, how his brows just furrow slightly. It tugs on your heart.

You squeeze his hand gently, head dipping down to chase his gaze. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Jeno's lips curl back into a smile, and though its weaker than before, it's still there. "Nothing, just a little tired." You nod at his words, processing and attempting to dissect his intentions. "…okay, do you wanna rest here? I can watch over you,"

At your pure intentions and even purer heart, Jeno melts, pulling you closer with a shake of his head. "No need, just want to be here, with you. No longer alone…"

"Hey," You give him a look. He knows that look. You've caught him red-handed. "I'm here for you, you know that. Tell me what's wrong…"

Jeno cracks almost instantly. He could never be dishonest when it comes to you─he could never hurt you. "I just… I was so lonely on those missions. Yeah, I was out at sea, and sure I did talk to my dad a few times but it's… it's not the same as camp, you know? Where you could spar endlessly just for fun, where every meal was full of laughter and not some cold, prepacked plate of literal shit. Where fighting never had me thinking that this could be my last fight."

He pauses for a moment, breathing in deep breaths, but you wait for him. You know when to talk, and now is not the time. Instead, you rub up and down comfortingly at his back, something he's always loved. You feel his breathing slow, and his muscles relax. Then, he continues.

"Nobody understands me. I'm the only Big Three child here, and I hate it. I hate that I'm the only one who doesn't get to join bonfire nights, I hate that I'm the only one that has to constantly live in fear of constant death, I hate that I can't love you the loudest─just to keep you safe! God, I hate that I can't give you everything… to tell you the truth… I hated it out there. I hated every second in solitude, I hated how my thoughts raced for no reason, and how I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, and how empty I felt. I know I'm an introvert, and I love my personal time, but out there… I wasn't alone. I felt like death was creeping up on me, keeping me company. I didn't want death's company─I wanted your company. I missed you, Y/N… so much… and it killed me to know that you missed me too."

Your heart shatters at his words, and the glassy look in his eye, indicating his tears. Your palms envelop his cheeks, despite his tight grip, and you gently direct him to look down at you. "You're here now, aren't you? I'm here, with you," You start with a shaky breath. "and don't you dare say you don't give me everything. You give me everything and more. You'd give me the whole universe and still think it's too little, Jeno," You laugh airily, squeezing his cheeks fondly. "and even though you were away, I always felt loved. You don't need to be here physically for me to know, you know, that how much I trust you. So trust in me too, please. Trust that I'm satisfied, trust that I can take care of myself and that I want you to love me without any fears because we shouldn't have to have fears. Let go, you uptight man, and live! There might not be a lot of people out there who get exactly what you're going through, but people will relate on some level. People are just like that, empathizing and loving. Don't hate who you are, please, because you'd be hating something that I love, something I know is always worth my time and attention and something I will never give up on. Okay?"

Jeno stares at you, his eyes glossy with a tint of red on the outer corners of his eyes. He still looks handsome. He's always handsome. His hand are on your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently over the material of your t-shirt, gently tugging you towards him.

"…shit, did I ramble? Was I too fast? Do I need to say it all again? Gods─um, you give me everything, and more, and I trust you, and I─"

Jeno shuts you up effectively, nudging away your hands holding at his face to dip his head down and connect his lips with yours. They're salty with tears, and so soft, moving gently against yours as you reciprocate the kiss, your hands finding comfort in his hair. He kisses you with yearning, and he thinks that if you came just a millimeter closer, you'd feel the ache of his heart and his craving for you. Your comfort, your hugs, kisses, your smile and your gentle touches, your appreciative glances, your love. He craves your love, and now that he has it, he won't ever let go.

He makes it clear as he chases your lips when you pull away in what is, in his opinion, way too fast, gently maneuvering you closer to him, your chests pressed together and arms wrapped around one another. You wouldn't be surprised if your heart reached out and merged with his.

When Jeno does pull way, it's only to shower your face with kisses and hug you even tighter.

"I'm always here for you, Jen,"

"I know, baby."

You grin, taking his hand in yours as you gaze into his eyes. "Stay the night? I've missed your cuddles."

Jeno's nose bumps against yours as he nods, his smile mirroring yours. "Never wanted anything more."

As you lay in an infirmary bed, wrapped in Jeno's arms, you realize that Jeno has already given you the universe. The warmth you identified as a flame of adoration in your heart has grown into a sun, and Jeno's orbiting around that sun, keeping you loved and cared for. Much like how he is your moon, and you are the tide, constantly gravitating towards him. You like this universe he's gifted you.

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honeyhotteoks · 4 months ago

Text

across stardust - four (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. three | four | five | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3✨across stardust pinterest board

note: okay we're um.... getting into it now. hold onto your lightinys, and trust me.... part five isn't too far behind.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, mentions of insomnia/serious exhaustion/being overworked, no smut in this one but there's some definite fluff, some sexist language used towards reader, not by any of our boys

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 11.2k

Be additionally cautious means that this time, instead of secret rendezvouses, you don’t see Yunho at all.

What no one really remembered that night in the studio is just how jammed the next few weeks if not months of their schedules were. The hidden truth about idol life is that even when you’re not in the middle of a comeback, schedules are just as tight and days are still a minimum of ten to twelve hours. If you’re not promoting one album, you’re recording or filming context for the next, planning the tour, writing music, filming variety content, and being active on social media. There’s a constant, required drip of content that requires a constant, required effort from every single member of the team.

It’s a job that burns people out regularly, especially at a company this size.

So you’ve seen Yunho at the office, but not much more than that, and since you don’t even do his makeup regularly there’s not an opportunity for even an hour of closeness even if it’s just in stolen glances.

You’ve been getting regular text updates though, and you and Yunho communicate on Kakao Talk like you're in a long distance relationship even when you’re feet away from each other.

They’ve met and worked out their own requirements for early renegotiation, but now comes the secret meetings with lawyers and planning their approach, which is hard to do between all of their schedules on top of a quick promotional week in Japan for three stages, two special appearances, and multiple fansigns for their last album.

The hours have been near comeback levels of workload, and while management has promised vacation time once it passes, that seems farther and farther away with every minute you’re not sleeping and every minute you’re not with him.

Today is more of the same.

Now back in Korea, you at least have access to your own bed, but today is an early morning shoot at four thirty so that the music video directors can have optimal light, so you still have barely slept. Yunho’s awake, you can feel that through the bond, but he and two other members haven’t arrived to set yet, a product of winning the ladder game and getting a little more time to themselves in the morning before call time.

After you finish Seonghwa’s base, he asks to take a quick break and you sink into the chair to get off your feet for a moment, yawning heavily.

That’s a cute sweater - Your phone vibrates with the message and you smile, eyes flicking up to the mirror to catch Yunho, Wooyoung, and San just coming in the far studio door.

Morning x - You reply.

You watch him in the reflection as he smiles softly at your message, typing out a response.

How’s it been so far? - He asks.

You sigh - Quiet, everyone’s exhausted after the trip.

You had all returned from Japan only yesterday, and though you’re not contending with jet lag, you’re all still balancing heavy schedules and the switch up between home and away.

This should help then - Is Yunho’s next message, and you’re not sure what he means until you hear him behind you.

“Morning,” Yunho says to the room, getting everyone’s attention but keeping his voice soft, “we’ve got coffees on the back table for everyone,”

There’s a collective groan of appreciation.

“Thank god,” Dahan says, “I’ll get ours,”

You jump up before you can stop yourself, “I got it,”

“Oh,” She takes a step back, smiling, “thanks girl,”

“For sure, Hwa’s on break anyways,”

Eunji and Dahan both return their focus to the members in front of them, but Iseul gives you a sly smile. You shoot her an eye roll and head towards the loosely formed circle around the back table.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” You hear Wonshik say as he grabs a cup.

“Ah,” San shrugs, “it’s too early to film, we couldn’t let everyone go without a little strength,”

Jongho slips through the side, a roller and clips still in his hair, to find the iced americanos, “Let me know what we owe you,”

Yunho waves him off, “You’re good,”

As you get a little closer, you finally meet his eyes and you trade a little smile. You keep it professional, as always, but the warmth in both your chests at just stepping a little closer to one another is undeniable.

“Thanks for this,” You tell all three of them.

San and Wooyoung both grin, but step away fast, leaving you almost alone at the table with Yunho.

“Here,” He picks up a cardboard carrier with four hot cups, “this one's for you and the team,”

“Oh,” You smile, “thank you, Yunho,”

“Mhm,” He taps the lid on one cup and nods, “this one’s yours,”

You glance to the side, but no one’s lingering around too close so you look back as you take the cups, eyebrows raised.

“Extra shot,” He murmurs, “and vanilla,”

You could kiss him.

“Anyways,” He leans back and puts some space between you, “I hope it’s still warm enough.”

“It’s perfect,” You hear Seonghwa’s voice behind you, you have to go back to work, “thank you,”

He nods, and you force yourself to turn around, to put your face back on and get back to work. At your station, you slip your coffee cup out of the carrier and leave it on your side table.

”Lattes,” You place one on each station behind the other makeup artists.

“Perfect,” Eunji turns from Hongjoong and snaps the cup up, “I’m so tired I could inject this,”

Everyone laughs softly and nods, and you yawn as you get back to your station, taking a long sip of your coffee.

“Mm,” Dahan says as she wipes her lip and nods towards you, “what’d you get?”

“Hmm?” You don’t really understand her question.

She nods towards your coffee, and you lift the cup to glance at the side.

There’s a hastily drawn English initial there in sharpie, matching your name, and you laugh, “Oh, mine just has vanilla,”

You’re getting good at fighting through those waves of panic that people might be catching on, better at lying around every turn, so you keep yourself relaxed and shrug this off.

”I like vanilla,” Eunji comments.

Your eyes connect for a hair with Iseul.

Seonghwa interjects smoothly though, “I’ll tell Sannie for next time, we were just talking about coffee at that spot in Hyogo, he must have remembered,”

“That’s thoughtful,” Dahan nods, “you take care of us too well,”

“Ah,” Hongjoong adds, bringing the attention away from you, “please, it’s the least we can do when you’re always awake an hour before us.”

“I’ll never complain about coffee,” Iseul smiles and then shifts the conversation like a professional, “Eun, do you have any spare cotton buds? I’m smudging this mascara,”

“You’ve got to use the guards,” Eunji says, going off on one of her favorite tangents, shifting through her station for her beauty gadget of the moment, and you let Iseul take the reins on that so you can fade right out of their thoughts.

Seonghwa gives you a quick smile when you turn to him, and you quietly rotate the lid on your coffee so that the initial faces away from them and towards your body.

“So,” You focus again, smiling at Seonghwa, “how much glitter today? A subtle wash, or a truly tragic amount?”

He laughs, relaxing into your chair again, “Somewhere in the middle, but I really want these contacts to pop in the closeups,”

“Got it,” You find your favorite palette for him, setting your coffee to the side, your thumb unconsciously brushing over Yunho’s handwriting as you do.

The morning gets a little easier after that. The surprise caffeine has put everyone in good spirits, and filming days, while stressfully tight and complicated, are still some of the more fun days you get to have at this job. The pressure is a little lighter without a live performance, and there’s always room for the members to relax and joke around a bit which tends to spread infectiously towards the staff.

You watch them work with quiet affection, thinking of how quickly they fell into step with you and Yunho the moment they realized what you were to each other. That night in the studio has brought you closer to them in many ways, even if subtle and unspoken, and Yunho looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that his brothers know.

He feels happier, despite the stress and long hours, and you’ve relaxed considerably with him as such a pillar of strength.

Early into the afternoon it’s time for solo and unit shoots, and you find yourself in a largely unoccupied area of the set with Wooyong as you finish cleaning off his first coat of makeup. As you prep your tools, he gently nudges your leg with the tip of his boot.

“You good?” He asks softly, with a friendly expression.

“I’m good,” You answer automatically, plastering back on your smile.

“You don’t look good,” He says plainly.

You glance around the room, but it’s still empty, “Uh, thanks?”

“You look exhausted,” He clarifies.

“We’re all exhausted, it’s no big deal,”

He cocks his head slightly to the slide as you mix a fresh batch of his foundation shade together on the stainless steel pallet in your hands, “Are you sleeping?”

You shrug, “When I can,”

”Because he’s not sleeping,” Wooyoung points out, “which is weird, he used to be able to nap anywhere,”

Your mouth snaps shut, lips pressed together. Wooyoung has always been painfully observant, but this goes the extra step.

“Yeah,” Is all you can muster up.

“Damn,” He murmurs, “can you not sleep if the other person is awake?”

Your eyes scan the room again, “Uh,” you shrug again, “kind of? I mean, you can, definitely, but I don’t know… things are weird right now, and new.”

He nods, tilting his face up so you can start his foundation again, “The physical separation affects you?”

He’s not going to let it go, so you sigh, “I think so,”

“Hmm,” He chews the inside of his lip for a moment as he considers that, “that makes sense,”

“Does it?”

“Sure,” He says like it’s only natural, “I mean, you’re literally connected. It would make sense that it gets stronger or feels better when you’re together and it’s the opposite when you’re apart.”

You’ve read articles that propose that same idea, but so much of the scientific research into soulmates and bonds just isn’t there. Especially not on something like separating soulmates or testing physical proximity, not when the pull towards each other is so strong, it’s practically obvious you’re not supposed to be apart and a study like that would be unnecessarily cruel.

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking that through, but then Wooyoung asks a question softly, “Does it hurt?”

You blink, “Does what hurt?”

“Not being with him?”

As if on cue, your chest aches, and you nod, “Yeah,”

“Like pain?” Wooyoung’s brows draw together.

“Not… pain exactly,” You try to explain, “it’s just this… weight, maybe? Or ache?”

”I’m sorry,” He murmurs, “that sounds hard,”

You feel Yunho deep in the bond, a tiny tug on the cord that connects you, a wordless question.

You smile at the sensation and Wooyoung looks more confused. You shake your head, “Sorry,” you laugh softly, “he’s checking on me,”

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open, “That’s amazing,”

You nod, before brushing your fingers over your mark, sending a wave of reassurance back to him.

Wooyoung’s eyes flick down to watch the motion and back up, “And you’re…”

“Telling him I’m fine,” You feel your face warm up a bit.

“Wow,” He murmurs, a grin spreading on his face, “I can’t wait to know what that feels like,”

You smile, returning your attention to the makeup palette in your hands.

“y/n,” He says, “I really think it’s going to work out, I think people will be so happy for you both.”

For a moment his earnestness makes you believe him, and you thank him softly before you focus on his makeup, you don’t tell him about all the things you’ve seen online that tell you otherwise.

In the weeks that have gone by, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from researching.

In your deep dives you’ve found very little to comfort you.

Two idols have found their soulmates, but their relationships were announced quietly years into retirement from public life, and even then the articles were full of negative comments.

Plenty of idols have gone through dating scandals, and that always seems to end one of two ways. Either the company says nothing and the rumor fades into nothing, or the evidence is too damning and the destructive cycle of public outcry and idol disgrace continues until companies and contracts break down.

Yunho has popped up in a couple of unfounded dating rumors, but even those comments made you ill. The way they turned on him, and the way they speculated about his non-existent mystery partner certainly contributed to your sleepless nights.

Wooyoung’s confidence is almost sweetly naive for someone in the industry.

You finish his makeup and make it through several more hours of standing around on set ready to hop in and touch up your members between takes. You hold on to the feeling of Yunho’s adrenaline while he practices and performs for the camera to keep you going.

Hours later, the shoot has started to dwindle down to the people left who still have filming to go or members on set but both Wooyoung and Seonghwa wrapped and went home by the time you make it back to the set’s break tent.

It’s quiet here, just a collection of plastic tables with snacks and water bottles, some seats, and organized chaos of everyone’s belongings. You could fall asleep right here.

You’re nearly drifting, your body exhausted after a day of standing, and you sink into one of the break tent’s folding chairs, eyelids heavy. It’s empty for now, a good number of staff already gone for the day, but Yunho’s solo shoot is last and all you want is to see him one more time before you drag yourself home.

Your head lolls to the side and you don’t know if you really sleep or not, but the next thing you register is a gentle hand on your hair.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you blink your tired eyes open, “Mm,”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs softly, “time to wake up,”

“Y-Yun?” You blink again, yawning as you shift out of the awkward position.

“What are you still doing here?” He murmurs.

“I guess I fell asleep,” You sweep a hand under your eyes, “is the shoot over?”

He nods, “It’s already nine,”

You look to your watch, surprised to see he’s right, “God,”

He lovingly strokes your hair again, “Let’s get you home,”

You sigh into his touch for a brief moment and then he steps back and you push yourself to standing. He takes one fast glance towards the tent opening before dipping down and kissing you once, just a quick indulgence of his lips on yours before he takes a few large steps back to leave a healthy gap between your bodies.

“How was your day?” He smiles, starting to gather his belongings.

“Good,” Your skin is still buzzing from the kiss, but you shake it off and look for your own bag, “long,”

“Mm,” He nods, “same,”

“How was the shoot?” You start to say, but voices outside catch both of your attention.

You didn’t realize many people were still here.

You quickly pull on your coat and snap up your bag.

Wonshik, one of their managers, steps into the tent, all of his focus on the phone in his hands, “You ready?”

“Yep,” Yunho nods, and you notice the other voices of your coworkers are hovered by the door as they talk animatedly about something you can't quite catch.

Wonshik responds but you miss his words, your mind still foggy with sleep.

“Hyung,” Yunho says, “can we give y/n a ride, it’s late,”

Wonshik looks up from his phone and finally notices you in the room, “Oh,” he nods, “sure, hey y/n,”

”Hey,” You normally would protest, but you’re dead on your feet, “you sure you don’t mind?”

”All good,”

The tent flap opens again and San, Eunji, Iseul, and a few BB Trippin dancers start to step in, still mid conversation.

Wonshik catches your attention though “Where do you live?”

“Seongsu,” Yunho says it before you can open your mouth and a strike of alarm twists in your chest before he smoothly recovers, “you were just saying how close you are to the studio,”

”Yeah,” You nod, catching on to his misdirection, “super close, I usually walk,”

Wonshik nods, “No problem, do you have everything? Another early one tomorrow,”

“Sure, I’m ready when you are,” You nod to them both.

Wonshik turns, reaching into his pocket for his keys, and heads for the entrance again. You and Yunho exchange a quick look, and he nods for you to go first.

“Good night,” You say to everyone as you pass by.

They give you a good night, and as you pass each other, you feel Yunho’s tall presence behind you. He says something to San, and gives one of the BB dancers a fist bump for something that happened on set, but then for the first time in weeks he moves without thinking.

“See you in the morning,” Yunho says, and then turns to follow you, his hand settling on your mid back to guide you forwards out of the tent.

It takes you both a second to realize what you’ve done, the weight of his hand feeling familiar and right against your back, but you hear San say something loudly enough he could only be making a distraction and your gut twists.

Yunho drops his hand, shoving it in his coat pocket.

You feel the rapid pick up of his heart, the apology that he wants to give you but can’t in front of other people. You want to tell him it’s fine, no one saw, and even if they did it was the most mild, brief touch imaginable, but you bite your tongue and climb into the waiting car.

Wonshik drives you home, and despite the closeness of your bodies in the backseat of the car, Yunho keeps his eyes on the window and an ocean between you.

Two more days of shoots like that have you propped up on coffee and sheer force of will alone.

You keep almost falling asleep everywhere, and you’re sure that to any of your coworkers who don’t know about Yunho and your sudden soulmate insomnia, you look terrible.

“You’ve got to figure out this sleep thing,” Iseul says, nudging your shoulder as she collapses next to you on the couch in your offices at the KQ main building. It’s getting late, finally time to go home, but you just need a second to yourself before trying to muster up the strength to catch the train or risk falling asleep in another Uber.

You sigh, “I know.”

“Is Yunho still avoiding you?” She asks.

“He’s not avoiding me,” You huff a tired laugh into your sweatshirt sleeves, “he literally can’t when we’re literal soulmates.”

He’s been a little distant since the other night, but it’s to be expected. You don’t need him to explain, you can feel it. He’s been looping through the line of mistakes from that night; the kiss, knowing your address, the back touch, all brought on by your joint exhaustion and the constant magnetic energy of the bond that tugs inside you, willing you to touch, to be close.

“y/n,”

“Sorry,” You sigh, “I’m tired, but no he’s not. He’s just keeping some distance after the other night, he slipped up and he’s beating himself up over it,”

“It’s a platonic enough touch,” She says, and you’ve heard this argument from her before, “and no one saw,”

“Mm,” You nod, “this is just how he deals.”

“By shutting you out?”

“By hyperfocusing on work,” You correct, “we’re texting, it’s fine, Iseul,”

“Fine,” She says with a sigh, “I just want my best friend back to healthy and happy,”

You give her a close lipped smile, “Soon,”

The door opens and you look up as Eunji, Dahan, and Eunwoo from the hair styling team come in, Hongjoong rounding the corner behind them. Hongjoong and Eunwoo are mid conversation, and the other members of your makeup team are carrying an arm full of vending machine snacks.

“How bad do you think I’ll break out after only living on Turtle Chips and caffeine this week?” Dahan groans and you smile.

“I’m telling you,” Eunji shakes the clear box in her hands, “the vending machine salads are surprisingly good,”

“How? It’s a literal vending machine,” Dahan’s nose crinkles.

They keep bickering, almost ignoring you and Iseul completely, but then you hear your name out of Hongjoong’s mouth and it catches everyone’s attention.

“y/n,” Hongjoong says as he steps towards your group and makes eye contact with you, “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about, do you have a few minutes while I’m already down here? Seonghwa wanted me to pass a bit of feedback back to you,”

Your eyebrows raise, “Um, sure,”

Your teammates glance at each other in a bit of confusion, it’s rare for the boys to give you feedback like this, if at all after working with each other for so long, but they let it lie and don’t interject.

He waits for you, and then nods towards the hall.

“Right,” You pull yourself up and brush your hands over your wrinkled trousers, “no problem,”

“Text me later,” Iseul says as she stays with Dahan and Eunji, and as you step away you feel their curious glances at you, leaving a strange pit in your exhausted stomach.

Hongjoong steps into the hall and walks down towards the lobby on this floor, an empty space between elevators with no office doors or onlookers to overhear.

Once you’re alone with him, you cross your arms over your chest, “Hwa needed you to give me feedback? What did I do?” You smile, keeping it light.

He waits until he’s sure everyone’s out of earshot, and then he looks back at you, “Nothing, I just needed an excuse to talk to you for a second,”

“Oh,” You relax.

“My office,” He starts, “my recording booth, you know where it is?”

You nod, “Sure,”

“When the red light is on, no one ever bothers me, not even a knock,” He tells you.

“Okay,” The word stretches on your lips, confusion on your face to be sure.

He sighs, “Sometimes when comebacks get tight like this, members will use my studio to get a quick hour of sleep,”

“Ah,” You nod, “okay,”

“People will start heading home soon,” He points out, “but we’re all working late and have practice,”

“I know,” You nod, “Yunho said it would be another late one,”

“He’s in my studio,” Hongjoong continues, “and you both look exhausted. Wooyoung said you’re not sleeping either,”

You shake your head a bit, “I’m fine, you all have enough to worry about,”

He smiles softly, “I worry about my members,”

Your shoulders drop, “You’re worried I’m affecting Yunho’s work,”

“No,” He waves a hand to dispel that thought, “that’s not it, y/n. I know we haven’t spoken since that night at the studio, so I can understand why you’d think that, but no. I admit, I also wanted to apologize to you for how I reacted, the things I said.”

“Thank you,” You manage.

“I did some reading,” He admits, “I was… wrong, what I thought the connection was for you both, I didn’t understand and after what Yunho said that night, I did research.”

“Oh,”

“What I’m trying to say is,” He glances quickly to make sure you’re still not being overheard, his voice maintaining his low tone, “If I’m worried about Yunho, that means I’m worried about you too. You’re feeling these schedules just like he is, and your exhaustion is feeding off each other. I’m worried about you both, and I can only imagine how much worse the stress is making things,”

If you weren’t so tired, down to your marrow, his words might not make you so emotional but you take a sharp breath and nod, feeling a pinprick of tears behind your eyes.

“So,” He says with a small smile, “Yunho’s in my office trying to get a couple hours of rest, and I think you should join him. Get some sleep, we’ll text him if something comes up and we’ll cover for you both. Just be careful going in and out, but at this hour things should be pretty quiet.”

“Hongjoong,” You say his name in a breath, “I don’t know what to say,”

“You’re good,” He waves that off too, almost uncomfortable with the sudden emotion you’re trying to keep tamped down.

“Thank you,” You smile, “really,”

He nods and steps away, “Alright, I have to get to a schedule,”

He doesn’t, and he knows you know that, but you let him off the emotional hook with ease and make your way to the stairs.

Hongjoong’s office is close, which means Yunho is too and your chest starts to warm with anticipation.

Quietly, you make your way down the recording studio hallway and it’s blissfully, absolutely silent. Ahead is Hongjoong’s door, a red light above acting like a do not disturb sign, and with one more fast second glance up and down the empty hall, you turn the handle and step over the threshold in one smooth move.

The room is dark, but you hear the shift of a body on the couch before Yunho says, “Did you need me afterall?”

“Hey,” You whisper.

Yunho rolls over, and in the dim light you see him sit up, “Baby?”

“It’s just me,” You confirm, flicking the lock on the door just for good measure before walking over to the couch, “Hongjoong said you were up here.”

“Is everything alright, you okay?” He rubs a hand over his tired face before reaching out to you.

“I’m fine,” You assure him, stepping into his gentle hold, “but scoot over, let me in here,”

He shifts on the couch so you can slide next to him, but you can see the confusion on his face.

“Joong said they’d cover for us to get a quick nap,” You tell him softly, “can I lie down with you?”

He sighs, a smile stretching over his face, “Of course,”

You both shuffle onto the couch, and it’s too narrow for his big body and yours, but you wind your legs together and make little adjustments until you’re comfortable, Yunho’s arm banding protectively around your back to keep you from rolling backwards.

“Come here,” He murmurs as you adjust your head, cheek nestled into his bicep, “is that alright?”

“Mhm,” You sigh, feeling the tension of the day and of the past week unspool inside you, “missed you,”

“I missed you too,” he presses his lips to the top of your head and lets out a long, relieved breath, “so much,”

You nod, but your eyes have already started to grow heavy. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his body on yours. Faintly you can catch threads of his scent, clean skin and something earthy, soft cedar and juniper.

You nestle into his chest a little more, taking a deep breath and letting yourself relax, “Love you,”

He hums softly, but you feel him relaxing right alongside you, “Love you,”

You don’t even remember falling asleep. No sooner do you hear his soft reply, an alarm is sounding above your heads and you start out of sleep, Yunho gasping sharply and pulling you closer as he bursts back into consciousness alongside you.

“Mm,” You burrow into his chest, “that’s too loud,”

He searches above his head for his phone, the alarm still blaring.

“Yunho,” You groan.

“I got it,” He says, clicking the snooze button, “sorry, sorry,”

You sigh, “I think everyone in this building heard that,”

He snorts a laugh softly and sighs, “I can’t sleep through it,”

“That’s for sure,”

He wraps you back up in his arms and tucks his head against yours.

“Did we sleep?” You murmur.

“Mhm,” He says, his voice rough with sleep, “almost three hours,”

“I feel like I died,” You yawn, “oh my god,”

He stretches his legs out, joints cracking as he adjusts. Neither one of you moved an inch during sleep, and you’re both feeling all the stiffness that comes with that now that you start to come out of it.

“Did anyone message you? Are we good?” You prod Yunho gently.

“Um,” He finds his phone again, wincing when the bright light hits his eyes, “fuck, um, no, we’re good,”

“Good,” You sigh.

”I want to ditch practice and take you back to your place and just sleep for a hundred years,” He groans, winding his arms around you and rolling you artlessly on top of his chest so that he can stretch his long back and still keep you on the couch, “how much trouble do you think I’d be in?”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, “A lot,”

“Yeah,” He yawns, “probably,”

You hum softly, relaxing into him, “Do we have any time, or do you need to go?”

He winces, “Five minutes, maybe?”

You can’t hide your disappointment at that.

“I know,” He strokes your back, “I’m sorry, I wish schedules were less…”

“It’s okay,” You soothe him with another kiss, “it is what it is,”

His lips press closed, and he nods, “Yeah,”

“Only a few more days,” You sigh.

A few more days of schedules like this, of early mornings and late nights and commitment after commitment stacked on top of each other.

He nods, but then he says, “We’re going to start negotiations next week,”

“You are?” Your head pops up and you meet his gaze.

“We have a day off after these schedules,” He says quietly, a tentative smile on his lips, “after we sure things up with the attorney, and then we just have to request the meeting.”

“That’s fast,” You admit.

“None of us want to waste any time,” Yunho admits, “between us and the potential our contracts could be better for all of us? I think we’re all ready,”

“When do you think,” You let your words trail off, but he picks up on your point with ease.

“A couple of weeks, I think we’ll know,” He smiles, “just a little longer,”

You smile, pushing up from your position to capture his lips in a kiss.

Yunho pulls you closer, shifting you higher on his chest as he hums pleasantly against your mouth, kissing you gently, tenderly, like all good sleepy, intimate kisses should be.

Yunho’s phone lights up with a second alarm and you jolt, breaking the kiss and sighing.

He silences the phone much more quickly this time, “I’m sorry,” he gives you a squeeze, “I really have to go,”

“It’s okay,” You slide off him, taking quick stock of your clothes and how mussed your hair is as he gets to his feet.

His phone dings with a notification and he checks it, before quickly tapping out a reply.

“All good?” You check.

“Mhm,” Yunho yawns and tucks his phone away, “Joong says the hallways are pretty quiet.”

“Should I go first, or you?” You ask, reaching out to smooth the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll go,” He leans in and presses a fast kiss to your forehead, “let me double check the coast is clear,”

“Okay,” You nod.

He takes a deep breath and shakes out the nap, “Only a couple more weeks,” he repeats, as much for himself as it is for you, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” You kiss him quickly, just a peck before he gets on with the rest of his work day.

“Let me know when you get home safely, okay?” He kisses your again, his warm hands cupping you close, “Try to get some more sleep,”

You nod, but you both know you won’t be sleeping until he’s in bed too, “Text me when you’re home later,”

“I will,” He says, “but try to sleep, okay? You need your rest too,”

“I promise I’ll try,”

His phone dings again, and he exhales sharply with a little exasperation, checking his phone again, “Alright, I have to go, I love you. Be safe.”

“Love you too,”

He kisses you fast, and then his hands are off you and he’s out the door.

You sink back down onto Hongjoong’s couch and collect yourself, pushing through all the post-nap brain fog now that you have a second. You wait until he messages you it’s safe to leave, and then quietly you turn off Hongjoong’s recording light and slip out unseen into the hall.

Downstairs you gather your things and get yourself back together so you can go home, darting quickly towards the exit when you hear that you aren’t completely alone in the building. Far off voices down one of the halls by your workspace, the sound of someone else in the lower break room, you don’t wait to see who could be working late.

Walking to the train you take a deep breath of cold air.

Only a few more weeks.

You can do a few more weeks.

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

Not everyone would agree with you, but you love night schedules. As one of the staff members who has to be there before the members, you love any schedule that means you get to wake up at a normal time and not the three or four in the morning call times for morning shoots.

A night shoot means you get the morning off.

Last night after days and days, you finally slept, sinking into sleep alongside Yunho, even though he was across town at his own apartment. It was the best night you’ve spent without him by your side since that first night after the European tour.

You woke up without an alarm, natural light and feeling fully sated. Today was going to be a good, good day.

You get to the office with a brightness in your body. An afternoon coffee in hand, a cute outfit, and you took the extra time to put a soft curl in your hair just to see Yunho’s eyes light up when he sees you later today.

He had texted you good morning and that he loved you.

You had joked about ordering the same thing for dinner later and eating over FaceTime for a virtual date.

Tomorrow was their meeting with the contract lawyer.

Everything was going right.

You’re almost there.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until it does.

At the office, you scan your keycard to enter just like always, but you only make it halfway across the lobby before you’re intercepted by two of the largest men you’ve ever seen, dressed in simple black suits with armbands identifying them as security.

“Miss y/n?” One of them stops you with an outstretched hand, blocking your access to any more of the lobby.

“Yes?” Your heart speeds up.

“Come with us, please.” The other says plainly.

Your fingers tighten on your bag, “What’s this about?”

“Come with us, please,” He reiterates, and you can tell the please is a polite formality.

”Can you tell me what this,” You start to say, but you barely get a full sentence out before you’re cut off again.

“Miss,” The first one says, “let’s not discuss this in the hall. Follow us.”

They start walking, one in front of you and one behind, and you can sense people in the foyer starting to notice an employee being escorted by security, stopping to stare, but you keep your eyes ahead and try not to look as terrified as you feel.

It could be nothing.

It could be a keycard replacement or a problem with a clearance for one of the filming locations, it could be anything.

They walk you swiftly towards the back elevators and take you up until you’re passing your normal floors and going higher, towards the offices with better views and higher salaries.

Your stomach clenches when you get off and follow them further back to a corner office.

“This way,” The one in front says as he opens the door to the office, and your eyes flick over the name on the door.

Han Minchul - Attorney

Everything in your body is telling you to turn around, to get out of this hall and back to the elevators, to never step foot in this man’s office, but it’s just not an option.

Stepping over the threshold, you come face to face with Han Minchul himself.

“Ah!” He says, “Miss y/n,”

You greet him, professionally and cordially, “Mr. Han,”

“I don’t suspect you know who I am,” He gestures towards the chairs in front of his large dark wood desk, “please, have a seat,”

Slowly you step forwards and take the seat. He’s perfectly average in every way with the exception of his nice office and even nicer suit. You clock the watch on his wrist and the decorative table in the corner with the crystal bottle of expensive scotch.

“Well,” He says with a slight smile, folding his hands over a red file folder on his desk, “I do wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

Your stomach drops out, “What circumstances are those?”

His smile falls away and he taps the folder, “We have some serious and very credible information about you and one of our idols, Miss y/n.”

It feels in a split second like your chest is collapsing in on itself.

“Nothing to say?” He leans back from the desk and sits comfortably in his desk chair.

“What would you like me to say?” You manage.

“It doesn’t really matter to me,” He sighs, “and there’s no point in lying. You and Jeong Yunho have been seeing each other secretly for some time, though we were only made aware of the nature of your relationship this week.”

“I see,” Your throat feels hoarse, your stomach rolling.

You feel a tug inside you, a press against the bond, but you stay focused on the conversation.

”It took us a few days of digging and corroborating information, but you are both less secretive than you think you are,” He adds, “we’ll be speaking with him later today, but for now, if you’ll turn over your keycard and identification badge,”

“You’re firing me,”

“Very good,” He says, and then he taps on the folder again.

Your ears are ringing, and you see his mouth moving but things feel like they’re falling apart all around you. Your heart is thundering in your chest and you feel another distinct touch of Yunho’s consciousness to yours.

Mr. Han clears his throat and looks at you with a withering stare.

“What did you say?”

He purses his lips at you like you’re an annoyance, and then nods to the two stocky security officers at the doorway, “I said, we can make this simple, or we can make this difficult,”

You swallow tightly, fear pooling in your gut.

“Simple includes signing these two documents,” He finally folds open the folder and reveals a stack of contracts that are tabbed on multiple pages for your initials and signature, “and then you will quietly leave the premises. You will be let go without recommendation, but you will receive a lump sum of six months salary, still subject to tax of course.”

“Y-you’re buying me off?” Your head feels like it’s spinning.

“You’re a smart girl, y/n,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “now do I need to explain what difficult means, or do we have an agreement?”

As if on cue, both of the security officers take a step from the door towards you. They linger behind your chair like menacing pillars, and you have no doubt they’ll drag you from these offices kicking and screaming if necessary.

“I,” You start, fumbling over your words, “I’m sorry, but there’s been a misunderstanding,”

“Oh?” For a split second you think he’s going to listen, but then he leans back in his chair as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t think there has,”

Nervous knots tighten so hard in your gut you feel sick, “No, please, you have to listen to me,”

“Does listening get you to sign these papers faster?”

”We’re soulmates,” You finally get the words out, “we would never have broken the rules if that weren’t the case, but I know you can understand that, that we’re supposed to be together, that it was out of our control,”

The man across from you barely blinks, “Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve heard that one before,”

“But our marks,” You insist, “if you just let us show you, you’ll see,”

“Let me stop you there,” He shakes his head and sits forward in his chair, “because I can tell you exactly how that happened,”

His words don’t make sense, “What?”

“You developed a little crush,” He gestures towards you with his meaty hand, “and your crush turned into an obsession,”

He doesn’t even need to say it, you know exactly what this story will be. You’ve feared it from the second you realized he was yours, and to see it laid out in front of you is a cold reminder that you were right from the start.

That doesn’t stop the ringing in your ears though, and the way your heart starts to beat faster and faster like a bird in a cage, pure panic lacing through your body. Something sharp pulls in your chest, and distantly through the bond you feel Yunho’s own fear, his own sudden panic.

Mr. Han continues, even as the blood drains from your cheeks, “No, I think you’ve broken your contract so severely you’re lucky I don’t contact the police.”

“But,”

“How did you do it? A peek down one of his costumes? Did you walk in on a wardrobe fitting to get a good look?” He sneers, “Or did you seduce him first and get your own tattoo later?”

“I-I didn’t,” You feel cornered, trapped, fear pulsing through you, “I wouldn’t do that,”

“You,” He levels you with a hard stare, his eyes flicking down to your exposed forearm, “wouldn’t get a tattoo?”

You tug the fabric of your sweater down over your skin, “That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I wouldn’t get a fake soulmark, I wouldn’t deceive someone like that,”

He has to believe you, he has to. But instead, he only shrugs, “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It,” You feel lightheaded, sick, dizzy at the way the floor has all but dropped out from under you, “it has to matter,”

“y/n,” He sighs, tapping the papers before him, “my job is to protect the company from liability, to protect our idols from things that would be catastrophic for their careers, and you, my dear, are catastrophic.”

Panic slices through you, hot tears pricking at your eyes, “But I love him,”

His nose crinkles slightly, disgust masked with mock pity, “I’m sure you do,”

His words, the way he looks at you, you feel small and silly. A foolish girl with a crush clinging to a fairytale, and your eyes land on the file folder of contracts, beneath them no doubt all the evidence he alluded to before, thick and likely full of a false version of your love story, crafted so that you look like nothing more than a rabid fan. You think suddenly of the girl in the airport who pushed you aside for her chance to touch Yunho’s skin, and you can see exactly the rumors they’ll spread about you if they have to.

Underneath the panic and the pulsing dizziness though, you feel Yunho. His own heartbeat seems to knock against your ribs, and distantly you know it, he’s coming for you.

“I’ll offer you one last time,” Mr. Han says, and your eyes flick up to his, “I urge you to be smart about this. Sign the papers, take the money. I’m sure you can find somewhere that will hire you to do hair anywhere, it just won’t be alongside any other idols you can dupe.”

This time all you feel is the popping sensation of rage, crackling through your body so quickly you can’t catch your tongue, “I’m a makeup artist.”

“Yes, well,”

“No,” You cut him off, leaning forwards and fisting your hands to keep them from shaking, “I’ve sat here and listened to you insult me, and insinuate that I am some kind of delusional, love-sick fan, and threaten me, I’ve worked here for five years.”

“Congratulations.” He says dryly.

“What is wrong with you?” You stand up, the chair pushing back behind you as it bumps into the security officers, “You haven’t even talked to Yunho, you dragged me in here like you’re a cop and I’m some sort of criminal, this is our lives!”

”No, this is a place of business,” He shakes his head.

You rub at your temples, a headache bubbling in your brain, “How?”

“How is this a place of business?” He smirks.

“No, how did,”

“I know what you’re asking,” He interrupts and taps the stack of papers on the table, “it seems your friend thought you were behaving inappropriately in the workplace,”

A wave of dizzy nausea passes through you and you grip the back of the chair for stability, “My friend?”

“Your friend, one of the other makeup artists,” He repeats, “she had quite a lot to tell us.”

“She,” You feel unmoored, “she told you?”

“Everything we needed to know.” He confirms.

“I,” You stumble over your words and then find the stability to straighten back up, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Believe whatever you want,” He shrugs, “it won’t make a difference. It’s my job to ensure,”

“No liability,” You roll your eyes, anger bubbling hot inside you, “and a steady paycheck for you while KQ’s biggest group stays nice and profitable, and a soulmate for one of their idols would really cause a scandal, wouldn’t it?”

His jaw tightens, muscles tensing in his jaw before he recovers and nods again to security, “The difficult way then,”

One of the security guards steps smoothly to your side, his large hands closing over your upper arms tightly and he tugs you back.

The ringing in your ears gets louder, but you taste bitter adrenaline on your tongue and feel the bond inside you thrumming, you feel him closer.

The other security officer grabs your bag from the floor though, and it pulls your attention, “What are you doing?”

He ignores you, swiftly finding your phone and passing it over to Mr. Han who stays comfortably behind the desk.

“Let me go, give that back!” You jerk an arm, trying to push free, but it only makes the man holding you still grip harder, pressing angry bruises into your skin.

“Liability, remember?” He says as he flicks through your phone, “once this is cleaned up, you’ll be escorted out. Your access badge will no longer swipe into the building, and staff will be made aware that you are no longer welcome on the premises.”

“Fuck you,” You wriggle a little harder, only to get yanked back into the chest of the security officer.

“Very nice,” Mr. Han comments dryly, “very professional,”

You want to scoff, to tell them there’s nothing professional about anything that’s happened since you sat down in this room, but you hear fast footsteps in the hall, a distant shout.

The men in the room look up, towards the door, and you take the moment to your advantage. You twist sharply in the security officer’s arms and duck to the side, breaking his hold while he’s momentarily distracted and rushing to the opposite end of the room by the door.

He takes two steps towards you, but the door bursts open between you.

Yunho pushes over the threshold with a kind of reckless purpose, his eyes focused and searching, cheeks flushed from running and chest heaving, Mingi and Hongjoong hot on his heels.

He finds you in a second, and without a single thought to the room around him he rushes towards you, “You’re alright? You’re alright?”

His hands cup your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your cheekbone, and you shake your head, “They want me to go,”

His brow furrows, and it takes him a moment to register your words. He felt fear and panic and dread so distinctly in your body that he didn’t know what he would find behind this office door. All he knew is that you were terrified and he was running, straight out of the recording studio with Hongjoong and Mingi stumbling behind him. But you’re here, alive and unharmed, and it takes a moment for the blood rushing in his ears to calm, to understand what you meant, but when he turns his head towards the room, he finally takes in everything in front of him.

The paperwork, your phone on the desk, the attorney, the guards, it all threads together.

You reach up and gently take his wrists, drawing his hands down from your cheeks so you can both face the room, and you thread your fingers tightly together with Yunho’s.

”What’s going on here?” Yunho asks.

“They know,” You explain, “I’ve been asked to leave,”

Mr Han sighs, finally standing, “I was trying to handle this situation professionally, I don’t know what you think calling them is going to change,”

“I didn’t call them,” You shake your head incredulously, “you have my phone, you can see that,”

He pauses, a brief flicker, but then shakes his head, “Regardless.” You watch him push together the contracts, gathering them to tuck them neatly away and your hand tightens on Yunho’s.

Hongjoong steps swiftly forwards, snatching the papers and bringing them back a few steps, “What are these?”

“Contracts,” He replies, and for the first time this whole meeting you can hear a little tension in his tone, “standard for employment termination.”

“Employment termination,” Yunho shakes his head, “that’s insane.”

“You can’t break the rules like this an expect there to be no ramifications,”

“Fire me then,” Yunho’s eyes narrow.

“Yunho, be serious,” Mr. Han says.

You feel a flash of Yunho’s anger in his chest, but then Hongjoong interrupts, his head shaking as he flips through the papers.

“These are unethical,” He glances up at you both before continuing to flick through, and Mingi leans over his shoulder to read more.

Yunho turns his head towards the two of them as Mingi reads aloud, “I, y/n, hereby acknowledge and agree to the terms of termination and the accompanying settlement as outlined above. Terms including, but not limited to, defrauding a member of the idol group ATEEZ, defrauding other KQ Entertainment employees in an attempt to establish co-conspirators, and intention to defame and devalue the aforementioned member’s career using these lies through public channels such as social media and the press. I understand and accept that by signing this letter, I am waiving all claims against KQ Entertainment, agreeing to the terms set forth in this agreement, and accepting the settlement outlined above.”

Read aloud, it’s even worse.

“This is a lie,” Hongjoong flips through the papers again, “all of it,”

“Defrauding me? Defaming me?” Yunho’s voice is low and steady, but you can see the look of betrayal on his face, you can feel the hurt, “You seriously wanted her to sign this? This bullshit?”

“Yunho,” You warn him gently.

”No,” He shakes his head and drops your hand, pulling the papers from Hongjoong, “this is ridiculous,”

“This is how it works,” Mr. Han replies, “this is is how we insulate you, and minimize liability,”

“Liability!” Yunho’s voice is sharp, “This is a mile from the truth,”

“It’s a smear campaign,” Mingi interrupts, calmly as he steps to Yunho’s side, “you get her to sign this and if the story about the two of them got out, you have it on record that she’s a liar and a manipulator.”

The attorney’s jaw tightens.

Hongjoong snatches back the papers and shuffles through them until he finds a subsection, “By means of seduction and false representation…. fabrication of a soulmark.”

Heat burns your cheeks even though the words aren’t true, and you swallow tightly to bury any threat of tears.

“What the fuck?” Yunho manages, pulling the papers closer.

“We don’t do this,” Hongjoong’s face is pinched in disgust, “we’re better than this. You make her sound like… you make her out to be some,”

“Gold digging whore?” You offer, a sick laugh in your throat at the absurdity of it all.

Yunho bristles, tossing the papers onto the desk and shaking his head, “She’s not signing this,” he says, “and she’s not fired, if you had just asked me instead of assuming I could have just told you that it’s true. We’re soulmarked, we found out while we were on tour. It wasn’t expected, but we’re happy. If you had just asked me, instead of treating her this way, we have nothing to hide.”

“But you’ve been hiding,” He counters.

“We were waiting for the right time,”

“And let me guess, that was her idea?” He nods towards you.

Yunho leans forwards, “Speak about her like that again and this conversation won’t be so professional.”

Hongjoong closes a hand around Yunho’s forearm in warning.

Mr. Han sighs and rubs his eyes, “Yunho,” his voice softens up and you brace yourself, “you need to think about your career, your livelihood. No one wants an unavailable idol, they want the fantasy.”

“We’re not objects,” Hongjoong bristles, “we’re not dolls for you to dress up as you please and play boyfriend,”

“Aren’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Mingi curses.

”Be serious,” He continues, “I know you like the girl, this is certainly not the first time someone’s broken a dating ban and it won’t be the last, but it always ends the same. I am telling you, no girl is worth your career.”

“She’s not some girl,” Yunho says sharply, taking a step back to you and finding your hand again, “she’s my soulmate, and I would have thought that would be different,”

The beat of silence stretches into two

”He doesn’t believe us,” You murmur, “he thinks I saw your tattoo and copied it, that I tricked you,”

“We’re bonded,” Yunho counters, “you can’t fake that,”

Mr. Han sighs again, “I’ve seen it more than once,”

You can’t help the flurry of rage that bubbles in your gut, and your hands fly to the buttons of your blouse. All eyes fly to you as your shirt starts to open, and Yunho reaches for your hands, “Stop, baby, stop, you don’t need to do this,”

You push his hands away, your shirt parting open, “You think I faked this?” You tug down the band of your bralette, “You think I’m lovesick and crazy, and would trick him like that? My tattoo is red, so is his, both of them used to be black. I have pictures of mine to prove that, and I’m sure your files have pictures of his.”

You let the band of your bralette slip back into place, covering the mark, “But that’s not what this is about at all, is it? It doesn’t matter if it’s true. All that matters is me disappearing, and the money flowing.”

His lips close into a tight line.

”Would you have convinced him it was a lie? After I was dragged out of this building by your goons, would you have told him all the stories of other idols who have been fooled?” You take a step towards the desk and press your nails into your palms to keep steady, “How many real bonds have you broken? And for what? A nice house? A nice suit? You’re disgusting,”

His jaw tenses again, “We’re done here,” he says, flicking a hand to security, “get her out of here.”

They step forward on command, but Yunho takes a swift step between you, putting his body between you and the room, “Don’t touch her.”

“It’s over,” Han Minchul says, exasperated, “she’s fired. You can be angry with me all you like, but the decision is final.”

“Then I quit,” Yunho drops the sentence like a bomb.

Mingi and Hongjoong snap up to look at him, and you press forwards to touch his back, “Yunho, don’t, don’t do that.”

“She’s right,” He nods, “you and this company have had a positive working relationship for years, don’t throw it away for a woman.”

“You son of a,” Yunho darts forwards, but Mingi is faster, locking his arms around his best friend and dragging him back.

You suck in a sharp breath of air and shake your head, tears threatening. It’s all coming down, just like you knew it would. When you look up, the attorney looks almost pleased. He holds your gaze as Mingi and Hongjoong get Yunho under control, a final challenge, and even though it kills you, you nod.

With your stomach in knots, you touch Yunho’s arm and bring him back to you, Mingi's hold breaking, “Yunho, it’s done, it’s over.”

“What?” He swivels to you, surprise across his face “y/n, we can’t,”

“Not us,” You assure him, pulling him closer, “never us, but this is over. Even if we could work it out, I wouldn’t want to stay where I’m clearly unwanted and we’re being watched.”

He studies your face, a tense crease in his brow, “But,”

”Let me go,” You squeeze his hand.

“This isn’t fair,” He breathes, cupping your cheek, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, we had a plan,”

“But we always knew it could,” You remind him softly.

Hongjoong steps close, keeping his voice low, “We’ll find a way to take care of this, but y/n is right. There’s nothing we can do here,”

“So you’ll go?” The lawyer pipes in, “Because as much as I appreciate this tender moment, I have a one o’clock,”

Yunho’s jaw sets hard.

”I’ll go,” You say from behind him, “just give me a moment,”

You go to move, but Hongjoong clears his throat softly, “Your blouse,”

Your cheeks flush, and you step back to Yunho who straightens up and tucks you closer to his chest while you hastily do up the buttons of your shirt.

You want to cry, to scream, to throw something and run away into the sunset with the man you know is yours, a truth so deep it’s in your marrow, but you can’t.

Yunho drops a kiss to your hair, checking to be sure your blouse is closed before he turns back to the room, “She goes, but she’s not signing those papers.”

“That deal is off the table,” The attorney says, “but our official position will be a downsizing of the department. You’ll be let go without severance, and without reference, but we will not interfere with your future job prospects negatively. Security will see you out of the building.”

Yunho doesn’t move, he keeps you tucked behind him and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves even without the bond.

Hongjoong nods towards the desk, “Her phone?”

“Ah, yes,” He stretches out a hand with it towards you, but Yunho intercepts before passing it back.

One glance tells you all you need to know - Yunho’s contact is gone, your chat history is gone, and when you click on your photo library you see that every photo is missing.

You make a soft, involuntary sound, “Our photos,”

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are still bound by your original Non-Disclosure Agreement as an employee,” Mr Han says, “if anything is published online or otherwise about your relationship, you will be in breach of that contract and we will be forced to bring forward a suit. I trust you’re smart enough not to do that, but you’ll have to forgive me for taking additional precautions.”

“Liability,” You breathe.

“Exactly,” He nods.

Yunho spins back to you, kissing your forehead and gathering you close, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

“I know,” You murmur, “I know,”

“I’ll fix this,” He presses, “it’s just a job, we’re still us.”

Mr. Han makes a non-committal sound, “In case you’re planning on maintaining whatever relationship and contact you have, Yunho, I will remind you that your employment contract still maintains a romantic entanglement clause.”

Your stomach drops out, and Yunho turns.

“You can consider this a formal warning,” He continues, “but if you break your contact again, you will be terminated, and that includes paying back a considerable amount of debt.”

“This is insane,” Mingi manages.

”This is business, standard business.”

Yunho finds your hand, pressing your palms together. Slowly, he exhales and looks up, “Understood.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You wonder if he can feel it too.

“Those contracts expire in a little over a year,” Yunho says, “I can tell you now that I will not be renegotiating.”

Your heart starts to pound.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Mr Han says, “groups lose one or two members after rookie contracts all the time, that’s not a concern to the company, that’s a probability.”

“And if you lose eight?” Hongjoong says sharply, “Because I won’t renegotiate if this is the new climate at KQ, and I know the rest of the members will be right behind us.”

“Yep,” Mingi nods, “Count me out.”

Yunho’s stunned silent, so are you.

“You’ve treated us terribly,” Hongjoong says, “but what you’ve done to y/n might actually constitute harassment, and I intend to find out.”

“You’ll never,”

“We understand the terms of our contract well,” Hongjoong interrupts, “and you will not catch us breaking those terms, but let me know how the CEO feels about their debut group walking away with grievances after that contract expires. Do you think that will be good for business? I know exactly how much profit we generate for this company, and if you think all we’ve done for six years is sing and smile on command, you’d be sorely mistaken.”

Mr. Han takes that in, eyes flicking over the room, “This meeting is over.”

”Meeting,” Mingi scoffs.

”Miss y/n,” Mr. Han clears his throat and addresses you, “your final check will be mailed to you.”

You have nothing to say, so you nod.

“Security will escort you out,” He reiterates.

Both of the security officers step forwards, looking at Yunho squarely, almost a challenge to see if he’ll let you go.

Panic lances through you at the thought of not seeing him again.

Yunho turns, tugging you close. With his lips at your ear he murmurs something just for you, “I love you,” he promises, “I’ll come, I promise,”

Tears track down your cheeks and you nod, “I love you,”

“It’s you first,” He squeezes your hand, “I promise, y/n, I swear,”

Your breath hitches, “I know,”

“Yunho,” Mr. Han says firmly, “that’s enough.”

Taking a step back from Yunho, the tears come faster but you scrub them away quickly with the sleeve of your shirt. The security officers nod and you step closer to them.

One of them secures a hand to your elbow and Yunho takes a step forwards, “Take your hands off her,” he says

You pull your arm away from the unwelcome touch, “I know the way out,”

“Yunho,” Mr. Han interjects, “stay. We have things to discuss, everyone else can go.”

“Let me walk her out,” Yunho steps towards you.

“No,” Mr. Han grows serious and gestures to the chairs, “sit. I’m done entertaining this,”

Yunho’s name is trapped in your throat and you press your nails into your palms.

“Miss,” One of the security officers nods towards the door.

Yunho’s looks to you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his lips parted, there’s more to say but he can’t.

“I’ll walk her out, I got her,” Mingi interjects, locking eyes with his best friend.

Yunho nods, words still trapped in his throat.

“Mr. Song,” The attorney says, “don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Mingi clenches his jaw, muscle jumping and he shakes his head, “Just the lobby, what a coincidence,”

Mr. Han looks briefly irritated, but looks to security.

They don’t touch you, but they do guide you with their hands outstretched, and it’s clear this is fully over. You stumble out, eyes still glued to Yunho, but Mingi swiftly steps to your side and falls into step with you.

“y/n,” Yunho manages, a stricken look across his face.

“Do not make a scene,” You hear as you leave the room.

Yunho lays a hand across his chest, a firm press to his soulmark that echoes in your chest and hot tears rush to your eyes. Security pushes you down the hall with their unrelenting pace though, and you’re forced to face front.

Behind you, you hear the door shut but not before Hongjoong’s sharp voice gives you all the comfort in the world, “No, I think I’ll stay.” You’re deeply, deeply grateful Yunho won’t be in that meeting alone.

“Mingi,” You manage as you all file into the elevator.

”It’s going to be okay,” He assures you softly, “keep your head up. We’ve got him, you know we do.”

You nod, swiping away the emotion from your eyes.

“How did they know?” He asks quietly as the elevator descends.

”He said Iseul,” You can barely say it without the idea turning your stomach, “but she wouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes track the floors as you descend.

“I’m sure,”

There’s a ding as you hit the lobby, and you breathe through the anxiety of knowing your coworkers are about to watch you be escorted out of the KQ offices.

“Miss,” Security gestures forwards and you step out.

“You got this,” Mingi says softly.

The walk to the doors is a blur, surreal and strange. Five years of your life, gone in a second.

You barely remember the walk home.

Curled up on the couch you wait for something, anything. A phone call, a text, a single message from anyone but you get nothing.

He doesn’t call.

He doesn’t text.

He doesn’t come for you.

The bond is strangely quiet, and it feels like your world is shattering around you.

In the morning you call the one person you know will be there, sobs wracking your chest the moment the moment your sister picks up the phone. She doesn’t need to know a thing before she’s in the car and driving to Seoul.

You want to go back, you’d keep hiding if it meant you could have even a little of him, but this.

You can’t stay here, choked by the ghost of him everywhere you look.

For a little while, life really was beautiful.

#honeyhotteoks fics #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez series #yunho x reader #yunho ff #yunho fic #yunho series #across stardust fic #honeyhotteoks updates

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akascow · 6 months ago

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UGHHH the way viktor was afraid of people forgetting his accomplishments and how his memory will be short lived only for it to ACTUALLY HAPPEN is SO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING

because he was never included in the hextech credits, his name isnt as publically known and ppl will only see him as That One Guy who started a cult and tried to take over the world or smth (IF that. like do most people even know thats viktor in there or is it just another Piltover’s nameless baddie of the week to them… sad)

and the FEW people who knew him and his contribution to hextech are either just dead or probably saw him as a villain as their last memory of him, was he even worth saving in their mind??

the ONLYYYY person who understood him and loved him for who he was (other than sky ofc, who also died lmao) was taken with him in death, so viktor’s story wont even live on in honor for how he truly was and what he really stood for, bc jayce is the only one who can accurately describe him post-mortem

and people will probably think jayce (THE GOLDEN BOY, MAN OF PROGRESS in the eyes of piltover) died trying to fight him bc no one knows what their conversation was about before they went out, or how jayce was willing to sacrifice himself too because he shares blame in it all, so theyll likely just villainize viktor for that as well, 'the one who killed jayce talis- creator of hextech'

and no one is alive to mourn him :( so fucking depressing

also i dont blame jayce for 'taking all the credit' like some people do lol ive seen ppl say he was egotistical and taking it all in for himself and pushing viktor aside, but he literally always says viktor is his partner and never implies that HE ALONE developed hextech or that hes the sole creator in it all

like its always been 'OUR inventions' and 'my PARTNER' and 'WE created this' whenever jayce talks about hextech. he literally corrects viktor from "your [jayce's] hextech dream" to "our hextech dream" the very first night they partner up bc, despite knowing this man for maybe 4 hours max, he already recognizes the importance of their partnership and that hes not the sole idea-man in this project anymore

i think that whole negative idea was probably developed from jayce signing every single page in his notes,, but itd make more sense to me that he'd do that- not out of arrogance- but he might share the same fear that viktor has: in being forgotten for his work... so he signs every page making sure no one can take a piece out of context and pass it as their own years down the line, or erase the possibility that forget the origin of the creator, especially in a world where a species like yordels are seemingly immortal, names hold a lot of weight as time withers tangible things away

and im assuming jayce recognizes that the fact that being from the undercity could have easily silenced viktor's ideas and contributions in the eyes of the public, and jayce doesnt want to diminish his work towards it. two very important lines jayce hears from viktor that night are "do you think i want to spend my whole life as an assistant" and "a poor kid from the undercity, no one believed in me, i was an outcast the moment i stepped foot in piltover" and he probably took those to heart (paraphrasing those quotes bc i have the memory of a goldfish or smth)

i feel like its moreso piltover to blame (? imo) lmao they set up jayce as the golden boy, and piltover is all about names and status and wealth. they very obviously discriminate against zaunites (and viktor himself states that too) like yeah we dont see the whole process of The Man of Progress being made,, BUT viktor expresses how he doesnt want to go out in front of people in Progress Day, so jayce is very much just respecting his wishes and boundaries to not drag him up there when hes clearly uncomfortable at the thought yk?

viktor might also recognize himself that piltover will use his knowledge as a celebrity idol for people to look at rather than as an actual scientist for people to acknowledge and appreciate. he wants to be known for what he did, not a soulless face for people to gawk at. makes sense tho, irl u usually dont remember celebrity actions unless theyre negative, but you do remember scientist's accomplishments rather than what they look like

ppl bring up the hexgate blueprints at the end and how it only has Jayce's name on it as another argument and idk i feel like it has multiple things to stem off that before getting to the 'jayce took credit for everything' idea?

maybe they were changed after the whole cult incident, like viktor's name taken off, which yeah thats obviously depressing in itself. i think its more likely bc piltover wont want their whole gimmick to be associated with that incident, rather than jayce purposefully leaving viktor's name out of it... thats probably the strongest explanation imo. we gotta remember viktor is quite literally jayce's best friend- do you really think jayce would take away his best friend's accomplishments like that? lets be real yall HAHA

my own guess is that jayce was actually the sole designer in the hexgate design, and while they can share custody, maybe viktor doesnt take credit for things that werent his ? like yeah they worked on the hextech ideas together but it could be more like jayce drew up the plans and viktor helped with the science of it idk, but thatd explain why only jayce's name would be on it (in a non depressing way that kind of makes sense), bc jayce designed the hexgates specifically

maybe viktor didnt want his name on it either bc reasons i said above, tho this is unlikely to me bc he probably wouldnt want his name taken off if he was scared about legacy erasure,, but these are just theories idk

anyway i think blaming jayce for viktor's erasure is kind of - uhm -stupid because jayce has always made it his goal to not just save viktor but to include viktor every time he brings up hextech in conversation, whether it calls for his mention or not. because jayce knows drilling viktor's name association as co-contributer to hextech into the heads of other people is important, considering viktor's background, and jayce's own current social status as the golden boy: the leverage he holds when he speaks. people will listen lol

#i know people have already said this so many times but GODDDDDD #kats movie rants #arcane #jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce talis #karcane

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the-badger-mole · 6 months ago

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Clouds, Fog and Mists

The scholars and archeologists that Aang had been working with had come out of their museum basements and dimly lit studies with a wealth of Air Nomad histories and artifacts that had been lost during the war. Aang now had access to recipes he hadn't tasted in years, scrolls that gave historical context to the things he had just begun learning at age 12, and objects he had never seen, but was excited to learn the use of. At 22, he was just now learning that the Air Nomads had a variety of subcultures and customs he'd never encountered, even though he had visited every Air Temple that existed back then.

"Did you know..." became as common to his vocabulary as "hello" and "custard tart". Every day, he approached his wife with some new bit of lore he'd learned.

"Did you know that the Southern Air Nomads had a Festival of Remembrance?" he'd excitedly asked as Katara was hanging the laundry out to try. She was only half listening while she tried to keep Bumi, their nearly three year old son out of the basket of wet sheets, but she gave a polite hum of encouragement.

"For a whole week," Aang continued needing no further prompting, "no one was allowed to play music or speak. They even wore velvet over their feet so their footsteps wouldn't be too loud. Then, at the end of it, there was a huge party! Loud as anything with music and plays and games. I think I remember going one of those ending parties, but I didn't know about the vow of silence before it."

"That's fascinating, sweetie," Katara said, rubbing her heavy belly with a look of discomfort. She was seven months along with their second child, and this one was very active. "Bumi, last warning. Do not touch the clean clothes!"

"Okay, Mommy!" Bumi said before swatting at one of the sheets Katara had hung on the line. She sighed and turned to her husband.

"Can you take him?" she asked. "I'm tired, and I'd like to take a nap after I finish this."

"Oh," Aang said reluctantly. "I was going to have an afternoon session with the Acolytes. I'm dying to tell them what I've been learning."

"Aang, please?" Katara sagged tiredly, taking Bumi's hand and pulling him away from all her hard work.

"Alright," Aang sighed. "I'll watch him for a bit. Come on, Bumi! Let's go practice some air katas! I want you to be ready when your airbending kicks in!"

-:-:-:-:-:-

All Air Nomads were airbenders. That's what Aang had always been taught. He had to account for late bloomers, of course, but at age four, going on five, if Bumi was going to be an airbender, there would've been signs by now. Kya was a lost cause. She had started waterbending just before her second birthday, and despite the fact that her father was the Avatar, there was no chance that she would inherit the ability to control more than one element.

"Well, maybe it's not true that all Air Nomads were benders," Katara said with a shrug. "After all, not every Water Tribesman is a waterbender, and not everyone in the Earth Kingdom is an earthbender."

"It's different," Aang insisted. "The monks told me that all Air Nomads were benders because we have a unique connection with our spirituality." Katara didn't quite manage to hide her annoyance from him.

"Then explain our kids," she said. "Unless you're the first Air Nomad in history to have children with a non-Air Nomad, someone somewhere got something wrong." Aang went quiet after that. He had no response.

"Just because the Air Nomads may have had children with people from other nations doesn't mean that their children were Air Nomads," an acolyte named Qiao said. She was one of the most apt and studious of Aang's Air Acolytes, and they had spent many hours together pouring over the newly discovered texts. Sometimes, Aang thought that she had a better grasp of Air Nomad culture than even he did.

"I suppose....I suppose that's true," Aang said thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea.

"The Air Nomads were mostly not monogamous," Qiao pointed out. "I'm sure there were a lot of Nomads who had understandings with their lovers from other nations. Especially among the Air Acolytes of the day."

Aang pondered that for the rest of the day. Then the next. Then the rest of the week before he finally approached Katara. He found her by the fountain with Kya and Bumi. Kya was busy making imperfect little shapes with the water while Katara was teaching Bumi how to put his hair into a warrior's wolf tail.

"You look just like your uncle Sokka," she laughed, pressing a kiss on her son's cheek. "I bet you'll be a great warrior just like him, too." That twisted Aang's gut uncomfortably. He cleared his throat to get Katara's attention.

"Hey, sweetie," he said.

"Hey," Katara smiled at him. "We're just about to have story time. Do you want to stick around for How Umiak Rowed Her Boat to the Stars?"

"Oh, um..."Aang shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Sure. I was just...thinking of something."

"Yeah?" Katara raised her brow at him. "What?"

"I was just thinking of how all the Air Nomads were benders." Katara didn't bother trying to hide her disgusted snort or the rolling of her eyes.

"Okay, and?" she huffed. "Did you draw any new conclusions?"

"I can't have been the only Air Nomad to have children with someone from a different culture," he said. Katara stared at him blankly for a long moment.

"I told you that," she responded finally. "It's just now sinking in?'

"No, I understood you," Aang told her. He kicked at the ground. There was a loose pebble under his toe and he focused on rolling it back and forth. "It's just...well, the Air Nomads, they weren't strictly monogamous."

"Monogamous," Katara scoffed. "That's a big word for you." Aang bristled a bit at that, but he took a breath and let it go.

"I was just reading," Aang said with a shrug. "It occurred to me that maybe because the Air Nomads weren't monogamous, they just didn't bring their non-bending kids into the Air Nomad society." Katara looked up at Aang with her eyes wide.

"That's awful!" she said. "So because their kids didn't bend the right elements, they had to be cut off from one of their parents?"

"No, I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that-" Aang started to protest.

"What exactly are you saying, Aang?" There was a dangerous edge to Katara's voice. A warning.

"Nothing, nothing!" he scrambled back, tripping over his tongue, trying to call back his words, and cursing himself for trying to bring up the subject without a plan. Katara eyed him coldly. She was angry and trying not to show it.

"It's time for lunch," she told her children. "Let's go inside and fix something to eat."

"But Mommy," Bumi protested. "I want to hear about Umiak!" Katara turned to him with a tight smile.

"That's okay, sweetie," she said. "I'll tell you while you help me fix lunch." With one last scowl at Aang, she took Bumi's hand and swung Kya up onto her hip and went inside.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Aang felt vindicated when it was discovered that he and Qiao were right. The Air Nomads would often leave non-airbending children with their non-Nomad parents. Sometimes the Air Nomad parent would stay with their non-Nomad partners and build a life with them and their children (something he made a note to tell Katara about). Then it was discovered that they were only partially right.

Some of the Air Nomads stayed and raised mixed heritage families. Some left their non-airbending children behind with their non-Nomad partners. That was expected. Reasonable, even. What Aang was not expecting, however, were the accounts of non-airbending children being given away. Some were adopted, and those adoptions were traceable through documents and letters. Others were sold. Those transactions were traceable, too. By most accounts, those children went into indentured servitude and many of them learned trades and were able to start businesses once their indenture was up. Aang tried to focus on the positives. Katara, however, was horrified.

"What right did they have to sell those children into...into slavery?" she demanded hotly while they were getting ready for bed.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Aang insisted. "After all, the Air Nomads wouldn't have put children into situations where they could've been hurt."

"Yes," Katara sneered. "I'm sure their new owners were very gentle with their exploitation."

"That isn't fair!" Aang protested. "Do you know how difficult it would've been for those kids to live among the Nomads?"

"Probably about as easy as it's been for our kids." Katara glared at Aang meaningly. He felt his cheeks heat as he looked away, pretending not to understand.

Bumi was going on eight now, and Kya was five. They were both old enough to ask questions about why it was so difficult for them to move around their own home. Katara and the Acolytes had an easier time being adults and able to maneuver obstacles that short legs and small hands couldn't without help, but it was still a regular challenge to get around the Air Temple for them. Aang was in the process of building a complex near Republic City where non-airbending Acolytes could live and learn with more ease, but it wouldn't be ready for anyone to move into for another year or so. It would be safer for children with no airbending ability, too. Aang glanced over at Katara from the corner of his eye, at the soft swell of her stomach, already showing signs of pregnancy at her second month.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Tenzin was the last of Aang's children with Katara, and the only airbender. When he was almost one, he airbent for the first time, and Aang couldn't stop celebrating for an entire week. When Tenzin was two, the first of the burial mounds were discovered.

Archaeologists working at the mostly restored Northern Air Temple found it at the base of the mountain. There were several layers to the grave, suggesting generations' worth of use. Most of the bones were small. Infant and toddler sized. The largest bones were about the size of an average eight year old. The bones were all jumbled together, as if they had been tossed in a heap. Some of them wore the clothes they were buried in, but most of the bones were too broken to hang on to any frabric. There were also no signs of any shrouds or anything indicating that they had been given any of the customary funeral rites of the Air Nomads. The fact that they were found at the base of the mountain in itself was unusual. All the different groups of Air Nomads had their own unique funeral customs, but one thing that remained the same was that they were laid to rest as close to the sky as possible.

When the first reports of how the children came to be at the base of the mountain came out, Aang was certain it was the rankest propaganda. None of the Air Nomads, no matter how stringent they were about non-airbenders living among them, would ever harm a child. For a while, he seemed to be right, as all the proof was from secondary and tertiary sources.

"Lies the Fire Nation used to justify genocide," Aang said confidently.

"But how did the children get there?" Katara asked. Aang had no answer for her. Yet. There must have been a good one, though. Maybe a plague had run through the Air Temple, forcing them to bury the bodies at the bottom of the mountain to prevent contamination, or something equally tragic. Aang began talking to the archaeologists about giving the bones a proper burial as soon as they could be sorted. The count at that time was 700 bodies in the pile and there were still so many more to go.

A few months after that, the oldest of the Air Nomad accounts were uncovered. It went back a good 300 years, and it spoke about a surplus of infants born without the gift of airbending. There were too many to be disposed of the normal ways, and many of the non-bending parents were unwilling or unable to raise the children themselves. The anonymous monk wrote of a meeting to discuss the crisis. They wouldn't be able to care for so many that couldn't get around the temple, or travel with the Nomads. There was a food shortage. A water shortage. An everything shortage. So the head monk suggested giving the children to the air. That had been the first time the practice had been recorded, near as anyone could tell. But some of the bones were older than that.

That's what they called it. It sounded lovely. Poetic even. In practice, though, the babies were carried to the edge of the temple grounds and held in the air. A short prayer was said for the souls of the children, and then they just...let go. They were so high up, they probably couldn't hear the children hit the ground.

The public began to call them the Fog Children. They were babies born to Air Nomad parents, but without airbending abilities themselves. People clung to the term and it soon spread all over the world in hushed whispers. Aang hated it. Katara hated it. It was the only thing they could agree on by that time.

"It isn't fair!" Aang bemoaned. "It's like people are using it to justify the Fire Nation killing all the Air Nomads."

"If it bothers you so much," Katara said after she'd put the kids to bed, "then speak up! Condemn what they did."

"I do!" Aang insisted. He had protested, loudly that all of the Air Nomads shouldn't be judged by what one fringe sect did.

"Not just them," Katara said. "All of it. It's just like with the Fire Nation. Remember what Zuko said? You can't expect to move forward without acknowledging the past. All of it was wrong. The Air Nomads treated their non-bending children as if they had no value. Condemn the adoptions and abandonings and the selling of the children!"

"How is it my responsibility to make up for all of that?" Aang demanded.

"You're the only one left," Katara reminded him, trying to be gentle. "I'm not saying you have to call the Air Nomads monsters. They did something wrong. They were human. You can acknowledge that and commit to being better than that."

"How?"

"Start with your children."

It had been a frequent argument between Katara and Aang how Aang treated their children. Bumi was 13 now, well on his way to becoming a man. Kya was 11 and Tenzin was five. Often, Katara would quiz Aang on his children- what Kya's favorite color was, or the name of Bumi's best friend. Aang could admit that he was correct about Tenzin more often than the others, but it was only because Aang had so much he had to teach his youngest. Katara should've understood that. After all, there were things she did with Kya that she couldn't do with Bumi or Tenzin.

"It's not the same," Katara told him. Aang could never remember why, though.

For the next year or so, Aang spent much of his time doing damage control. He did his best to separate the practices at the Northern Air Temple and the particular sect of Air Nomad culture that grew around it from the rest of the Air Nomads. Every criticism of the culture was met sharply by Aang's rebuttals and justifications. Penning article after article espousing the virtues of the Air Nomads at large became his full time job, and obsession. It took him two weeks to notice that Katara had left with all three of his children, and another month for him to find the letter Katara had left in his bedside table telling him she was seeking a divorce.

He got Tenzin three months of the year. It was all he could manage, being completely unused to parenting alone. Aang taught his son what he could of airbending and the Nomad philosophy he could in that time, and did his best to ignore the people whispering fog children in the same breath as his oldest children.

#HAPPY NEW YEAR #atla #anti kataang #anti aang #air nomad critical #air nomad lore #a lil' sprinkle of aang salt to kick 2025 off #poor kya and bumi #although since it's canon that they aren't known to be aang's kids in lok the whispering probably stopped pretty soon #especially after their mother remarried and they became known for their connection with their stepfather #zutara #a lil' sneaky sneak zutara in the tags #fan fic #fanfic

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