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joelmillers-wife · 9 days ago

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take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter twelve

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags | 🎵series playlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: as others find out about your developing relationship with joel, a date night with maria and tommy goes sideways wc: 9.2k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be explicit smut in later chapters chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, reader has no description besides she has hair and can be lifted, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, this one has it all: explicit smut, fluff, angst, kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, unprotected piv sex (USE PROTECTION), quickie? is that a warning?, joel talks you through it, begging, creampie, insecurity, talks of age difference and body image (not reader), violence and blood, creepy men, verbal sexual harassment (not from Joel), and as always: lmk if i missed anything!! ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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XII. WILLOW

The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow

The following morning you wake to the feathered tracing of fingertips up and down your arm—feeling Joel’s chest rising and falling softly below your cheek.

You stir, eyes fluttering open as you inhale deeply, feeling the warmth of his body against you before his chest moves as he rasps out, “Mornin’, darlin’.”

Shifting, you lift your head to look up at him, finding a sleepy smile akin to your own.

“How long have you been awake?”

He looks at the clock on the wall beside his bed. “Not too long. ‘Bout thirty minutes.”

You frown. “You should’ve woken me up.”

He shrugs, using his free hand to fidget with your fingers laying on his chest. “Nah, I liked watchin’ you so peacefully.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Stalker.”

Joel swats lightly at your arm that he was brushing his fingers against, making you smile.

You sit up in bed, stretching your arms out to the side a little before slipping out of bed. You get up slowly to slide your underwear back on and reach for Joel’s robe he has hanging off the back of his door—slipping your arms into the fabric and haphazardly tie the belt around your waist enough to cover your chest. You quickly use the bathroom and come back out to find Joel standing outside the door, shirtless with navy sweatpants on, waiting to use the bathroom after you.

“How about I go start some coffee for you downstairs?” You offer.

He smiles, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

Joel brushes past you into the bathroom and you move out of the room to walk downstairs. Your feet softly pad across the wooden floor as you round the corner to enter into the kitchen. One look up from your feet has you jumping in surprise and you let out a small scream at the sight before you.

Hearing your cry, you hear the frantic sounds of Joel’s heavy footsteps quickly run down the stairs getting closer to you. He turns the corner sharply, eyes alert before he runs into you and sees what you see, hissing out a sharp fuck.

Standing before you both, leaning on the kitchen island, is Ellie—a half eaten apple in her hand frozen midway to her mouth as she looks between you both with slightly wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

At least you both decided to put some clothes on first.

You and Joel hold your breath, both of you tense and unsure what to say—the only sounds coming from the teen who now brings the apple to her mouth, biting into and chewing slowly.

It’s Ellie who breaks the silence. “Well… looks like I’m not the only one who had a sleepover last night.”

You gulp, mouth opening and closing as you try to find words. Joel clears his throat over your shoulder, his voice gruff as he asks, “Um… I thought you were at a friend’s place?”

Ellie nods, the corners of her lips twitching slightly. “I was. Then I came here to get my backpack from my garage before school. Decided to stop in here to get some breakfast.”

“How long have you been here?” You finally speak.

She shrugs. “Only, like, five minutes? Don’t worry. I didn’t hear anything from upstairs.”

You rush out, “We weren’t doing anything,” at the same time that Joel says, “We just woke up.”

Ellie’s mouth twists to one side to stifle a laugh. “So… are y’all, like, together?”

“We’re…” you trail off, looking over your shoulder to Joel for help. What were you two?

Joel doesn’t look at you and instead nods his head once in confidence. “We like each other,” he answers Ellie.

Her eyebrows raise as her mouth forms a small “o” shape. She stays silent for a few moments before she looks off to the side in anticipation. Furrowing her eyebrows together, she shakes her head before turning back to you two with one hand placed on her chest in guilt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry… I thought you two knew that—I would’ve spoken up sooner.”

Her face morphs into a smirk after she speaks with sarcasm dripping into her tone and you let out the breath you were holding in, trying desperately to stifle a laugh by bringing your hand to your mouth. Joel, on the other hand, brings his hand up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose before sliding his hand down his face to wipe away his annoyance.

Hearing your small giggle you accidentally let out behind your hand, he looks at you, betrayed. “Don’t encourage her.”

Ellie scoffs. “Oh, shut up, dude. It’s you who waited so fucking long.” She turns to grab a mug from the cabinet as you walk into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee—the awkward tension leaving your body.

Joel sighs, following you in to grab some pans to start breakfast. The feeling of the normal, easy domesticity of the moment doesn’t slip past you.

Ellie grabs her bag that she had on the counter, throwing it over her shoulder. “By the way, I ran into Tommy on the way here and he asked if you’re free for some drinks at Tipsy Bison with him and Maria later?”

She pauses, looking between you and Joel with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Why don’t you both go? Make it a double date and all.”

Joel huffs out a sigh, gritting out her name in warning while you just laugh at them.

As she leaves the room and heads for the front door, Ellie calls out, “Congrats, y’all. Just make sure to let me know if you need the house to yourselves next time.”

“Ellie!” Joel frustratingly yells after her. You hear her laugh and shut the door behind her, turning to see Joel slightly shaking his head and laughing to himself.

Coming up next to him, you say, “I mean… least we ripped the bandaid off by telling her.”

“Don’t think that counts as tellin’ her, darlin’. But, you’re right.”

You smile, placing a kiss to his back as you walk past him to set up some plates on the small kitchen table in the corner.

A little later, both of you finished eating and standing at the sink to do dishes, Joel asks you, “So… would you, um, wanna go with me to the bar tonight?”

He seems timid in his question–your own eyes widening slightly at the thought. “I mean…”

He shakes his head embarrassed, turning to walk away after he finishes drying the last plate. “Sorry. Stupid idea. I don’t know why I–”

You grab his hand to pull him back in front of you. “Hey, hey, hey… it’s not a stupid idea, Joel.” He looks up at you uneasily, and you quickly try to explain yourself. “I just mean… Well, I guess I’m just surprised you’d want…” You look away for a moment, sighing before facing him again. “Just didn’t know if you would want to be public about… us.”

It’s Joel’s turn to look confused. “‘Course I do.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… then, I am too.” You look at your feet then, bringing one hand to rub at your other arm. “I just… I realized when Ellie asked if we were together, I didn’t know how I should respond.”

You feel Joel’s thumb land under your chin, gently tilting your face up to look at him. His own uncertainty seems to have washed away, replaced by soft understanding.

“Darlin’, I want to be with you. Openly. Hell, I’ll run outside and shout it right now if that would make ya feel better.”

The thought makes you giggle. “That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate the sentiment, Miller.”

He moves his hands to hold both sides of your face, thumbs softly brushing against the tops of your cheeks. “I’m yours completely, darlin’. If you’ll have me.”

His words make your knees feel like they could go out. Looking at his lips you ask, “What about me?”

He looks into your eyes, brows twitching in confusion. “What about you?”

You lean your face closer to his, lips brushing over his as you whisper into his mouth, “Am I yours?”

Joel unconsciously smiles into your kiss. “You wanna be mine, baby?”

You feel his smile and match it on reflex. “Yes,” you breathe out.

“Then you’re mine,” Joel says, pressing his lips to yours as you both try to break the smile on your faces.

You pull away panting before the kiss can lead further, seeing Joel’s swollen lips as he tries to slow his own breathing. You swallow harshly and try to collect your thoughts enough to speak up. “I… um… I was wanting to stop by the, uh, library in the town center. Would you… wanna go with me before we go see Tommy and Maria later?”

Joel absentmindedly nods while he keeps his focus on your lips. “Sure. Yeah. That’s fine.”

Nodding at his response, your gaze stays on his lips. “Cool… so, um, I should probably go home and shower or something.”

Joel’s chest rises and falls rapidly as his breathing picks up. “Yeah… you could,” he says. “Or, you can come back up to bed with me.”

God, what kind of monster has he made you?

You barely get out a yes before Joel suddenly grabs you by your hips and lifts you up. You yelp at the action—your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for support as your hands interlock around his neck. Letting out a soft grunt, he walks you slowly up the stairs, kissing you while trying not to trip along the way as his hands roam across your back.

Crossing you both into his bedroom, he stops his movements on your mouth for long enough to set you down. The moment your feet touch the ground you pull him down to you feverishly, the movement making him groan and push you back against the wall.

He reaches down to hook your leg up around his waist and pushes his leg in between your thighs. You pull back from his mouth with a gasp—the fact that you’re only wearing underwear makes the contact cause more friction than you were expecting. He places his hands on your hips as he gently but firmly pushes you down to grind on the top of his thigh.

Overwhelmed by him—by the conversation you two had, by his touch, by the feeling of intense emotion you have burning in your chest–you throw your head back against the wall as your mouth drops with a moan.

Joel takes the opportunity to lurch his head forward, kissing and sucking your exposed neck. He brings one hand up to push aside the collar of his robe you wear. Your hands card through his hair, gripping the strands and guiding his mouth over your chest.

He groans as he hungrily moves his lips further down, scrambling to undo the loosely-tied belt around your waist to fully expose your top half. You look down to be faced with the top of his head as he angles his head down to put his mouth around one of your nipples, your own body arching up into his mouth.

As he mouths at your chest, you continue grinding your hips against his thigh. Your movements become more scattered as you pick up your pace—the knot in your stomach growing impossibly tighter.

You feel Joel lightly bite down on your nipple and cry out, the feeling sending a direct shock between your legs. You began to gasp out, tapping Joel’s arm. “Fuck… I’m–I think I’m gonna…” Confused at how quickly you feel your orgasm approaching with Joel barely touching you, your words trails off.

Joel picks his head up off your chest, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, baby. Need you to come for me. Need to feel you come on my thigh now.”

Your moans begin to pick up in volume as your lower half desperately chases your end. Joel helps by flexing the muscles in his thigh and guides you further onto him as he brings his leg up against you more, the feeling of his hard cock against your stomach sending you reeling.

You grip onto his arms, throwing your head back harshly as your orgasm washes over you and Joel’s name leaving your lips.

Coming down from your high, you sag against the wall, panting heavily before you see Joel looking down at you with lust—his own lips parted as he breathes heavily. You don’t wait another second before bringing his face down to yours to move your lips against his hungrily.

He groans into your mouth before you move your hands to slide his sweatpants off. He rips away from you briefly with wild eyes. “Darlin’, let’s walk you to bed–”

“No,” you say. “Need you now. Right here.”

Joel doesn’t get a chance to argue when you push his sweatpants down and his cock hits his stomach. He gasps out at being exposed to the air before turning into a moan when you grab him and line it up at your entrance.

You reach down to pull your underwear to the side, too impatient to take it off completely, feeling how soaked you and the fabric are. Joel takes one look into your eyes, seeing you nod before he takes a hold of his cock and begins to push inside you. You both let out deep moans at the feeling—your senses being so heightened, and you being so wet already, that there’s no need to take things slow.

Joel pushes into you in one fluid motion before he braces his weight with one hand on the wall beside your head while the other reaches down to push your leg up and wrap it around his waist. The angle opens you up more and allows Joel to hit deeper inside you.

This time isn’t like the previous times. His thrusts are frantic, messy, and desperate—your own hips moving in a similar rush.

Your previous orgasm left you sensitive and you feel yourself reaching your end quickly, just like how it was minutes ago. The fact your underwear is pushed to the side adds to it as you feel the seam of one side rub against your clit from the friction of Joel’s thrusts.

You begin panting heavy moans in Joel’s ear, the sounds morphing into desperate whimpers as you begin to beg. “Joel… fuck. Please, baby—please I’m gonna come. I wanna come. Please, please, please, please–”

Joel, who is still catching up to your desperation, composes himself long enough to say, “Yeah? You wanna come for me, darlin’?”

You let out a sharp whine before another string of please’s leaving your throat.

You feel him nod against your forehead, moving his hand down to rub quick circles on your clit. “C’mon then, baby. Come for me, sweet girl.”

His added friction and the increased snapping of his hips into you causes a moan to wrench from the back of your throat—your whole body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm wracking through you.

Joel’s end follows you shortly after, a frantic string of moans and curses leave him. With a cry of your name, he shouts out, “God… fuck!” His hand that was holding himself up comes back down to slam harshly on the wall as he spills inside you. You feel him twitching inside you, your own walls fluttering around his cock from aftershocks.

He quickly wraps his arms around the small of your back and lifts you off your feet lightly, bringing you over to the bed. With him still inside you, he spins the two of you so he falls onto his bed with you landing on top of him.

He holds you close, both of you speechless as you try to match your breathing with his own. After some time he breathes out, “Like I said… early grave, darlin’.”

Your day was spent well. You had gone back to your house after spending an hour just talking with Joel in bed. Once back at your own house to clean up and get dressed for the day, you spent the time filling your mind with the memories of the morning and the previous night. A piece of you felt shocked at the suddenness of your desire for him along with the feeling of not having enough of him.

After getting ready, Joel had walked with you to the town library as promised. The two of you split up to look at direction selections with you going towards the small assortment of records and classic literature, and Joel spending time in the comic book and space sections.

When you were on the way over to the library, you two had run into Tommy. He had just given a smirk at the sight of you two together, but didn’t make a comment, only saying to meet him and Maria at the bar around eight.

Leaving the library in the afternoon, Joel had split up from you to check some things over at the power plant while you went back home to put your things away. When he had walked away, he grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze before departing. It was a small gesture, but it was the most public show of affection that had been given. Even if it wasn’t likely noticed by people in town—you noticed it.

A little before eight Joel knocked on your door to pick you up and walk over to the bar together. The moment you stepped out, Joel hovered his hand over your back, as if unsure on if you wanted to be held. You gave him your answer when you reached your hands up to wrap both of them around his bicep. The feeling of your touch made him let out a soft exhale as his body loosened.

You both arrive at the Tipsy Bison, Joel pulling away to open the door for you and allowing you to step inside first. The smell of whiskey and sounds of the busy bar hits you. Loud laughter and clapping as the mostly-drunk crowd mingles with their groups and engage in playing pool or darts—soft country music playing amongst the mix.

Maria’s wave catches your eye as you look to see her and Tommy sitting at a table for four along the far right wall, close to the counter that surrounds the bar area in the center of the room—Seth and some other workers behind it making drinks and taking people’s orders.

You feel Joel come up close behind you as he places his hand on your shoulder, looking up to see him scanning the room with the scowl you are so used to finding on him. The only difference is you learned that that frown goes away when he is around people he’s closest to. Outside of those moments, he’s always on alert for danger and making sure people leave him alone. You assume that fact is a bit more prominent tonight with you there beside him.

You nudge your shoulder back against his chest to grab his attention. He pulls his gaze away from his survey of the bar to look down at you, eyes softening when he sees your reassuring smile, and squeezes your shoulder in response.

The moment he notices his brother and Maria he grabs your hand and tugs you lightly, leading you over to their table through the crowd. He mutters out grunts along the way to move through people—a contrast to your own quiet words of excuse me.

Maria gives you a warm smile that you match with your own while Tommy has been looking smug since you two first walked in. Joel pulls out your chair for you, gently pushing you in across from Maria before he sits in his own seat opposite Tommy, tucking you in between him and the wall.

The moment Joel is seated Tommy reaches over the table to slap Joel’s shoulder, calling out a bit too loudly, “Ay, you old fucker. Took ya long enough to get settled down, huh?”

His teasing causes Joel to deeply exhale out of his nose as you see his jaw clench and his left hand on the table balled into a fist. You look nervously between them—half of you knows that this is how Tommy messes with Joel usually, but also that Joel hates it most of the time.

You place your left hand onto his thigh that lays against yours. His muscles relax as he brings right hand over yours, grabbing your hand and interlocking your fingers firmly as you begin to rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

Maria eyes Joel—taking note of the tension between him and what you realize is an already slightly drunk Tommy. She pats his shoulder lightly before looking between you and Joel meaningfully. “What my dear husband means to say,” breaking to give Tommy a pointed look, “Is that we both are very happy to see you two together.”

She ends her sentence with a wink at you, making you think back to the conversation you had with her about Joel and your conflicting feelings around him. You mouth a soft thank you to her, watching her smile at you in response.

Tommy’s smirk turns into a genuine smile as he looks from Joel to you. “Maria’s right. I’m glad to see you happy, honey. No idea how you made this grump go soft, though,” he says, laughing as he takes a drink from his glass of whiskey in front of him.

Joel just grunts in response and shakes his head, but you feel his body sag a bit as the tension leaves him.

Tommy claps his hands together before slapping them on the table. “Alright lovebirds, let’s get some drinks in y’all!”

He calls over one of Seth’s boys behind the bar, and orders more drinks for the table along with some food to share amongst you four. You end up drinking a couple glasses, only enough to feel a buzz. Maria seems to be more interested in eating and speaking with you—giving you updates about Benjamin as you ask her how things are with him. Tommy, on the other hand, seems to be spending this time drinking as much as possible, clearly taking any chance he can get to rile up Joel.

Joel, who has barely taken more than a couple sips from the first glass Tommy got him, is anything but relaxed—taking the opportunity to repeatedly look around the bar and stare people down.

At one moment, you feel him tense underneath your hand on his thigh and look over to find him glaring at a particular table closer to the bar. Sat there is a group of men around your age that you briefly remember seeing around town. Nothing seems off from them, so you chalk up Joel’s reaction to annoyance towards people noticing the two of you being closer than usual.

Maybe about an hour of conversation amongst you four—or three, you suppose—Tommy makes a comment about your drinks being empty. Watching him stumble as he tries to stand up, you quickly begin to slide out of your seat. “How about I get us the next round?”

Joel immediately snaps towards you while his hand grips your thigh in an effort to pull you back down. Not harsh, but urgent. You look down to see him with an almost worried expression—eyes widened as he frowns.

“It’s okay,” you say, “I’ll just be right back.” You confirm your decision by bending down to give him a quick kiss on his cheek before walking around him and to the bar.

You tell Seth your order of drink refills and a burger for yourself before he walks off to the back of the kitchen. Leaning on the bar counter, you feel eyes on you and turn to see Joel sat at your table watching you. You try to give him a smile in reassurance but your view gets blocked considering the crowd of people between you.

You turn your attention forward again, taking the chance to look around the various decorations of animal skulls that are mounted on the walls.

That feeling of being watched back a few seconds later, but this time it feels off. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, attempting to search for Joel but are met with one of the men at the table Joel was glaring at earlier. His close proximity makes you jump for a second, realizing it was his stare you had felt as he walked up to you.

You see a leering smile on his face as he stops very close to you—close enough that you stumble to the side and plop onto the bar stool instead of standing and leaning on the countertop.

He just stands there for a moment looking at you before he says, “Hey there, sweet pea.”

His words make you cringe, the feeling only growing worse as you smell the intense amount of alcohol that leaves his breath and wince. You look towards the bar, staring up at the bottles along the top shelf as you try to ignore him. Not taking the hint, the man continues. “What? You don’t remember me?”

The question makes you turn to look at him, eyes squinting as they scan over his features before you shake your head politely to tell him you don’t. Your response makes him scoff in a way that makes it seem like he’s just playing, but you can hear genuine annoyance in his tone.

“It’s me,” he says, a dramatic tilt of his head to grab your attention. “Dylan?”

You look to the bar, hoping to see Seth coming back with your drinks before you briefly glance at Dylan. “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

He leans his hand against the counter, moving closer to you as he ducks his head to try and get you to look at him. “Oh, come on. You’ve talked to me at town meetings and shit like that.”

You focus your eyes back on him and only then do you barely remember what has to be the handful of times you had spoken to him in town. You offer a short nod and say, “Oh, right yeah. I remember now.”

The answer seems to satisfy him enough to sit on the stool next to yours, making you lean back and let out a quiet groan under your breath. “So,” he says, “Saw you with the boss’ brother.”

The mention of Joel makes you frown at him. “Brother-in-law,” you correct. “Maria’s the one in charge, not Tommy.”

He waves his hand away as if the correction doesn’t matter to him. “Whatever. I gotta say, it’s sad seeing you sit on your own over there being forced to hang out with old people like them.”

His words make your jaw clench as you try not to snap and choose to ignore him. You see him look up behind you to find what you assume is his friend, another man you recognized from the table earlier, moving to sit at the seat on the other side of you. “This here’s my friend, Justin.” Dylan extends his arm behind your back to gesture to his friend while letting his hand brush against your back.

Feeling cornered, you go to stand up and walk away when the other man, Justin, speaks up and grabs your attention. “What’s a hot chick like you doing sitting so close to that grandpa?”

Your head snaps to him. Rage simmers inside you from hearing insults thrown at Joel. “None of your business.”

Justin squints at your defensive tone, and a beat passes before Dylan lets out a sharp laugh in disbelief. “No shit—are you fucking that guy?!”

You feel your body begin to tremble and pry yourself from the bar stool to get up when both men stand up and trap you against the counter. “Move,” you grit out.

Dylan reaches a hand up to try and brush your arm. “None of that, sweet pea. We’re just wanting to–”

He cuts off with a sharp cry of pain, the sound shocking you until you see the cause. Joel stands behind them, grabbing Dylan’s hand before he could make contact with you and twisting it back until his fingers hit his wrist.

Joel lets go to push him further away from you and Dylan lets out a gasp of relief from his hand being free.

“She said, move.”

You focus your attention on Joel—his body looming over the two men who were crowding you, his eyes hard and cold as you recognize the look in them. It’s similar to the one he had when the two of you ran into those raiders a couple weeks ago.

His hands are balled into fists at his side. His chest moves up and down rapidly—nostrils flaring and jaw clenched.

“Hey, what the fuck is your problem, man?” The loud exclamation seems to garner the attention of some close surrounding people.

Joel’s attention slowly moves down to Justin as he hears his voice. You watch as Justin stumbles back when Joel’s gaze lands on him. Joel towers over both of them—his height and the broadness making them nervous at the sight of him standing over them.

Dylan, done grasping at his hand and wailing in pain, stands up straighter to look at Joel. You realize just how drunk he is when he jabs a finger into Joel’s chest while his friend begins to look a little less confident at the confrontation.

Joel looks down, bored, at the finger that presses into his chest before looking back up at Dylan eerily calm.

“We were talking to the hot chick until you so rudely hurt me. Unprompted too, man.”

At his words, Joel takes a deep exhale but doesn’t say anything in response.

Moving his finger off of Joel, a smug smirk crosses Dylan’s face. “In fact… we were talking about how hard it is to believe that someone like her is with someone like you. Weren’t we, Justin?”

Gesturing to his friend, Dylan finds Justin cowering away from Joel and beginning to slowly back away from you.

“Oh were you, now?” Joel asks, seething.

“Yeah… I think she ought to have a real night of pleasure. Nothing someone your age would be able to offer her,” he says, reaching his arm down to behind you.

You impulsively begin to step away but he doesn’t get a chance to make contact with you as Joel suddenly reaches out to grip his arm tightly. Dylan winces, grappling at Joel’s hand to try and wrench himself free, but Joel just tightens his hold as his face remains stoic.

You watch as Joel yanks Dylan towards him and away from you before he twists his arm behind his back, the action causing Dylan to cry out in pain and alert the people in the bar. You gasp and step back as Joel slams Dylan’s head onto the counter, a sickening crunch being heard as his nose makes impact with the marble top. Blood gushes from his nose, growing worse as Joel continues to pick him up and slam him in the counter once more while simultaneously further twisting Dylan’s arm behind his back.

His friend seems to gather the courage to try and pull Joel off of him, but Joel just lets go and turns to punch Justin in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Tommy runs up to your group, evidently more sober than he has been earlier, to reach and stop Joel from straddling Justin and punching him more. He grabs hold of Joel’s arms and pulls him back with a shout. “Hey! Knock it off!”

Joel continues to thrash in Tommy’s arms. A few other men, you assume the others from the table with Justin and Dylan, come over to help their friends off the floor before turning to Joel with the intent to fight him.

“Enough!”

The loud call makes the whole bar go silent—everyone stopping to turn and look at Maria who stands at your side now. She rubs your arm before looking harshly at the group of men in front of her in a reprimanding demeanor.

She shifts her gaze to Joel, who just stares at her as he breathes in and out quickly. Nodding in your direction, she says, “You. Take her home.” Turning back to the men, she says, “And you. Take your two friends to the doctor and I’ll meet you there and deal with you later.”

They stare at her in disbelief for a moment before she hardens her gaze at them and hisses out a sharp, “Now.”

The uninjured ones scramble to drag their friends out of the bar with Dylan and Justin moaning in agony on the way out.

Joel begins to shrug Tommy off of him until his brother lets go completely, allowing Joel to immediately march up to you. The moment you’re in his grasp, he grabs both sides of your face with his hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “Are you okay, darlin’?” He whispers.

You bring your hands to hold onto his arms and nod. Joel leans his head against your forehead momentarily before stepping back to wrap his arm around your waist. He looks at his brother and Maria, and you watch her and Joel share some unspoken words. After a second of just looking at each other, he firmly nods once before she offers him one in return. It’s a rare sight—possibly the first time you’ve seen the two share a mutual look of understanding and respect, even.

Joel hastily guides you through the bar and out into the mildly cold night. All the while, you lean into his chest shyly as you feel and see people’s stares as you walk out—hushed words being said as they notice your obvious affiliation with Joel.

The entire walk home is silent as Joel keeps one arm wrapped around your waist with the other down at his side, his hand flexing open and closed in an effort to control his anger.

You become nervous as you recall the events of the night. How on edge Joel was the whole time. How uncomfortable he seemed at people’s eyes on the two of you. How bothered he was by Tommy’s teases and the assholes’ comments. Insecurity began to wash over you—did Joel regret going out in public with you?

By the time you reach your street, a pit has formed in your stomach and you begin to wonder if Joel will just drop you off at home. Your worry is quickly quelled when Joel guides the two of you towards his house—a silent indication to you that he wanted you with him tonight.

He opens the door for you, gesturing you inside where you take off your shoes next to the door and hover in his entryway. Without looking at you, he shuts his door and keeps his gaze fixated on the floor. You can see the muscles in his jaw tick before he wordlessly walks past you and into the kitchen.

You stand in the entryway for the moment, fidgeting with your hands in front of you before slowly following him and brace your shoulder against the doorway of the kitchen. You find Joel filling two glasses of water before handing one to you, a soft hum leaving his throat. Grabbing the glass, you notice the cuts and bruises on his hand from the fight at the bar with smeared blood across his knuckles.

You gasp before setting down the glass and walking up to him to gently grab his hands and bring them up to take a closer look.

Joel winces slightly, a soft hiss coming out before he mutters, “M’fine, darlin’.”

You look at him with doubt and a growing annoyance at his dismissal. “No, Joel. You’re not fine.”

He tries to pull his hands from your grasp, mumbling arguments, but you let out a frustrated huff. “God, can you just let me fucking help you for once, Joel?”

He stands there blinking for a moment, shocked at your outburst before he gives in with a soft nod of his head and dips his gaze to the floor.

You sigh, feeling guilty for briefly snapping at him, and you take a gentle grip on his hands to guide him up the stairs. You make your way into his bathroom to fill a small bucket with water, grabbing a rag and some alcohol before turning around to see Joel leaning on the doorway.

He looks around the bathroom mindlessly, standing there in an almost child-like manner as if he doesn’t know what to do apart from you. The sight makes your shoulders sag in defeat.

“Here, go sit on the bed and I'll clean your hands over there.”

Joel shakes his head, pushing himself off the door frame and walking up to you. You look at him puzzled for a moment until he grabs your hips and hoists you up to sit on his bathroom counter, moving to stand between your legs that now drape on either side of his thighs.

He brings his hands over to lay in yours that rest on your lap—a deadpan look on your face as you say, “You know, if I’m cleaning up your wounds then shouldn’t you be the one that’s sitting down, ya know, relaxing?”

His lips quirk up at the corner—a small smirk showing on his face as he looks in your eyes. “Guess I just want an excuse to be between your legs.”

A soft scoff leaves your lips at his playful demeanor and you take his hand to begin gently wiping away the blood from his knuckles. “You’re digging your own early grave at this rate.”

You watch his face fall into a frown as he looks to be pulled into his own thoughts. His expression concerns you, but you decide to not push—giving Joel the space to speak with you when he wants. If he wants.

After cleaning his hands, you pour some alcohol on the rag to wipe his cuts over his knuckles. He lets out a soft hiss at the contact, making you wince out an apology. He just shakes his head assuring you he’s fine and lets you continue your ministrations.

Satisfied with your work, you let go of his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles before he steps back from you and helps you slide down until your feet hit the floor. Rubbing the back of his neck, he asks, “You alright to sleep over tonight? Can borrow some of my clothes to wear to bed if that’s okay?”

Your heart twists hearing the uncertainty in his voice as he asks you—the answer obvious in your eyes. “Of course I will, baby.”

His eyes go soft at the name, and he tells you he wants to take a shower first. After pulling out some clothes for you, sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved flannel, he tells you to get situated in bed while he showers.

Now dressed and warm, you make your way into his bed and lay there flipping through the book on his bedside table while you wait.

A short time later you hear the faucet turn off and listen to the sounds of him moving around as he gets out of the shower. You look over when you hear the door open to find Joel step out. His hair is still wet with his curls being messy from him scrubbing a towel over them. A towel hangs from his hips as he walks into the bedroom area. You try, and fail, to not stare at the way his muscles ripple and the way water droplets slide off his hair, down his neck and back as he faces away from you.

You watch him carefully when you see him moving around his room as if he’s not entirely there—unconsciously looking through his drawers to find some boxers and flannel bottoms and sliding them over his hips.

“You gonna be okay sleeping shirtless? Or are you gonna rely on me for warmth?” You ask lightheartedly in an effort to break the tension in the air.

He doesn’t seem to process your words as he continues to move aimlessly around his room, picking up different pieces of clothing from the floor and tossing them into the laundry basket. The sight and his lack of response only makes your worried feeling grow until you softly speak his name. You barely get out the syllables before he snaps his head up to look at you with a frown on his face.

“Do you ever think of our age?”

You blink once, the question throwing you off guard as the topic was not even something to cross your mind after the events of tonight. “What?” You ask, letting a soft laugh escape you.

He just shakes his head and looks at his feet. “Forget it.”

You sit up in bed, crawling over to him as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Reaching his side, you place your hands on his shoulders from behind him as you lean to look at this face. “Joel?” You say, gently prying his hands from his face.

He turns to look at you with his brows furrowed and biting the inside of his cheek. His lips part as he tries to talk, but he seems to get frustrated with himself as he suddenly huffs out a breath and stands up pacing in front of the bed.

“Joel…” you repeat, feeling uneasy.

He shakes his head again, standing still to place his hands on his hips and stare at you almost accusingly.

“I’m old,” he says, stopping after saying those words to stare at you. Realizing he expects an answer but having none, you slowly shake your head at him confused.

“You–” he cuts himself off and looks around the room. “You realize I can’t protect ya properly, right?”

A gasp leaves you. “What? Joel, what the hell are you–”

“The comic book store.”

His gaze locks onto you and his words silence you as he keeps his eyes on yours firmly and a scowl fills his face. “I couldn’t hear the damn clicker, and it nearly got you fuckin’... killed. And then, the raiders. I didn’t hear that sick fucker come up and grab you. I couldn’t fuckin’ hear it because of my own damn decisions. And then I seen him hold you. Knife to your fuckin’ throat. And I just froze.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I felt… fuckin’... paralyzed. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. And it’s happened before, with Ellie back when I–” Joel pauses at that, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers before composing himself and changing the topic back to you.

He begins throwing his arms out as he speaks and continues pacing in front of his bed. “If I was… if I was stronger, younger… maybe I wouldn’t freeze up. Maybe I could anticipate that shit. Maybe I wouldn’t let the people that I love come even close to being in danger. Maybe, if my body wasn’t so fuckin’ soft… if I wasn’t so weak… if I was more fit then I could…”

He pauses and shakes his head as his voice begins to break when he speaks up again. “And everyone around town knows it.” His eyes are big and crazed as he waves his arm around. “They all see it. They know I’m old. They know I can’t fuckin’ keep anyone safe… God, I couldn’t even keep my–”

Joel’s words cut off as he breaks into a sob, his shoulder falling forward as cries wrack through his body. The sight makes you lurch out of his bed and launch yourself towards him to throw your arms around his shoulders. You feel his own arms grip your sides and slide around your back, burying his head in your shoulder. You feel him let go of everything you think he had been holding inside of him—full sobs leaving his lips as he struggles to catch his breath.

You hold him against you tightly, running one of your hands through his hair soothingly as you keep the other gripped tightly around his shoulder. You try to help calm him as best as you can by offering gentle hushes and reassurances. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe with me, okay, Joel? I got you. I got you, honey.”

For a moment it feels like your words do the opposite of what you wanted. The sounds of his cries and the shaking of his body only grow worse. It isn’t until after a few minutes that his breathing begins to slow into short gasps and his cries subside into sniffles.

Feeling his body relax slightly against yours, you lean your head back to pull his face in front of yours, but the sight makes your heart shatter inside you. He looks at you with shy, insecure eyes that are red and full of tears that run down his cheeks slowly.

You feel your own tears that had been welling in your eyes begin to fall down as you look at him. You move your hand to grab his and feel him latch onto you tightly as you walk him over to the bed. He encourages you to climb into bed first where you lay your back against the headboard and see him climb until he lays on top of you to rest his head at the base of your neck. You place your chin on the top of his hair and begin to move your hands up and down his arms, feeling him wrap an arm around your waist to pull you in closer to him.

The two of you lay there as you hear his breathing and cries slow until he regulates his breathing. Unbeknownst to you, the feeling of your heartbeat under his ear is what grounds him.

“Joel?” You whisper, tapping his arm lightly. He slowly turns his head to meet your eyes with his glassy ones, a soft pout on his lips and he looks between your eyes and your lips as you speak to him. “Is it okay if I talk?” You ask.

He furrows his brows at your question but nods. “You don’t have to ask, darlin’,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

You take a deep breath in and take his hand that lays on your stomach with your free one to interlock your fingers before speaking. “None of that was your fault, Joel…” He looks as though he wants to cut you off, but you shake your head once in a silent ask for permission to speak freely. He relaxes his shoulders, beckoning you to continue.

“You can’t blame yourself for any of it. Especially with your ear. You couldn’t have… you couldn’t have known. The comic book store… I just saw it first. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. I just saw it first, and I wanted to protect you. Because I– I care about you. That was my decision.”

His eyes flit back and forth between your own as he takes in your words, his eyebrows tilted up in a heartbreaking expression.

“The raiders… they were vile people. But, I think you forget it was six against us two. Joel… you took down more than half of them on your own. You kept me safe. When the last one grabbed me, it was because I ran out of bullets,” you look down to your interlocked hands as you recall the memory. “He heard me draw blanks, and he grabbed me during my moment of weakness. Not yours.”

Joel’s eyebrows twitch as he listens to you. “I was as good as dead in my eyes. I froze too. I let him take hold of me before I could escape quick enough and I panicked when I didn’t know how to get out. You were the one who knew what I wanted you to do. You were the one who shot him. Hell—Joel you shot him without hitting me with more than a slight graze. If the roles were reversed I totally would’ve put a bullet through your shoulder.”

You let out a cross between a sob and a laugh, feeling Joel’s body twitch with his own light scoff. “You saved me… It was your comfort I relied on. It was you who I needed to help me through that moment. And, Ellie…” you trail off.

“I don’t know about your journey with her, and I don’t need to know if you guys don’t want to share.” You see Joel’s face soften and settle into a more relaxed state—his big, sad eyes looking up at you attentively. “But you know what I do know? I know she’s here. Alive. And that’s a big feat in this world. If she was on her own…”

The thought makes your body shiver, a chill going through you. “I can’t… I can’t imagine what could’ve happened to her. But you,” you pause, shaking his shoulder lightly as you put emphasis on your next words. “You kept her alive. You kept her safe, happy, and breathing. You brought her here where she gets a chance to thrive and grow. That girl fucking loves you, Joel. She relies on you, so ardently. Even if you can’t see it.”

There’s something guarded in Joel’s eyes when you talk about Ellie. Something that has him tensing up just the slightest, but you don’t question it. Instead, you think about the last words he spoke before he cut himself off with a sob.

“And…” You pause, not wanting to speak her name or what happened.

You shut your eyes and try to compose yourself before you let out a slow, stuttering exhale. “I can not imagine… I– Joel, you can not blame yourself for something like that. This world is fucking cruel, and it’s ruthless, and it’s painful, and… and we can’t control what happens. You can’t hold that burden on your shoulders, baby.”

A choked sound leaves Joel’s throat as his face twists into pain, a short sob leaving his lips as he takes a deep breath in and lets your words sink into him.

You pause for a moment and allow the two of you to sit in silence—the quiet air being filled with soft breaths from the two of you and the tick of the clock.

“And… Joel?” You shakily say, unsure on how to phrase the next part. Hearing your wavering, he straightens up a bit in your hold and nods to you in encouragement to continue. Looking back down to your hands intertwined at your stomach, you say, “Your… age? I–”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before looking at him again. “Your body, and your age, is not something that makes you weak. It doesn’t… alter your strength, or your value.”

You hear him take a sharp inhale of breath, seeming to hold it as you talk. “In fact, it’s the opposite,” you say and watch his face twist into stubborn confusion.

“Do you know how lucky we are? For our bodies to change in a positive way. That’s… Joel, that's a gift. It means we aren’t starving. We aren’t on the run. We aren’t struggling to stay alive. We’re safe, here, in Jackson. We have access to food and comfort that we can relish in and appreciate. Of course our bodies are going to change. We aren’t in a constant state of survival right now. We get to live.”

Joel’s face softens as your words sink in. “I didn’t— I never saw it that way…” he trails off.

You give him a small smile and nudge his shoulder. “You think my body hasn’t changed?”

At that, Joel’s face screws up in offense. “There’s nothin’ wrong with your body, darlin’.”

The serious tone in his voice makes you let out a giggle. “See? That’s how I feel about yours.”

That seems to make Joel huff out a breath at your point. “And, your age? Another good sign.”

You try not to laugh as you see Joel’s face screw up in confusion. “How the hell is that a good thing?”

Smiling, you say, “Because you’re getting old. It means you’re alive long enough. It means I get to keep you for a while. Shows that you’ve survived this long. Long enough for me to meet you.”

Joel’s expression softens almost instantly and he looks down at your interlocking hands that rest on your stomach. “I happen to like the idea of watching you get older. Older means you’re still here.”

The thought makes Joel’s eyes snap up to look at yours, scanning them for any sign of a lie or doubt but finding known. Instead, what he finds makes him feel the air get knocked out of his lungs. He leans his face slowly to yours, hovering his lips over your own for a moment before pressing them to yours. You meet him with the same slow movements in an effort to wordlessly express what you can’t bring yourself to say quite yet.

Caressing your hair with his palm on the side of your head, he slowly pulls away before pressing a short kiss to your lips, your nose, and your forehead. His touch makes you giggle—relief fills you as Joel pulls back and you see his face morph into a breathtaking smile.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he whispers.

You respond by shifting your body down until your back is lying on the bed with your head on the pillow. He keeps your previous position the same, wrapping his arm tightly across your stomach as he lays his head over your heart.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you say. The only response you get in return is a soft hum as his eyes fall shut to the feeling of your fingers moving through his hair, and Joel mouthing three words to himself before he succumbs to sleep.

a/n: so sorry for a more delayed posting. I have had incredibly bad writer’s block, so updates for take my hand may be slower. I have many chapters outlined but I’ve hit a block towards the end of the story as a whole. instead of putting out weekly chapters and maybe going months without one later down the line, I’m gonna post them slower to give myself time to catch up so that way there’s not a giant chunk of time without any chapter. 🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @silksepia @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol @luvwanda @pascal-mynightlyobsession @grayandthyme @crlsummer @ashleyfilm @darling-imobsessed @tjohn63 @lizzie-cakes @vanishintoyoubby @keileighr @umadirectioner if anyone else wants to be tagged, removed, or if I’ve missed any, then please let me know!

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #tmh series

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hongjoongspoetry · 3 months ago

Text

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter.

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes.

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends.

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates.

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else.

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.”

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips.

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes.

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue.

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went.

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him?

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?”

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain.

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening.

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere.

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that?

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up.

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!”

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind.

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?”

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past.

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row.

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul.

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to.

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls.

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.”

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license.

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe.

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen?

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.”

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.”

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side.

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store.

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view.

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items.

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.”

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter.

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags.

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin.

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.”

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them.

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully.

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind.

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again.

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table.

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more.

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange.

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse.

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness.

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed.

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels.

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture.

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale.

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up?

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew.

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames.

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!”

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were.

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually.

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew.

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities.

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go.

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.”

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.”

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it.

“We are both at fault, love.”

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy.

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him.

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation.

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one.

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.”

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.”

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

#[🌸] cherry blossom march event #cromernet #song mingi x reader #song mingi #ateez x reader #ateez #song mingi fluff #song mingi fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #soulmates #soulmate au #boxer mingi #fluff #romance #angst

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yuurayuura · 1 month ago

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last on the line

👩🏻‍🍳 you hate being a line cook, so why do you find yourself looking forward to the shifts?

PAIRING 🍳🔪🔥 sungchan x fem!reader GENRES & AUS 🍳🔪🔥 line cook au, attempts at humor, yearning, fluff, slight angst, reader is a little hot-headed WORD COUNT 🍳🔪🔥 6.1k WARNINGS 🍳🔪🔥 suggestive, language AUTHOR’S NOTE 🍳🔪🔥 feedback appreciated! this is an old story i polished up. im going feral for sungchan lately woof woof woof

If you wanted a descriptive image of the environment: There's a lot of banging, first of all, that's a good place to start. Something is always banging, clacking, sizzling, burning, beeping, or yelling.

Loud.

"I'm gonna fucking kill myself," you say, and Sungchan's head pops around a corner. "How many?"

You look at the order. "Party of fifteen. I'm serious, I want you to carve my heart out and put it on a plate. Give them that instead. Slice it in fifteen pretty pieces."

He chuckles, and rolls his shoulders, preparing, ducking out of the way of someone passing behind with a hot pan.

Line cook. That is the last occupation you ever imagined you would have, because in every conceivable way, it is a fucking nightmare.

"You know I'm not that good with knives," Sungchan remarks, "but I could make a little soup? Heart...y soup?"

Somehow, that makes it better. You grin at him and he laughs, before running off to save his potatoes in the oven. Party of fifteen, you think, with burning hate, I hope you all die.

Sungchan is good to have around, and though you're reluctant to admit it, he makes you feel less suicidal in the kitchen. When he has a day off, it seems like the shift will never end.

He's nice to everyone, always brightening the room in grim situations, doing quick quips with the other cooks, and comforting the frightened new waiters. Everyone likes him, and keeps commenting on how he should be on the floor charming guests, which makes the tips of his ears flare red.

But no, he sticks to the kitchen, even if it's not his calling. It's a mystery to you.

"Fucking hell," you mumble, dizzy from the heat and the cleaning fumes, looking at the grill. Sparkling, for a few hours at least, before it's inevitably dirty again tomorrow.

"You in for drinks tonight?" Seunghan asks, wiping his face. "I could use one."

"I don't know," you say, hesitant. The best thing would be to go home; it always is.

Yet that rarely happens.

"Come on, Y/n, it's no fun without you," Sungchan grins. "First shot on me!"

Seunghan rolls his eyes fondly. "And now you’re joining us, right?"

"Alright, whatever," you huff, and Sungchan salutes, stalking off to get shots from the bar. Seunghan gives you a look that is easier to ignore when you're this tired.

Some of the waiters have already gathered out by the bar, and outside smoking. The lights are out over the floor, but the string lights around the counter are still on, blurring people out, making everyone somewhat fuzzy around the edges.

You laugh at some waiter's joke when Sungchan arrives with not two, but four shots, and promptly downs one.

"For you," he says, with a silly little bow, making you laugh.

"Two shots? You trying to get me drunk?"

"I would never," he says, blinking those big eyes.

"Do another," you laugh.

"Hey, you're still alive," you chuckle, when Sungchan sits down next to you on the curb out back hours later, swaying a little.

"Of course," he grins, his eyes crescent. "You... guys wouldn't last a minute without me."

"Yeah. But you're off tomorrow though, right?"

"Aw, right."

"Any cool plans?"

"Sleeeeeeeping," he sing-songs, making you laugh again.

"Hey," he says, swaying again. "Cute. Your laugh."

"You're that drunk, huh?" you grin, shaking your head. "That's it, I'm calling an uber for you."

It's a slow night, just a few tables are taken, and one of the waiters calls in sick. You draw straws in the kitchen to see which of you has to cover, and it's just your luck that you choose the shortest one. Fortunately your bestie Jina is in the bar, but unfortunately for you, Wonbin the waiter is also on duty tonight. So there really isn't much to do other than escape the thick tension whenever the two of them get too close.

Thank god for Sungchan, your saving grace, last on the line tonight so he's always the one plating your dishes up.

"Two halibut, one beef rare," he confirms, finishing up the garnish. It's just him and Sohee in the kitchen now, after they sent Eunseok home and you out on the floor. There really was no need for three cooks, and it's clear the two of them are having a good time, listening to Korean hip hop from the nineties on the shitty Bluetooth speaker.

"How is this music relatable to you kids, you weren't even born," you remark, and Sohee gasps.

"Whatever, grandma."

"Hey, at least I was a baby back then," you tease, and Sungchan looks at you, mock offended.

"Relatability isn't about whether or not you were there," he says, like an old sage. "It's about the message... the emotion... the soul..."

"Thanks," you laugh, picking up the plates. "You guys are weird."

After you leave, Sohee rolls his eyes at Sungchan, poking his side to get him to move for the next order. "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself with this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, grabbing the order from Sohee's hand. "Get chopping, knife boy."

"These people have got to stop ordering mojitos and daiquiris," Jina sighs, carefully placing the drinks on a tray. "The blender is giving me a headache."

"I wish they would just leave already," you agree, knowing that even if they did, you couldn't close up shop. Unfortunately, that doesn't work in a restaurant, but it's a nice thought.

You manage to escape when you see Wonbin approaching the bar for the hundredth time that night, no doubt with another made-up request for napkins or an extra spoon, straw or glass.

Nearing closing time, you hang out in the kitchen door, chatting with Sungchan when you see Wonbin approaching the bar again.

"This is more entertaining than most movies," Sungchan remarks, as you two watch him lean on the counter and Jina gives him an amused look.

"Wish he would just ask her out already," you nod, chewing on a toothpick. "It's been excruciating all night, you know. I wonder where he puts all the extra stuff he asks for that no one needs."

Sungchan laughs, while Sohee clears his throat pointedly behind you, and stops scrubbing down a pan. "You know what they say about stones in glass houses, right?"

Suddenly you both remember you still have cleaning to do.

"Fuck, ow, shit," Sungchan gasps.

It's one of those days where everything goes wrong. The digital order system collapses, leaving you having to write old-school notes. That one isn't crippling; you manage to get a good system going and Shotaro finds a bell in a cupboard that you hang up and hit every time the food is ready. Then the payment system collapses. The power in the kitchen keeps dipping. To top it off, you look at Sungchan in the other end of the kitchen, holding up his bloody hand.

"Who let him touch the knives?" you yell, making your way past the four other cooks on call tonight with haste you didn't know you had left.

"Sorry, I- I just needed an extra filet, I forgot," Seunghan says.

"The meat..." Sungchan says meekly, like that is important right now. You throw the whole cutting board in the trash, meat and all. That's not a priority.

"Seunghan, Sohee, finish up and cut the last damn filet, Anton, Eunseok, do the plating, and chop those potatoes I had started. We're going in the back."

There's little drops of blood on the floor that Seunghan fortunately understands that he has to clean up without you having to snap at him. You grab the first aid kit in one hand and lead Sungchan by the other, back to the break room where there's no one else.

"You know you can't fucking slice for shit, what the fuck are you doing cutting filet," you bite, practically flinging Sungchan down and onto the couch.

He wisely doesn't respond, and watches you rummage through the kit to find gauze and cleaning supplies.

"I can do it myself you know-" he starts, but shuts his mouth after an icy stare.

"I'm fucking doing it so I know it's good enough," you snap, "because apparently this is what happens when you work with children, who can't..."

You trail off and wonder why you're so emotional about this. Sure, it's been a day from hell, and this is just enough to send you over the edge. But even so, even if you can't see yourself from the outside, you know this is an overreaction.

"I'm sorry," Sungchan says, voice barely above a whisper as you wrap his hand in gauze. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Don't."

"Why are you so angry? I just tried to help, the orders were piling up and Seunghan was struggling to get everything done, so I thought I should help out. Is that so fucking wrong?"

He gets up and you're so angry, it doesn't make sense but you are, that you consider asking him to go home. Maybe you should be the one to go.

"Thanks," he mumbles, looking confused, hurt, and defeated, raising his bandaged hand.

"I'm angry," you realize, "because you could have seriously hurt yourself."

Sungchan stops on the way out.

"Those knives are really sharp, and you could have cut deep, through muscle. Nerves. If you had cut your tendons, you could have destroyed your hand. Jesus Christ, you could have lost a finger."

"Y/n," Sungchan says, carefully. "I suck, but I'm not gonna cut off my fingers..."

"You do suck," you agree, with a little smile. "Why can't you work on the floor? Seriously. You know you'd be good at it."

"I... don't know," he says. "I like it in the kitchen."

He looks at you with his doe eyes, and you feel yourself soften, shoulders coming down to somewhere resembling their usual height. His hair is that light brown shade you like and shaggy enough that it makes him look soft and pretty.

"No more knives," you warn, pulling yourself out of it. "I mean it."

"No more knives, yes, ma'am," he echoes.

"And the next slow day, I'm sending you to Eunseok for knife school. Got it? You're a hazard."

"Hazard, knife school, got it," he says, nodding sternly to himself, and it makes you smile again.

"I'm sorry, Chanie. Forgive me?"

"Oh, you just love me, nothing to forgive."

So, back to being brazenly confident again, that's good, you think.

There's tension in the kitchen when you get back, but a weight seems to lift when they see no one is angry or bleeding anymore.

You apologize to them for overreacting, and for five whole minutes, there's respectful peace. Until Eunseok decides to speak up.

"So, you two had a little... spat? A... quarrel?"

There's no doubt he intentionally emitted a word - a fact that no one misses. Anton snickers.

"Shut it," you say, biting back a smile.

Usually in a kitchen, even if it's just a regular restaurant like this one, there would be a hierarchy. Maybe if someone had gone to culinary school for more than a single year (Eunseok) there would be, but there isn't. So, naturally, the most experienced one takes charge, at least a little bit, and usually things flow on their own.

You all know each other enough that dividing up tasks is intuitive - like, no knives for Sungchan. Everyone knows this, and he's got the scars to prove it.

"There's really no need for you to be here today," you say, glancing over at Sungchan's still injured hand. It's been professionally wrapped at the hospital, and he's wearing lots of plastic and a glove to protect the food, but still. "You can go home and heal, we can call Sohee in."

"I'm healing fine," he says, stirring the sauce in trained motions, like that simple task is any indication at all of the state of the arm.

It's right before the dinner rush, and as usual, the people on prepping shifts have not prepped enough. Somehow, they always get it wrong, and everyone knows it's not their fault because it varies so much from day to day, but it's still incredibly annoying.

"We're short on potatoes, garlic, stock... Most everything," Eunseok says, grimacing as he reads off the list and looks at the numbers of reservations for the night.

"And pasta," Sungchan adds, elbows deep in the mixer to get the dough out. Eunseok sighs.

"But we have enough fish for three days," you say, stacking filets into neat little piles. "That's something."

Turns out, you didn't even have enough fish. Half of it was put in the freezer, which turns out to be a huge mistake, leaving you having to try and thaw several kilos of halibut and salmon at the last minute.

Then Shotaro, who's hosting tonight, comes through the door to tell you thirty unannounced guests have arrived, just as Anton's huge pot of pasta tips over.

It's not his fault. No one told him that the counter he put the pot on had a bad leg that was meant to be fixed next week, and could in no way support a heavy pot. So now there's pasta and water all over the floor of the kitchen, Anton looks like he's about to cry, and Shotaro slips on a piece of tagliatelle.

"I..." you start, but no more words come out. Instead, you put down the plates you were garnishing, and slide between pieces of pasta on the floor out the door that leads to the backyard.

Sungchan finds you there, behind the loading dock to the warehouse.

You don't want to cry, but there's no getting past it today. So Sungchan sits down next to you and puts an arm carefully around your shoulders.

"I don't want this job," you sniffle, and Sungchan squeezes your shoulder. "I just have to pay my bills."

"I know," he assures, leaning his head on yours.

"I don't even like cooking," you continue, wiping tears on your sleeve. The uniform is dirty now, anyway. "It's one fucking thing after another in there. I'm done."

"Hey," Sungchan says, his voice much calmer than you've felt for ages. "Tomorrow we can quit together, how about that."

He nudges you gently, and you can't help but laugh at the mental image of the two of you marching together to hand in resignations.

"But right now, we need you. You're that load-bearing leg that was missing under the pasta pot. We're falling apart."

"You're funny," you smile. "But I'm not, Eunseok is there. And Seunghan."

"Yeah, but we still need you to tell them to stop bickering, and find some good music to clean up to. You're the only one who knows where the kitchen's phone book is, to call the repair man. And where to find those band aids with the animals on them to make Shotaro smile again. I'll go with you, and we'll get through it together. You know what a great team we are, right?"

You look at him in the low light, beautiful, tired from the shift, and still pulling through. Taking the time to sit out here with you, coax you to come back inside, and insist that you're an important part of the team. Whether that is true or not.

Suddenly you feel like crying again, for different reasons.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," you say, and watch his face light up in a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Chanie."

"Anytime," he says, like he means it.

When you get back inside, Eunseok has already set the team in motion to clean up, and Shotaro is only a little freaked out by the scratch on his forehead. You find the band aids as promised, and help Sungchan calm Anton down, who is in a little bit of a spiral.

In the end, it turns out the thirty guests weren't even eating, they just hung out at the bar. With a little help behind the counter, everything goes smoothly for the rest of the night.

There's not even a question of drinks tonight, it's just Shotaro immediately grabbing beers from the fridge and getting his little writing pad out to keep inventory, before he starts handing them out.

"Yuck," you complain, after a tentative sip of the beer. Sungchan laughs.

"Give it here, I'll steal you something from the bar."

Jina gives you a look, people have been doing that a lot lately, and it's starting to get to you.

"Sungchan, you don't have to-"

He's gone with a flash of that signature grin, your beer in his hand.

"How's that working out?" Jina asks, less than subtly.

"Sohee said something the other day about stones in glass houses," you shrug, and Jina's smile fades somewhat.

"Alright, I'm leaving it."

"Fair game."

It's not like you and Sungchan always stick together. Most times, if Jina's been working, you hang out until she goes home, and then you somehow end up by Sungchan's side or vice versa. It's just a thing that happens, and if Sungchan isn't there, you hang out with Anton, Seunghan or really anyone else on the kitchen staff.

So, you don't really get why it's become this thing that people seem to be noticing, because of course, you're bound to have friends that you like hanging out with more than others, and that you have better chemistry with. Doesn't mean that there's necessarily something more going on.

"This is my own creation," Sungchan says, sitting down next to you with a drink in hand that looks experimental, to put it gently. "It's rum, some other booze, something green, lime, and a dash of something from a small bottle."

"Sounds promising," you say, dryly, accepting the drink.

You take a sip, against your better judgment, cringing at the blend. "This is awful. Thank you."

"Cheers," he grins.

It's a bit unclear how it happens, but you find yourself later that night on Sungchan's couch, looking up at the pictures on his walls.

He lives in a big building, and you've never been there before, only ever heard tales of Sungchan and Shotaro's famous after-parties. They live separately, but the apartments face each other. With the doors open, it's ridiculous how well it works for a late night get together. The crowd naturally splits up into smaller groups, Shotaro has the dance floor, Sungchan has snacks and some movie playing on the TV. People come and go in between, but you find yourself content and sleepy, sinking further into the pillows.

On their own, your eyes find Sunchan across the room. He's talking to someone from the bar, but he's looking at you, so softly it almost seems unfair. When your gazes meet, a smile spreads on his face, like a secret between you. He has the sense to look a little embarrassed about it, as you turn back to the pictures, unable to stop smiling.

You're drunk enough that you can admit how beautiful he looks tonight, all soft in his hoodie and pajama pants, a look you never would have got to see had you not been at his place. It feels strangely intimate, even if there's tons of other people around, it feels like it might actually be just the two of you. The experience of hearing his laugh trill across the room, mixed with the barely audible TV and the music from across the hall, is so comforting, you could fall asleep here and be perfectly happy.

Tomorrow you work late, and it feels like for once you don't have a single worry.

You must have closed your eyes, because distantly you can hear Sungchan's voice, and feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, sleepy," he says, and you crack an eye open to find him next to you on the couch, looking fond and amused, and maybe some other things you're not reading into.

"Mm," you hum, and resist the urge to tuck yourself into his side, see what it feels like to fall asleep on him. It looks very inviting. "You look like a big pillow right now."

Sungchan chuckles, his eyes practically sparkling. "I bet. You want me to call an uber for you?"

You look at him, and it seems like time slows. His hand is in yours—when did it get there? It's just the two of you, nothing else really matters, and you really, really don't want the moment to end.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask, in a voice that feels a little too vulnerable, watching how he swallows. Is he nervous?

"No," he says, after a beat, the tips of his ears red. "Selfishly, I don't."

"Okay," you say, and you both crack a smile, not really knowing what to do with that information.

"You could... I mean, my bed is..." Sungchan scratches his neck, and shakes his head, embarrassed. "I'm starting over. If you want to stay here, I can take the couch."

He's still holding your hand, and it feels so nice, thumb tracing a little pattern.

Any other time, you would have gone home. You certainly wouldn't want to put Sungchan out like this, make him sleep on his own couch. But you're so tired, and comfortable, and tonight the thought of leaving him is unfathomable.

You let him lead you to his bedroom, and the lull of noise from the party gets quieter, until it's just a soft hum far away. Sungchan says something about a charger for your phone, but he looks so good, and you feel so much, it's a bit hard to concentrate.

Finally, you climb under his covers and the whole bed smells like him- it's like being wrapped in Sungchan, except he stands on the side and looks at you with a little smile.

"Goodnight," he says, so quiet and gentle, it's barely above a whisper.

"Chanie," you say, before you can stop yourself. "Can you stay? Just a little while?"

He doesn't even say anything, just smiles, and gets right in on the other side. Wishful thinking makes it seem like he was waiting for you to ask.

His hand finds yours again, and you sigh contently.

"I'm sorry for asking a lot tonight," you mumble, and Sungchan's eyes are so beautiful, shining in the faint light from the window.

"You haven't. Besides, you can ask anything of me," he smiles, squeezing your hand. "Always."

"Two salmon, one Alfredo," Wonbin announces, to Anton's soft "copy that," on the other side of the plating station.

It's been three hours since the shift started, you're all in the zone, working like this is what you've done all your lives. Anton is the starter, Eunseok does meats, you're on sides and condiments and Sungchan does the plating.

There is an undeniable tension between you and Sungchan, it's something unfinished. Gnawing.

When you woke up that morning, you initially thought you had a strange, but good dream—until you looked around and realized it all actually happened. You lied there for a moment, listening to Sungchan's soft snores next to you, and had a small, internal crisis.

Eventually, you had to get home to shower and get dressed before work. You decided it was best to let him know, and not disappear like some stranger in the night. Besides, it's not like anything really happened, it was all platonic-ish, and you could probably play it off as nothing.

That was, until he turned around and looked at you, sleepy-eyed and smiling lazily. He'd lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the light, all tan and beautiful. Eyes blinking at you slowly.

There's only so long you can fool yourself.

You had rushed out of there, assured him everything was fine, but apparently very unconvincingly, because he also texted you on the way home ´are u sure ur fine?? ur good?'

And it was fine, of course.

Wasn't it?

It's quiet in the kitchen, save for the usual sizzling, clanging, and chopping. Anton and Eunseok share a pointed glance that goes unnoticed by you and Sungchan.

You put on some music, but don't really listen. Only focus on reducing the sauce, checking the potatoes and pasta, and keeping time on the four things you have cooking at once.

"Y/n," Anton says, to no reaction. "Y/n?"

"Shit, sorry," you mumble, smiling at him. "What were you saying?"

There's a late delivery of groceries that you need to accept, and help load out back. It's always a welcome break, so they let you do it. While you're gone, the boys have a tête-à-tête.

Sungchan knows they're going to ask, so he busies himself stirring and checking the things you left. Eunseok clears his throat.

"What exactly happened between you two?"

"Yeah," Anton chimes, a worried line appearing on his forehead. "It's normal for her to be quiet, but you never shut up. What's going on?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, which is only half a lie. It's met with unimpressed looks on both ends.

"Did you do something weird?" Eunseok says, and Anton nods like that must be it.

"I didn't do anything!" he exclaims, exasperated. "If... If I did, I don't know exactly what."

A waiter comes by to pick a few dishes up, so they all shut it, and he looks around nervously in the silence before he leaves.

Sungchan explains the situation, how you stayed over, made him get in the bed with you even after he said he could sleep on the couch. He leaves out the part where he held your hand, because he fears it might be what they nail him for. Really, he could drunkenly hold any of his friends' hands at any time (even if he knows this is different).

They look at him like he's a moron, but the reason is unclear to him.

"What?"

"How long are you going to drag this out?" Eunseok groans. "Just tell her. Do something. What are you waiting for?"

He tries to protest, get them to understand that he doesn't know for sure how you feel, and Anton shakes his head in a laugh.

"Everyone knows she likes you. Are you that dense?"

In that moment, the back door swings open, and you find them all turning back to their respective tasks at lightening speed. Sungchan's ears are bright red, Anton looks fondly annoyed, and Eunseok has a mirthful glint in his eyes.

"Hey, Sungchanie, this is about to burn," you say, carefully nudging his shoulder when you pass. It's more than you've talked all night.

"Yes, chef, sorry, chef!" he says, mock-saluting you, and grinning huge when it makes everyone laugh.

After that, things thankfully go back to normal, even if the pink blush on his ears persists.

"No, no, no," you protest, when Eunseok suggests post-shift drinks in the bar. "What are you people made of? We just drank a bunch yesterday."

"Some more than others," he smirks, receiving a half-hearted slap on the arm.

"Either way, no thanks," you say, sticking your tongue out at him. "I can finish up here, you guys are free to go."

Anton and Eunseok look expectedly at Sungchan, who almost feels a little ashamed that he anyway goes "I'll help!" just for being so obvious.

The two of you are left alone, and even if you small talk, the tension is back full force. The counters are clean, so you get to scrubbing the grill, cleaning empty containers, putting up chairs in the break room. It's the last shift of the week, and fortunately the overtime is paid.

The last thing to do is tidy and check the pantry. It's not really a job for two people, it's kind of cramped in there, and you keep knocking your shoulders together.

It feels like words are burning in your throat. You want to say something so badly, want to reach out and pull him in, feel his warmth. Stand so close you have to look up to meet his gaze.

You can't do any of those things though, for fear of making things weird, losing a friend, and messing up the dynamic for the other people you two have to meet on a daily basis.

This really shouldn't be that complicated.

"I'll lock up," you say, and Sungchan looks like he wants to say something too, but can't quite get it out.

Maybe that's for the best.

"Let me walk you home, at least," he says, chewing his lip like he does when there's something on his mind. He stands in the backyard while you input the code for the alarm, and when you turn to face him again, he looks almost forlorn.

You walk in relative silence, Sungchan with his hands in his pockets. In what seems like no time at all, you arrive at the building where you live.

You almost can't bear to look at him, for fear of what you'll see in his eyes. It's a strange dilemma, because it feels like he's trying to be considerate by not saying anything. You can't know for sure, but that's how it seems, and maybe that's why you also can't speak. A pitiful cycle.

Sungchan kicks a pebble on the steps and watches it bounce away from the curb.

"I'll see you Monday?" he says, and the sad twinge in his voice is what finally makes you look into his eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, watching how the wind moves his hair, brushing the side of his face. You want to reach out and run your fingers through it, imagining how he would lean into it and close his eyes. His hands are still securely in the pockets of his jacket, and you wonder if they long to reach out, like yours do.

He's beautiful, like he always is and always has been, with his brown doe eyes and cheeks pink from the cold.

"See you Monday, Chanie."

He nods, and watches you step inside, biting the corner of his lip as he leaves you to your tormenting thoughts.

The days off are horrible. You keep pacing around your apartment, missing meals, spiraling. Monday comes incredibly slow and painful, so much so that you show up forty-five minutes before the shift starts. Suffice to say you're surprised when you find you aren't even the first one there, seeing Sungchan's scuffed Adidas haphazardly abandoned in front of his locker.

So much for avoiding the inevitable.

To dread going to work is not a new feeling by any means, but to feel that way because you have to face Sungchan is a new low point in your life. That always used to cheer you up, before.

You find him by some mysterious instinct, maybe the same innate magnetism that always has you ending up next to each other. He's got the radio on playing oldies in the kitchen while he stacks boxes in the storage room. You allow yourself two seconds of looking at his broad back before you make yourself known.

"Hi," you say, trying not to startle him.

He turns with big eyes. "Hi? Is the shift starting already?"

"No, no," you assure, sitting down on a nearby crate. "It's still forty minutes away. I'm just early, but not as early as you, I guess. When did you get here?"

Even in the low light, you can see the tips of his ears turn pink.

"Uh, like, an hour ago," he says, sheepish. "I couldn't sleep, anyway."

"Me neither," you confess, smiling even if it's not particularly funny.

He's already got his uniform on, the white fabric making his tan skin look even tanner. His sleeves are rolled up, and his free hand twists anxiously on a loose thread. Neither of you know where to look.

This won't do, you realize; you can't shut up about something for fear of fucking things up and making it weird between you, if that's going to happen anyway - for no good reason. If your friendship has to suffer, it should be for more than this.

"We should talk," you say, and Sungchan looks at you with his deer in the headlights look again.

You meet him halfway, and he looks genuinely scared for something you don't quite know. It makes you smile, because it seems he thinks you're going to tell him you're dying, or something. The smile seems to relax him somewhat.

You mean to say that he means a lot to you, and that's why this is scary, and difficult. It means potentially losing someone you care for deeply, not to mention there's a reason you shouldn't date coworkers, etcetera. But maybe that applies more if you actually like the job, and want to keep it.

Of course, the words won't come.

Sungchan looks at you so intently. There's a hint of a smile on his own lips now, like he can see the gears turning in your head. Suddenly, it's like you're transported back to that night, when you were alone in a crowded room, and all you wanted to was to lean in and feel his lips against yours.

Before you can do much to realize it, you find your body moving. And when Sungchan understands what you're doing, there's no turning back.

You crash together, and Sungchan gasps into your mouth, hands finding your waist to pull you closer. You thread your fingers through the short hair at his nape, and feel your pulse race to impossible heights as you press against the shelves.

He grins at you when you get some distance.

"I can't believe you," he mumbles, hands in yours, ears burning red. "I was sure that would never happen."

"I was too," you admit, almost worried again when you start thinking. But before you can get into it, Sungchan pulls you in for a hug, holding you tight.

"We'll figure it out together, like we always do," he says, sure as anything. "We're a great team, aren't we?"

"The best," you say, into his neck, feeling increasingly emotional. "You're the best."

There's no time to figure much out right there, because the rest of the staff are bound to start clocking in any minute.

For the rest of the day, it's a secret, not that you're excellent at hiding it, but it seems no one really catches on.

Sungchan follows you into the pantry after lunch and steals a heated kiss, and all in all, it's the best day at work you've ever had.

"What's going on?~" Anton sing-songs, leaning against Shotaro's fridge as you mix a drink, some ABBA remix on the speakers in the living room.

"Don't know what you mean, Ton," you smile, slightly guilty, thoughts already drifting to Sungchan and how good he looks tonight.

Anton rolls his eyes. "Your drink is trash. I'll mix it for you."

You watch him redo the drink with surprising finesse, rummaging around Shotaro's fridge more familiarly than you would dare to.

"I'll give it to you if you spill the beans," he smiles, evilly, for someone so sweet.

You laugh. "Enjoy your drink, Anton."

"Fine," he pouts, handing it to you.

"I'll tell you when there's something to tell," you promise.

You're not avoiding Sungchan. On the contrary, you want to be glued to his side like a koala, smell his mouth-watering perfume and kiss his neck. But it's too much too soon, you haven't had a chance to catch up since the shift, and you know everyone's eyes are on you two.

That's why you're keeping your distance, to try and seem more nonchalant than you are. But you still shoot him brilliant smiles when your eyes meet, so he won't get the wrong idea. He seems to get it, and maybe he's thinking the same thing you are.

As the night progresses, and the alcohol content in your blood gets higher, this becomes exceedingly difficult.

Inevitably, you meet in Sungchan's kitchen by accident, and again the tension is astronomical. This time, though, it's not uncertain and anxious, just hot and electric and wonderful.

The lighting is low in there, and unless someone else comes in, no one will see how he pins you against the counter, hands firmly on your hips.

"This is killing me," he admits, pupils blown out, squeezing you like it's something he can't help or control.

You should talk, maybe go on a real date, away from people, to figure out what this is and where it's going. But there's no way to do that right now, and there's no time. The places he's touching you are on fire, you need to feel him, need him closer.

It's not that reckless. You already know each other to a certain extent, you're already friends, there's a foundation to build on.

"Take me to your room," you say, not really meaning for it to sound like a commando, but Sungchan's eyes widen anyway, and maybe you file that information away for later.

"Aye, aye," he smiles, his cheeks red.

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hoodedjelly · 10 months ago

Text

Sleep walk BTS post!

will go in depth with my process and put better quality drawings in here!

Before any of this i was listening to several fiddauthor/ford playlists to hear a song that really got my brain moving. Funny enough i didn't get Sleep walk from one of the 100+ song playlists i was listening to, it was in my oc playlist (thats a mad scientist who would've thought). Originally i wanted to make a fiddauthor animatic (who knows maybe i will), but THIS SONG just caught my brain in a way i couldn't refuse.

So i technically started working on it the late night of September 27, exactly a week ago! which yes yes i hear you all in unison go "WHAT???" to that, and all I have to say to that is.... I have untreated adhd and lots of caffeine in my system! (honestly felt like ford sometimes while workin on that animatic)

Started it off with some notes, then thumbnails. I had my tbob AND J3 open next to me stood up with clips for reference (prob looked a little insane looking back but its fine)

now for the rough animatic! i did this in Adobe animate 2022 (i'll get back to that later) the only thing that really got changed was i wanted to add the diner scene from j3. i realize now that it messed up the timeline i was going for with the animatic but i like to think things are out of order because of the state ford is in, things start to merge together.

After i sat with this rough animatic for a bit, i wasn't sure if i was going to make it in Adobe animate (what i usually do) or make it all in Clip Studio Paint. I wanted this animatic to be way more visually interesting then i usually do, so CSP it is. But! i only have CSP Pro, so i had to draw and export every single new frame from this animatic.

it was a little tedious at first (again never done an animatic like this before) but i got used to it! I edited it all together in CapCut and thats really it!

The missing J3 pages from TBOB spoke to me in a way that im not fully comfortable talking about to my followers. I put a lot of myself in this animatic then i'd want to realize, it's very important to me. The night when i uploaded it i was literally shaking with anxiety (and caffeine-) but the overwhelming support for it is really amazing, thank you so much! if you have any more questions please ask away i love talking about the art process.

Below im going to talk about the code and put HD backgrounds!

thank you for dyemro on here for cracking the code first! now i can talk about my insane little thought process about it

So i never planned to add a code until halfway through with the animatic. i was watching ThatGFFan videos and him talking about gravity falls codes got my brain cooking. i wanted something sweet and simple (i realize with dyemro's post it wasn't as simple as i thought, give me some slack it's my first time). like what you should with making codes you start at the end. And i wanted something that was a nice send off for drawing ford be fucking miserable for 1 minute and 30 seconds.

so i got this. (honestly every time i look at this drawing after finishing the animatic it makes me real emotional)

There are 4 codes in this whole animatic 0:02, 0:15, 0:30, and 0:58

wanted the first one to be REAL noticeable so people can stop and be like "wait... theres stuff in here". people usually think to use the bill symbols, but no! from the description theres a little hint to use the Author symbols

doing that code it leads to: imgu r.com /a/uZa iVfu (and if you know that double line a under a letter means capitalization + im a dumb dumb that used a code image that didn't have a Z so thats just a normal Z)

it makes a LINK! > imgur.com/a/uZaiVfu <

now enough of that boring stuff, heres some HD screenshots and backgrounds of my fav parts

#gravity falls #stanford pines #bill cipher #book of bill spoilers #book of bill #hoodedjelly art

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writingforatwistedworld · 2 years ago

Text

Self-aware au

Written before the English release!

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Jp-version spoiler(!!!), death, description of war, unhealthy mindset, religion, obsessive themes, unhealthy family dynamics

General! Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Maleanor Draconia/(Platonic) Knight of Dawn-Yandere headcanons

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce? Lilia Vanrouge 1.0. The more cold, hard and ready to behead the next human version of the usual Lilia (also known as the Lilia Vanrouge 2.0 model)

Lilia back then was “rough” and I am being nice calling him that

Back then, Lilia was surrounded by loss and a lot of Faes getting everything they ever owned ripped away from them

Of course this impacts him (I mean he is strolling through battlefield after battlefield so of course it does)

Lilia wasn't always such a devoted follower

Yes, he did believe in the Overseer, aka you, but only after witnessing the brutality that came with him being a general did he turn into a follower with such drastic views

After all, if there was no higher meaning to all this violence, to all this loss and despair, what was even the point of it all?

You became his moral, mental and also a bit of a physical crutch for him

Whenever he felt like he was this close to just giving up, he thought about you and that this was part of your greater plan (totally not part of some valley church propaganda)

After witnessing that human hiding behind the Knight of Dawn in all his haughtiness and cruelty, he finally set out on his quest not only to make the humans leave his beloved home but also to make them into loyal believers of the Overseer

But sadly, everything was for nought and Lilia had to go into hiding

The only thing keeping him going was his believe in you having a greater plan

A few hundred years later and Lilia finally found out what that supposed plan of yours was

Laying in that cold, lonely crib was the child of his old, now deceased enemy

Taking the child, now called Silver, in he learned the joy of a family, the boy giving him more joy than anything ever before in his life

Finally, he had found peace. Of course he did. This was your plan all along, right? You must have ordered those three fairies to make his beloved son survive until now, right?

You were, after all, a kind deity. There was no way this was all just a war happening because of greed. Because if this truly was just events happening after events then...

Lilia never finished that thought

The great ruler of the night fae, mighty and powerful sorceress who could fell an entire nation in one swoop if she wanted to was despite her cruel and aloof outside appearance a pretty devoted follower since the beginning

Despite being a Fae, she was feared just like her unborn son due to her powers (and being more or less being on the same level as a nuclear bomb but hey, I doubt that anyone of us would stand next to one of those, right?)

So it is no surprise that she turned to something, someone, to feel less alone

Especially after her husband disappeared did she wish for some sort of sign that she was not alone

And oh boy, did religious propaganda from the high church take that loneliness away

When her beloved son, although in an egg, was born, she visited your altar daily, thanking you for her child being healthy

(This could also be the reason why Malleus is the way he is but I am just a writer and not some all-knowing God so idk, just a theory)

She definitely has "taken care" *cough*totallynotproblematicforarulertobeinfluencedbyreligion*cough* of Fae that were non-believers

How dare their sinful ways dirty your holy image?

See? Totally not problematic

At first she only tried to protect her subjects after the humans attacked and took over parts of her kingdom

But after a while she started to have another goal

What if she shared your splendor with those little useless invaders?

Humans were most definitely vile but you were able to unite so many different kinds of Fae in your name under the Draconia name

So why not also unite those humans in your name in a peace treaty?

Such a kind God you were! Allowing for peace in your name!

And, well, if violence and destruction was needed to make those beings understand and surrender, then that shall be what they get

Besides, she was only honoring her husbands wish to get closer to the humans so who was she to selfishly aim for another goal?

The Knight of Dawn (long name, I know) did not always believe in you

Heck, the poor guy probably never heard of you until he fought the Fae

But if the humans from back then didn't really know about you, then how did he find out about and why did he start to see you as his God?

On this part, I would say, he and Lilia were eerily similair

Both were pushed into a war neither liked, so of course he was also in a very unstable situation which made him, like Lilia, search for something to hold on to

The three Fairies had mentioned before when he was still training to become as strong as he was now, mentioning a kind deity who accepted all, who loved unconditionally

Back then he only thought of you as one of the many deities that were prayed to back then

But once the war started and he saw your churches and cathedrals for the first time, his opinion slowly started to shift until he saw you as the highest being possible

I mean, all of us would if we lost all stability over night, having only destroyed buildings and a half-standing church in front of us

He hated the plundering of your sacred placed even before he became a believer, having the opinion that it was just a cultural difference between the two kinds

This led to him kneeling at the cracked altars of many of your churches, asking for forgiveness, hoping that you would understand that he didn't have another choice

What he would do to witness one of your sermons…

And when he was lonely enough, he imagined you watching down on him from up above

Just like a... a parent

You see where I am going with this?

So when he was facing the Queen he only hoped for your forgiveness, hoping that his loving family member would forgive his gravest sin, him killing a mother

And he found salvation, in letting that child and the retainer escape

Perhaps you could forgive him now

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bondwithme-murderstyle · 6 months ago

Text

End of Session spencer reid x fem!therapist!reader

wc: 4.7k

Summary: Spencer Reid regularly attends therapy sessions and although his therapist picks his mind apart during their time together, she doesn't quite seem to consider that he's been doing it back to her all along

warnings: +18, mdni!! therapy setting, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, no kissing, porn without plot, unprotected p in v (do as I say, not as I do), no y/n, reader is described as wearing a bra and panties, overstimulation, cockwarming/soaking if you turn around and squint, Spencer edges reader, not as soft!dom as I planned oooops

an: ahhh! my first one-shot ever! i hope y'all like it! i got right to work on it for you! therapy!spencer we love you <3

Smut below the cut!

Spencer Reid had been a client of yours for some years. From the loss of his friend Elle when he was just a young man finding his feet in the world, to the passing and resurrection of Emily Prentiss when you watched his clipped wings start to ruffle and break free one feather at a time, and since the death of his fleeting romance, Maeve, you had watched him grow. A kind man. A nervous man at times depending on what was on his mind. But all the same, a good man.

There were sessions where he wouldn’t stop talking, his mouth going a million-miles-a-minute and there were sessions where he would sit quietly and only answer questions when prompted. Often, in these silent kinds of sessions, his arms would rest on the chair and his fingers would tap and tug at the stitching of the armrest, his long, slender fingers meticulously tracing the thread that held the chair together.

It was an easy bet that Spencer was one of your favourite patients despite the irregularity of his appointments due to his career. He never brought trouble to your door. He never turned down your offer of coffee or water, he was always kind when he spoke. “Yes, please.” or “Not today, thank you.” And he always, at the end of every session, asked how you were as he gathered his belongings and made his way for the door.

You had him penciled that evening. 6:30pm. Your final session of the day.

Since watching Spencer mature and bloom into the man he was today, you knew how inappropriate thoughts could be if they remained untethered. Having known him for so long in the most intricate of ways, your relationship had become somewhat of a relaxed professional friendship that he paid you for. But with that, came the leniency of your mind that sometimes would wander when with other clients. Spencer was far more intriguing.

And you often took your sessions home with you. It wasn’t the topic of the session you focused on when alone at night reading your books or taking a soak with a glass of wine; instead, it was the feelings he had expressed, it was the deep timbre of his voice and the purse of his lips when he listened intently to your advice. Oh, how closely he listened as though hanging on every word like you were the woman with all the answers to the universe when you sat opposite him. Those thoughts were proving dangerous but it was a far too delicious treat to deny yourself.

It had become almost a ritual before his sessions, to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and give yourself a talking to. Should your mind continue to wonder, images growing more detailed and salacious, you would need to consider referring him to another therapist in the building in order to maintain the standard both of you expected. When his hair had started to grow long and he hobbled in to your office with crutches and then a cane some weeks later, it made your throat run dry for the first time. Of course, before that, in your natural human way- you observed a cute and smart man who just needed an ear to vent to. It was small at first, those mindless and fleeting ideals. When he picked at the edge of the chair, the bony structure of his fingers stirred and the thoughts started to linger for longer. Little moments, little mannerisms took root deep in your mind, eagerly awaiting the call from him to arrange his next appointment. You always made a point of taking his call personally, mainly to gauge a rough understanding of his reasoning for making the appointment but also to hear his voice and you even went to the lengths of sharing your direct office line.

That evening when he arrived, you could tell it was a quiet session. You still asked if he consented to having his sessions recorded but this time, he refused. Respectively, you noted the change and decided to leave your recorder in your desk drawer for the night. Spencer didn’t take his regular seat opposite your own. He had a mystery about him tonight. His hands rested in his pockets and he ventured to the window of your office, head slowly tilting as he observed the street below. “Can I get you water, or coffee before we start?” You asked and closed the door. “Not tonight.” There was an edge. A clip in his tone. Something played on his mind and you tried to work out what it could be as you took your seat and crossed your legs. Your notebook was opened and you clocked the time. 6:34pm. “Okay.” You sighed and smiled, waiting for him to turn around, “Let’s get started.” “Let’s.” Spencer said but remained with his back towards you. He hadn’t brought any of his usual belongings. There was no satchel that always took its place next to his seat. He had no jacket or sweater, only a crisp white shirt covering his back. You maneuvered your pen between your fingers, waiting for him to begin. You noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Mellow and subdued but you could smell the electricity, like the thickness in the air before a storm. Brewing, looming, ready to crack at any moment. It was difficult to concentrate in the silent space, your eyes studying the structure of his stature. He was no meek creature anymore. There was a broadness to his shoulders, a subtle- “Can I ask you a question?” Spencer spoke up but didn’t turn around. “Of course.” You answered him and readied your pen against the paper. “Do you believe in physiological profiling?” “Studying body language?” You questioned, “I do. It’s a marginal part of what I do.” “It’s what I do everyday.” He responded and now turned to look at you. Your eyes caught his. They were burning and dark, a sternness shrouded his face as he awaited your retort. Your lips rolled together in thought, attempting to pinpoint the root of the question. “You do it too. Every client. You read them.”

“I try to focus on their mind, Spencer.” You smile politely.

“Try to?” His ears pricked up and he took a step closer. “You don’t intend to study them?”

“I don’t. I observe what my clients give. I don’t look much deeper than that.”

“You’ve been studying me.” Spencer approached, reminiscent of a pack-animal stalking close to its prey.

“I’ve been working with you for a long time, now, Spencer. That’s why I record our sessions. I study your words, your cadence, your tone- it tells me more about you than your body-language could.” Your words made him stop and fix himself to the corner of the rug by your desk. His eyes narrowed slightly before he licked his lips and tugged a hand from his pocket to pull at his bottom lip. You tilted your head and watched him. Ever a stoic man, Spencer smiled and nodded after a moment before his hand dropped from his mouth. “Spencer, what brings you here tonight?”

“You do.” His other hand freed itself from his pocket and he gestured to the end-table by your chair, “Put it down.” He instructed and stalked that little bit closer. His command made you scoff lightly and you closed your notebook over on itself, placing it aside.

“Spencer,” You teased, “I have to make notes if you won’t consent to recordings. Completely confidential, I assure you every time you come here.”

“You don’t need notes, doctor. You know enough.” The words cut you to the quick, the quickening beat of your heart caused a flush of heat into your palms, your cheeks. “Do you know what I do when I’m here? Aside from the obvious?” Spencer asked and licked his lips a second time, the pink tip of his tongue dragging slowly back into his mouth over his bottom lip before closing again, waiting for an answer. You weren’t sure where he was going, you weren’t sure how you felt other than incredibly warm and in need of some water. His eyes remained on you, inescapable and fixed.

“What do you do, Spencer? Aside from the obvious.” You echoed and he seemed to like that, bringing his steps closer once more until he stood by your chair, your table. “I don’t play guessing games. You know I’m not very good at them!” You try to joke and find your hands clasped now between your thighs in place of the notebook, “You should tell me.”

This was the moment where his hand came to rest on the arm of your own chair, crouching at first and then kneeling. “Open.” He instructed carefully. At first your lips parted, speechless and you were aware in your rational mind that this was close to bordering on inappropriate. Secondly, your legs uncrossed and once more, this seemed to please him. “Do you know what I do when I’m here?” He repeated the question, moving himself to the front of your legs with a gaze that only encouraged you to open up a little bit more. Your heart was in your mouth, your clustered hands beginning to perspire and a heat built as a result. You shook your head, completely transfixed by the look in his eyes. The dark look that flit back and forth on your face and stole your ability to breathe. “I,” Spencer began, his free hand pushing one knee out of the way, “like to think,” the other knee. A space just large enough for him to push into, “about what you think.”

“W-What I think?” Your voice is barely a whisper. His hand remained on your knee and started to move down over your calf, tracing the definition and giving a soft squeeze before moving back up to the part of your thigh that joins to your knee.

“I think,” Spencer said rather knowingly, his thumb and fingers pressing gently at the soft, malleable skin beneath your pants, “you think about me.” This made you hold your breath. Damn it all to hell, what was he doing?

“Spencer, this is becoming unprofessional.”

“Your thoughts about me are unprofessional.” He quipped and pushed his hand higher. “How long have you had them?” He asked and gave another firmer squeeze to the middle of your thigh. You could feel your breathing grow deeper, quivering in your chest as you attempted to keep your mind reeling over and over your code of conduct. Your silence must have been too long for his liking. “I said, how long have you had them?”

“Not long.”

“You’re lying to me, doctor.”

“I-I’m not.” You defended and swallowed harshly, your hands coming apart to straighten yourself up in your chair. Your movement made him surge towards you, stopping just inches from your chest, both hands now on either of your thighs. “Spencer, is something going on? You’re not acting like yourself.” You tried again to keep your mind on an even-keel and remain the authoritative figure.

“I am acting like myself. The part you don’t see,” His breath ghosted over you, “the part you think about when you know you really shouldn’t.”

How did he know? You had been so careful to remain professional and upright in his company. Whatever he had known, he gave nothing away until now. “You’re going to stand up for me and we are going to switch places, doctor.” Spencer said and his hands pushed further into your thighs, moving with a pressure so close to the heat that bubbled and swirled. There was nothing you could do except comply. When you tried to move forward, his force on your legs kept you down, “I didn’t say right now.”

“Spencer, w-what are you doing?” You asked with a hot anticipation, itching for the thumbs on the insides of your thighs to venture where you know they shouldn’t. Just a skim. Just a taste. His influence on you and control of the situation was melting your mind.

“I’m doing what I want. What you want.” He looked up at you and took a firm hold of your legs, pulling your body closer to the edge of the chair. It made you gasp and his fingers felt now against your ass, deliciously sandwiched between the soft leather and the polyester of your tailored pants. “And you want to take these off.” He said as his fingers deliberately pushed into the seat of the pants. Without thinking, without arguing, you looked down at him, lips still parted and short breaths coming in and out of your mouth as your fingers unfastened the clip, the zip. He helped you to stand but didn’t move to his feet. Instead, Spencer fell back on his knees, only moving back just enough to remain faced with your panties as the black pants were pushed down your thighs, caught by him and ripped the rest of the way down with a fervour that took your breath away. When you sat back down, you kicked them off of your feet, Spencer’s hand feeling over the soft skin of your calf once more, his other hand unbuckling his leather belt.

“This isn’t-” he stole your words amidst the jingle of his buckle and the heat of his lips on your skin, “Oh-!” You could feel yourself grow hot, your hands remaining by your sides and holding onto your legs as he kissed and traced featherlight against you, edging closer to where you desperately needed him the most.

“Do you always do as you’re told by a client?” Spencer breathed warmly against you, tricking into your core and you had no choice but to lean back and take a deeper breath. As you tried any attempt to cool yourself down, you felt his teeth graze closer, nipping the sensitively thin skin. “I asked you a question, doctor.” He spoke low enough to feel the vibrations ripple through your muscles, tantalising you further.

“C-Clients don’t tell me what to do.” You managed to stagger the words out as his hands were placed at the bottom of your back, further edging you closer like a hungry child pulling their plate closer to the edge of the table. His eyes glanced upwards to you, an eyebrow raised and scanned down your neck, settling on your chest and you knew immediately what he was asking you to do without saying any word at all. You heed his instruction and unbutton your blouse with shaking fingers, his arms pressing against the spaces yours left behind and his hold was firm, head dipping back to your thighs and lips ghosting dangerously close.

“Can you guess what I’m considering now?” He questioned and placed a soft kiss to the hem of your panties before pulling your legs further apart from a simple tug of his fingers that slipped down beneath you. Spencer’s breath was hot and he licked a thick strip up and over your clothed cunt, relishing with a smack of his lips. You writhed and sighed, fingers hesitant to undo the last few buttons.

“Please.” Your voice was quiet and you felt the air of his chuckle swirl around your core.

“Can you guess what I’m considering now, doctor?” Spencer repeated himself again with an exaggerated punctuation and you nodded deftly, the only thing your body could think to do other than ooze with arousal. You let your head rest back on the chair, the task of your buttons completed and your hands rested over your stomach. You heard the snapping of his fingers, the absence of his hands on your skin but instead tugging your panties down instead of touching you. The snapping made you look down at him where he was already watching you on his knees and with almost no readable expression on his face. “I want you to look at me and compare this to your thoughts.”

You weren’t sure when your panties were completely removed but they were and you were now laid mostly bare, your client placing one of your legs over his shoulder and kitten-licking his way around you. “You can look at me, can’t you?”

“Y-Yes. Mmmhmm.” You nodded and used your elbows to keep your view clear, your vision trained on him as his licks became shorter, slower and eventually right where you wanted them.

“Clever girl.” His voice was muffled as he licked his way through your folds, brandishing your click with the flare of his tongue and making you whine each time. “I’ll know if you don’t look, doctor.” He warned before digging in. Spencer licked deep enough that you could feel it, your head spinning each time his nose brushed against the most pleasurable point of your body. The noises he made sent you reeling and panting. He was enjoying it, lapping you up with enthusiasm. Each groan drove deep into your body, into your bones and made your skin prickle.

“Spencer-!” Your voice caught as he worked intrinsically against you, the hold of his hand sliding down the leg that now rested on his shoulder, fingers trailing from the front to the back and one slender digit found its way inside and you cried out a strangled moan at the intrusion.

“You can take more.” He informed, another finger joining in the warmth. “You’re so fucking wet, doctor!” Spencer said quietly before tonguing and sucking at your clit as though you were melting right in front of him. “This all for me?” He asked between laps. His fingers curled within you, moving slowly back and forth in a fashion you could only describe as leisurely. The smacks of his lips and tongue only furthered your pleasure and you felt sure that your elbows would give out. As Spencer worked with devotion, your leg on his shoulder pinned him closer to you, your hips grinding slightly against his face and your fingers gripped at the leather they rested atop. With his fingers building a rhythm, his mouth slurping and canting at your core, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of contact from his other hand. It was nowhere to be found until you managed to tear our eyes away from the flashes of tongue. Spencer was touching himself whilst touching you and the sight had you insatiable. A particular moan that came from him had you sobbing quietly,

“Spencer, plea-ah! Fuck, keep going-” You mewled.

“You’ll finish when I finish.” Spencer said but continued to pump his fingers at a growing pace, tongue flickering and his hand working steadily on himself. You can’t contain the moans, you can feel your core tightening, your legs prepared to clench around his head like a vice.

“Don’t stop!” You breathe, your hips bucking and you could feel the distinct shift of his mouth. A grin. It sent you so very close. His fingers were dripping, you could feel the never-ending flow of your slick teamed with his mouth and Spencer let out a jarring grunt, “Spencer, fuck- I’m close!”

The words made him stop, violently removing his fingers and leaving you hollow, throbbing and desperate for more. His mouth gave one final suck of your clit and he pushed back from between your legs to stand and drop his own pants. “Move.” He commanded and you did just that. When you stood up, your legs were weak, you resented him partially for leaving you so close and he knew that. As though in a dance, you traded places, your eyes never leaving his, heady with desire for the rest of him. When he took the seat, his fist continued to pump at his cock, the pleasure evident from his own parted and glazed lips and you weren’t quite sure you were prepared. With his wet fingers, he beckoned to you. “Let’s go.” Spencer encouraged as though on a time-constraint and you did just as he asked.

With your legs on either side of him, your breasts pressed against his body, he removed his hand from himself in order to palm at your breasts, teasingly at first and then toughening after you were instructed to “open” once more. There was nothing else you could do than comply and your lips opened slowly. Too slowly. His wet fingers dragged over your lips before pushing their way in and resting at the second knuckle and your mouth enclosed on his fingers. “Thatt’a girl.” He mused and teased at your nipple with his thumb. It made your eyes close, the electric-pleasure halting you in your tracks and your suckling at his fingers ceased. You could feel the tip of him brush against your cunt, eagerly awaiting his next instruction. You tried to hold back but ended up slowly and surely lowering yourself just enough to gain the friction you required. “So, you do think about me?” Spencer asked and with his fingers in your mouth and your cheeks hollow, you nodded. His hand tugged down from your bra, fingers catching at the rim of the cup and snapping back against your skin and making you freeze. You felt the trail of him down over your ribs, destined to touch you. “Hop on, doctor.” He said breathily.

You were nothing if not obedient by now and you teased yourself a little more to make up for the loss of your orgasm. Your eyes opened and you watched him- Spencer was enamoured by the way your mouth worked on his fingers, tasting the sweetness of yourself and you started to move down slowly, his tip stretching just enough for you to hold his fingers in your teeth and pant. His lips fell open more, allowing you the time to adjust and take him inch by inch. The hot stretch was intoxicating and you settled on top of him with a whine. Spencer removed his fingers from your mouth and his hands held you tightly. You were aware of how full you were, of how much he would knock against you when you decided to move. “You can take me.” He reassured you.

Steadily, with your forehead clocking onto his, your hips started to move. Slow at first, finding your centre and reveling in the thickness and fullness that made you gasp with each fragment of movement. You lifted yourself and dropped yourself carefully, his tip pushing deep against your cervix and you felt him start to work on your clit. Fingers unable to gain any purchase due to the sheer wetness you had created. “Fuck, you’re so tight f’me!” Spencer groaned but you retorted, “You’re bigger than I’m used to, Spencer!” With a squeal, you settled against him, moving back and forth instead of up and down where he could hit that mouth-watering spot over and over. Your cries made him moan, his hand on your hip so tight and sharp but it only added to the experience. The grip he had on your skin gestured for you to move more, tugging up, signalling he wanted to feel you rise and fall. The feeling of being stretched and played with in tandem had you incredibly close, oh, so incredibly quickly. Paired with his hot breath that skated down your chest and over your breasts, the only thing you managed to do was weakly grind up and down. “That’s it.” Spencer nodded, his lips now deftly open and the odd groan came from deep within his throat. “Ohhh, good-girl! More.” He instructed, helping lift and drop you with the hold on your skin.

After a while of finding your feet, the cacophony of pleasure rang through your office. Once certain you knew exactly how he wanted you to move, Spencer’s hand felt its way across your back, grappling with the touch of you and you bounced steadily. His curses were music to your ears, his fingers increasing quickly against you and you were fit to burst. You could feel yourself throb and twitch, the hot coil grinding tighter and tighter as Spencer relentlessly fucked over your clit with his fingers. Your hand tugged at his hair for leverage, squealing and whining as he helped in fucking up into you with even more wonderful moans. “Oh, fuck!” You whimpered at the speed he had chosen, the friction he was causing and you were close. So fucking close you could taste it.

“You want to cum?” Spencer asked and took one hand from his hair, guiding it down between your bodies before completely enveloping you in his hold, “Work for it.”

You had to. Your fingers replaced his, his arms around your body tight enough to crush as he moved up into you feverishly. “I’m want to cum, fuck-!” You panted into him, “l-let me cum!” You winced and sent him off on another long groan, “Cum. I want to feel you fucking cum on my cock, doctor!” He commanded and with your fingers moving quickly, a heavy sigh from him sent you over. You spasmed, moaning and wailing his name but your fingers pushing you through it, his cock forcing into you as you clenched with a shudder and your head fell into the crook of his neck with sobs spilling down onto his shirt. Spencer’s thrusts never faltered, however. “You can take another!” He decided and unwrapped one arm to bring your face to his, pleasure taking over his lips, his eyes, everywhere, he looked completely bewitched. “One more, my clever-girl. Just one more.” “I can’t-” You choked with your hand going slack between you.

You weren’t sure how, but he managed to take you to the desk, landing you down with a slow and achingly long drive into you. When did he get rid of his pants? You didn’t remember. Spencer pulled himself from you with abandon and stood you up, “Move.” He commanded and turned you with a flick of your shoulder and with your back to him and stars in your eyes, you felt the stiff wetness of his cock tease between your folds as his hand easily bent you over. You were jelly at this point, prepared to go wherever and however he wanted. Spencer didn’t give any time for adjustments on this go-around. He was quick to slam deep into you, your hands grasping whatever they could on your desk to steady yourself as he pounded deep and quickly with his hands grabbing at your hips and giving him stability. “You’re taking me so well!” He panted against you, everything becoming too much but somehow not enough. Your breasts brushed over pens and papers and your hand finally grappled on to the edge of the desk as Spencer laid you out, “So fucking good!” He moaned and with each snap of his hips, he dragged you closer and closer to that deliciously familiar edge. You gagged and choked and moaned and whined each time his tip burgeoned against you until his thrusts became erratic, infrequent, “Cum on my cock, doctor! Fuck, I-” Spencer panted and he gave three deep and bruising thrusts before stilling and grunting a weak attempt of your name. He was white-knuckling your hips and as he spilled hotly into you, and you cried out once more, a final strained cry and you started to drip down your thigh. As you moved wave after wave through your climax, you felt the throb of Spencer, deep and hot against that perfect spot that had your knees buckling and shaking. For good measure, he continued to pull out and drive back in, all the while he muttered “you did so fucking good!” and variations of “good-girl, clever-girl!” in much softer, breathier tones. With each drawback, he spilled a little bit more down your thighs, dripping and mingling with your own fluids until eventually, he was gone entirely.

You tried to piece yourself back together, exposed and weak but completely high on the feeling of your client. The clarity dawned on you. You listened to the ruffle of clothing, the jangle of a belt and quick-snap of a zipper. “I won’t pay you.” Spencer spoke as he placed your panties that had been cast aside now on your desk by your hand, “That’s prostitution.”

Your voice trembled, body close to convulsing from everything that happened. “Spencer-”

“This will be our last session, doctor.” He said, his hand leaving the panties to gently lift your chin before he pulled away and headed for the door. “Our time ran over. Sorry to keep you.” Spencer informed in a polite voice before closing the office door behind him.

#she's here!#my first one-shot!#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid smut #smutty smut smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid mini fic #criminal minds smut #mgg characters

295 notes · View notes

joeyfranchise · 6 months ago

Text

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

i’ll be home for christmas

fiance!joe x fem!reader

summary: a bulleted blurb/fic about you surprising joe in athens on christmas.

warnings: NSFW, 18+. mdni. p in v, slight dacryphilia, not tooo descriptive.

note: my first bulleted fic with smut?? kinda feels like a crack fic but lmao it was so fun. love yaaaa 🫶🏻

joe was bored

he came to athens to be with his family because you

his lovely fiancée

the light of his life, even

you were away. on a business trip. IN LONDON

at christmas time?? CRIMINAL

but honestly like. joe could’ve stayed in cincinnati

gone to the facility every day. watched film. all that

HOWEVER

his mother convinced him to come home. AND FOR GOOD REASON

because you were conspiring

you were gonna make it home to surprise him. it was going to be sO EXCITING

you called robin to plan it all out. she was also SO EXCITED and she got you and joe some matching pajamas (that she had to hide)

she couldn’t tell jimmy or joe’s brothers you were coming

because they would’ve absolutely told joe considering he was MOPING

and like he’s a grumpy ass in general. BUT WITH YOU GONE?? OVER CHRISTMAS???

*insert grumpy pic of squidward here*

for days he sat and moped. and scrolled his phone. and just chatted with you

poor lil baby joey. texting you like

joe: miss ya

y/n: i miss you bub 🥺

joe: i love my family but it’s different without you

y/n: i know. i hate that i have to miss it. but work is going okay! i’ve learned so much while i’ve been here

joe: i’m glad to hear it baby. i can’t wait until you’re back

y/n: it’ll be sooner than you know it <3

joe: wish it was right now. miss your pretty face

y/n: attachment: 1 image *photo of you in one of his hoodies, showing off a pout with a coffee mug in hand, your gold necklace with a ‘j’ charm on full display*

y/n: miss you 😭

joe: wanna kiss those pretty lips

and GOD

YOU WANTED TO TELL HIM SO BAD. but you knew the pay-off of making him wait would be so daMN good

finally. it was time to fly back home. you had a window seat. thanK GOd. would you be jet-lagged? yes. did it matter? nO

robin arranged it ALL for you (what a saint) and you were able to arrive in the states on the 23rd

she had someone pick you up from the airport and drive you to their house, and you literally drug your luggage into the garage (you’d make joe get it later)

now. to enact your elaborate plan

you walked up the front porch steps SUPER CAREFUL not to be seen

you rang the doorbell

“joey can you get the door”

you can practically feel him grumbling after being asked to do that

but when he opens it. and it’S YOU???

IT’S YOU????

you’re in his arms in less than a second. just completely enveloped by him. he’s pressing a kiss into the top of your head

“you tricked me”

“but aren’t you glad i did?” you’re smirking as you look up at him

and he’s never felt happier. never felt such peace. because you’re here

you come inside and say hi to everyone and make a little small talk before retiring to joe’s room because

A BITCH IS TIRED

it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, right there in his star-wars themed room

you and joe are awake by 1am

nobody else is, and you intend to keep it that way but

YOU HAVEN’T SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG

joe kisses you tenderly on the lips, his hands roaming your body, peeling off your layers of clothing

you’re undressing him too, taking your time as your hands map each others skin

you laugh into the kiss, your eyes are focused on the wall

“hmm?” joe whispers to you, wondering what’s funny

“i think your anakin poster is staring at me”

“well don’t make eye contact with him”

finally the two of you are fully naked, still pressing kisses to each others skin, taking your sweet time

and trying yoUR BEST to be quiet (it’s hard to be quiet)

after what seems like forever of loving kisses and tender touches, joe lines himself up and presses his cock between your folds, pushing into you

you let out a soft gasp and immediately

“quiet, princess”

“m’sorry” you say, muffled from your hand covering your mouth

joe shoves a pillow between the headboard and the wall just in case because

IT’S GONNA BE CLANGING IF NOT

he takes his time with you, unraveling you so slowly

because again, it has been SO LONG

and he’s got you in the mating press

you’re biting back moans, every sensation feels like a live wire in your skin

and he hits you with that slow, deep thrust

the deadly hip swivel

tears are falling from your eyes, it’s so much but it feels sO good

“feel good, baby? love seeing you cry for me”

his voice. he’s so

perfect

sexy

amazing

when he talks you through it? oH GOd

“taking it so good. doing such a good job being quiet for me”

you loSE YOUR MIND

you can’t help it, you’re cumming around him

and still, he’s talking you through, helping you along as his fingers trace delicate patterns over your clit

“that’s it. good girl. doing so well”

and he makes you cum two more times before you’re finally ready for a shower

then you’re clean and back his his bed

now he’s falling asleep

AND SHE’S CALLING A CAB

no but really he falls asleep with his head resting on your chest

when you wake up christmas eve (technically you already were, but) you go upstairs and have breakfast with everyone

it’s so nice, his family is so loving

and you spend the whole day laughing, snacking, baking, and most of all just enjoying being back home with joe

he’s glad you’re back too

christmas morning is exciting as well. in more ways than one ;)

but afterrrrr you get to go upstairs in mATCHING PAJAMAS

and relax. and watch the kids open gifts. and most importantly

you get to watch football

joe’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him. and you’re so glad to be here

home for christmas is the best place to be 🫶🏻

photos and dividers are not mine. all cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @joeyburrrow @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

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rhettrosunsets · 5 days ago

Text

Loving Him Was Red

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Summary: You swore, once you left Wabang, you would never return. But when plans change and you have to return for a week you told yourself, it was just going to be that, a week to help your parents, a week to see your family, and a week where you definitely won't see any ghosts of your past.. except, that's not what happens, and it hurts more than you'd ever expect.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,520

Warnings: Angsty with no comfort, reader self-sabotaging, reader planning out their entire life, mention of parents divorcing, no description of what reader looks like, no use of Y/N, references to Taylor Swift's Red.

Notes: I hurt my own feelings writing this

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes.

You always swore to yourself that you’d never come back.

Wabang was too small for a imagination like yours, you had always had wild aspirations. Ever since you were a kid, all everyone in that town would hear from you was

“One day I'm gonna go to college, far from here.”

You always had a plan, everything in your life was mapped out from the moment you knew what you wanted. You knew what school you wanted, you knew the GPA you’d need to achieve to get in, you knew the test scores you needed, you even knew what community service you would do to pad your resume extra.

The way you spoke of Wabang was never in a malicious way, no, you have some love for the small town you grew up in. You had love for the way you could see the stars at night with no light pollution blocking your favorite constellations, and how the silence was so loud you could hear a pin drop. The way the darkness would lead for miles with no lights around, and you could just breathe.

But you knew, you knew you wanted more, so much more. You wanted somewhere bigger, somewhere where you could have peace. Peace from the ever lingering whispers about you, peace from the way everyone in town already knew what color your prom dress would be before you even tried it on.

You left for college with a duffel bag, a full ride scholarship, a plane ticket to Los Angeles, and the stubborn certainty of a fresh eighteen year old who thought distance would make forgetting easy. Like you would be able to forget the whispers of the town you grew up in, no more drama, no more whispers, just you trying to achieve your dreams.

But forgetting Rhett Abbott? Forgetting your first ever friend?Forgetting your first ever crush? Your first ever boyfriend?

That was never going to be easy.

Not when every night in college reminded you of his laugh echoing through the Wyoming night when you'd look up at the sky, missing the clear stars. The memories flooding back of you two laying in his truck bed, tracing constellations as teens, him always declaring you wrong, even when he knew you were right just to get you riled up so he could see your face heat up, and how you’d talk with your hands, declaring him an idiot as you’d smack his chest.

Not when you saw cowboy boots on pavement, and your chest still tightened like his truck had just pulled into the gravel area outside your old bedroom window, ready to pick you up and take you on an adventure.

He was everything you ever desired, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the fire that runs through your veins burning red, the adrenaline that makes you pant before you burst out laughing, the feeling of driving a new car down a dead end street.

He was trouble for your plans, and he was two years older than you. Already with calloused hands and the kind of sadness in his eyes that you didn’t understand until much later into your college life.

You hadn't expected to see him the day you came back. Your shoes hit the gravel as you walked outside your dad’s old feed store, the sun hanging low over the range, painting a vivid image of golds, reds and oranges across the sky, something you had dearly missed, even if you'd never admit that.

You’d only meant to be home for the week, and not a day longer. You only came to help your mom pack up the rest of the house, after her and your dads divorce finalized. They called you one day in your senior year of college, saying they just couldn’t make it work anymore, that they only stayed together for your benefit. Right. because that was always the best reasoning, you thought to yourself.

It was supposed to be a few days to help your mom pack up the last of the house, long enough to visit your grandpa, and definitely not long enough to run into old ghosts you’ve convinced yourself that you’ve forgotten. But Wabang has never ever played fair in your experience, and well Rhett,

Rhett was never just a ghost in your life.

He was in the feed store when you walked in, sweat was forming at the nape of his neck from the harsh Wyoming sun, his hat tilted back, giving you a peek to the few stray hairs sticking to his forehead. He was older now, broader, and still way too handsome for your own good, a slight tan to his skin from working outside.

Your breath caught like it always did when you saw him, the hitch in your throat that won't leave, like your body can’t process seeing Rhett Abbott in the flesh again, and not just in your dreams that haunt your mornings when you wake up.

He didn’t see you at first. You saw him though, and that was enough for the fear to come clobbering up, all your anxieties and worries you’d suppressed about coming back, coming to a peak at once. You saw how the years had worn into him, and how he was carrying his much older age since you had last seen him, his jaw was more set, more defined, his shoulders straighter, broader, carrying more confidence in himself. And his eyes, your favorite part of him?

His eyes were still the color of the wabang skies just before they stormed, those gorgeous baby blues that you remember staring into like they could fix all your teenage problems, like he could fix all your problems.

You remember looking into his eyes just wishing he'd tell you to stay. You can't say if you would've, but you had always waited for it.

When he did look up, and saw you standing there in front of him, it hit him too. And it hit him hard.

He froze. A pause that spoke louder than any hello or greeting could’ve. The silence deafening.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” he said finally, his voice low and gruff, tinted with something like disbelief.

You swallowed harshly, trying to get that hitch out of your throat, trying to muster up something to the man you’ve only seen in your dreams for the last five years. “D-didn’t think I’d be back.” you reply, your voice betraying you entirely as it cracks.

He let out a breath through his nose, sounding somewhere like something in-between a laugh or sigh “Wabang has a way of pulling you back whether you want it to or not.” He said nodding his head at you, before walking out the door, and starting his truck up, and pulling out of the feed store parking lot. The sound of the gravel haunting your ears as he did so, as you heard his truck drive off. He hadn’t changed much outside of his appearance, and that, well that hurt way more than you had ever expected.

You’d dated for almost a year before you left, you’d grown up knowing him and his family, and your friendship that had once been innocently skipping rocks and giggling in fields had turned into kissing you behind barns, long drives just to get the type of ice cream that would make you smile when you'd had a bad day. Days where you would lay in the back of his truck parked in a random field, cuddling as the only thing you could hear was the birds chirping and the soft whispers of the wind.

One night he drove you out into a field as you climbed into the back of his truck. He filled the back with tons of blankets and pillows, and got all your favorite snacks and drinks, even the ones he had to drive extra far for. That night, he held you under the stars, pointing out constellations like you always used to do. He held you close to his chest, his hands running his fingers across your face as if he was trying to memorize every inch of your skin, while he told you how proud of you he was, his voice trying not to break as he told you, even when your leaving broke something quiet inside him.

He would’ve never admitted that to you, he never wanted to hold back the girl who had her whole life planned since she was five years old, the girl who told the whole town about her future plans and the life she wanted to live. The girl who he loved, more than anything.

He knew it would break him, but he told himself he wasn’t going to ruin you along with him, he wasn’t going to be the reason you gave up everything you said you'd ever wanted. You needed to get out, to live, to see the world. It was all you’d ever talked about.

It didn’t matter that all he ever wanted was you.

He never asked you to stay, keeping the promise he made to himself.

You had told yourself that meant he didn’t love you enough, that he didn’t care if you stayed or not. It’s what you had to tell yourself so you could just manage to go to sleep in your lousy dorm bed that felt like a pile of rocks every night, wondering if you really had gotten what you wanted.

Now, years later as you stand in your home town, tears welding in your eyes as you look at the vibrant sunset, standing on the gravel that haunts your memories, you weren’t so sure he hadn’t loved you enough. No, you realized he loved you enough to let you go, and it was then that you realized,

Loving him was red.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #angst x reader #outer range #lewis pullman #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott imagine

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thearttolifesdistractions · 3 months ago

Text

i know

description: when you're with him, love feels like something fleeting. you act like you belong to each other, like it's official, but refuse to make it real. you tell yourself you’re okay with it, you always do. but when his phone buzzes, when you know it’s her, the weight of being his secret becomes hard. and still, when it’s time to leave, you don’t ask him to choose. because you already know he won’t. and maybe this situation won't grow as you hoped, but maybe that's okay.

warnings: mid writing, friends with benefits (ofc... my fav trope), mentions of nsfw but nothing explicit, angst but not really, not the best ending......

a/n: HELLO!!! crazy that you guys get two posts this week wooooahhhh…. anyways! so i wrote this after listening to 'i know' by fiona apple & i was convinced i was gonna make this a multiple part fic! buuut after writing this part i couldn't figure where to go from here 😭 well! maybe i'll make some more parts later if i can like…. figure out a plot but i figured why not post it anyways since i think it's alright as a standalone… enjoy!

wc: 3,127

paring: hozier x fem!reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The lavish, and entirely too expensive, room he’s booked is gorgeous. A five-star hotel in the City of Lights that makes your apartment back home look trivial, and that was quite expensive too. You’re curled up on the bed, body wrapped in the softest robe you’ve ever felt, watching as Andrew thumbs through a book, but his mind is clearly preoccupied, flicking from page to page without ever really focusing on the words.

He’s on tour right now, though somehow, he had it scheduled to have an entire week free in Paris, and it just happened to align with your schedule as well. The second you both found out you were free during the same week, you flew out to see him. But even now, in the most romantic city in the world, you can’t help but feel like you’re living in a lie, or a moment that neither of you really has any claim to. His distracted gaze keeps flickering to his phone on the nightstand, as though waiting for something. Or someone.

The thought of her has your stomach burning, with both anger and disappointment. He’s not technically dating her, but he keeps up the image to ‘keep the press out of his love life.’ You were supposed to be something real, something beyond whatever this is, but you’re starting to realize you’ll never be anything more than the girl that keeps his bed warm.

He doesn’t even know what that does to you, the way she’s always there, lingering in the background of every conversation. The way you always spend the last moments together wondering what he's going to do with her. He always has something planned with her after you’ve spent time together, claiming that it helps maintain the illusion that you two are just friends. He says no one will care about photos of the two of you having ‘friendly’ hangouts if he’s still going on dates with her.

It’s the last day before he’s back on tour. The last day before you go back home. It shouldn’t hurt this much. This is what always happens. You both have a brief window of time that lines up, and you meet up, privately playing the perfect couple, then going back to being friends until the cycle repeats. In the times where you both took breaks from releasing music, these moments lasted longer, sometimes months. It was hard to say goodbye then, especially after you'd forgotten how to be without him. So, it should be easier to say goodbye after just a week, right? But, he just makes it so damn hard.

You sigh quietly, the sound barely escaping your lips as you adjust to lay your head in his lap. Maybe being physically closer to him can bridge the gap, maybe it can help you convince yourself that this is normal.

His hand immediately moves to comb through your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp in a way that has your eyelids fluttering. You look at him now, meeting his gaze as he stares at you with a soft smile, and for a moment, you wish you could just ask him. Ask him what this is, what you are to him. But you know that won’t change anything. He’d probably just smile, brush it off, and go back to doing whatever it is he does. You can’t blame him for that. It’s hard being in the spotlight, knowing that everyone is scrutinizing your every move. It’s one of the first things you two bonded over.

Your mind races back to those early days, when you first met him a few years ago, working on a song together. It started as something completely professional, both of you working at the same label and they’d decided that a collab between the two of you would work well. You were both doing your part, helping each other out with a track that you’d been assigned to create. But somewhere during the late nights in the studio, they turned into late nights talks that turned into something else. You couldn’t have predicted how quickly the chemistry between you would go from creative to something more.

It was easy to grow feelings for him, almost natural. You had never really talked about what you were to each other, you just were. And it was nice. The understanding that whatever it was, it didn’t need to be defined. You think about those first days, the way he smiled when he looked at you, the subtle touches. And how, over time, it was like your lives just fit with each other’s.

The media had no idea, so they just called you "good friends," a convenient label that kept the press off your backs. It worked, until it didn’t. Of course, rumors and speculation grew about the nature of your connection: friends or something more? It wasn’t something you were worried about, understanding that whatever they said didn’t change the fact that while you were more than friends, you were still less than official. It didn’t bother you half as much as it had bothered him.

At the start of the rumors, he had opened up to you about his last public relationship. How she had received so much hate that she couldn’t handle it anymore, ending things with him in order to protect herself. How much it hurt him to watch someone he cared about so much go through so much pain because of his lifestyle. And she wasn’t even famous. He told you, then, about his fear of things getting out of hand with you. Since you both live in the limelight, how much worse it could be. You didn’t know it then, but that was his way of telling you that he wouldn’t be willing to take the risk to be with you fully.

It was at the height of the rumors that he had told you about her. Claiming that it was common amongst celebrities, saying that this “pr relationship” would be beneficial for both you and him, keeping the media out of whatever you two had going on. The way he had explained it, as a way to keep you private, at first, felt like a way of saying he didn’t want the innocence of your relationship situation being ruined by the harsh words of those who couldn’t keep their opinions to themselves. He told you that he didn’t want the two of you to rush into putting a label on things, only for it to get torn apart by the public eye. Now, you see that he really just wants to have you without the responsibility of defending you, you’re not worth the effort.

Regardless, you thought that it would be over quick. That he’d tell you he’s ready to make it official, let the media know he’s ended things with her, and continue keeping your relationship private but not secret. Of course, you were wrong. But, what did you expect? You never said it out loud, never set any expectations with him. Why would he go through the effort of ending something that requires so little from him for something that might be too much to handle?

His phone buzzes again, interrupting your thoughts, and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Another distraction. Another reminder that you’ll never really be his priority. He gives you everything he can, and it’s always just enough to keep you hooked. Not too much, not too little. And that’s all it will ever be.

He spares his phone a quick glance, and you relish in the way he tosses it to the nightstand and brings his attention back to you. “Are you alright?” He asks, finally, his voice soft, breaking through the silence. He doesn’t know what’s going on in your head. He can’t, not unless you say it. But you won’t. Not when the end of this reality is already in sight.

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice a little too steady. His eyes narrow at you, eyebrows raising. He knows you well enough to see right through the lie, but he also knows you well enough to know that you don’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t push, just gives you a look that says everything. That he sees right through you, but he’ll let you hold onto your silence a little longer. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to force the words out of you. He knows better by now.

For a moment, you both just sit there, the silence between you two comfortable. You never feel awkward with Andrew. You try to distract yourself, trying to focus on the way his hand moves gently through your hair. His touch is soft and intimate, but it doesn’t reach you the way it used to. Now, it acts as a reminder of everything that’s always just out of reach. A reminder of what could be, but never will. His gaze flickers down to you, and there’s that smile again. That soft, lazy smile that’s always just enough to make your heart skip and make you forget every bit of pain and self-doubt he’s caused.

“You know, this week was... nice,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. What an understatement. You want to say that this week was exactly what you needed, that spending time being intimate with him is the greatest comfort you know. That you want nothing but to spend every second with him, that nothing compares to the way he makes you feel. But, you’ll leave it at ‘nice.’

His smile grows as he nods, a knowing look in his eyes. He’s not oblivious of your inner turmoil, but he’ll respect your wishes to move past it. “Yeah,” he says softly, his thumb now brushing across your cheek. “It was nice. It’s always nice to be alone with you”

You wish he would have the courage to say what you wanted to. To admit that this time spent together is more than just nice, that it’s everything. The thought of him finally admitting what you both know flashes through your mind before you can stop it. But of course, he doesn’t say that. He never does. He’s always so close, just a few words away, but he’s never given you more. That might be your fault, you’ve never really asked for more than he’s willing to give. The truth is, you’re afraid to.

And not because you think he doesn’t feel the same, you know he does. You know he loves you, at least to some extent. You feel it in the way he holds you, the way his touch is always gentle, even in the most intimate moments. You feel it in the way he listens when you talk, how he’s present with you in those quiet spaces between the noise of the world. He makes you feel like you're the only one in the room, like nothing else matters when you’re around. His love is there, you know it, you feel it in every moment you share. But his fear might just outgrow it.

The thought creeps into your mind, and for the first time, it doesn’t sting as much as it used to. Maybe because you’re starting to accept that the love you share with him, as real as it is, will never be enough to make him choose you over his fear of the public, the press, everything that comes with being with someone like you.

His phone buzzes against the nightstand, and you know it’s her. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his attention flickers. For a moment, you want to reach out, take the phone, and throw it out the window. But you won’t. Because that’s not you, you’ve got a better grip on your emotions. Andrew sighs softly, his eyes glancing at his phone but not picking it up. He looks back at you, the silence stretching longer now. You know he’s trying to figure out what to say, how to ease the troubles in your mind without actually knowing them.

He knows you’re tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being the girl that no one knows about. You wish you could ask him what it would take for him to just choose you. But you don’t, because asking for that would mean acknowledging what’s never going to happen. And if you acknowledge it, the end will be real. Instead, you shift in his lap, trying to find some comfort in the closeness, and it isn’t working as well as usual. His hand lingers on your cheek, the touch warm, but not soothing the coldness you feel inside.

“Tomorrow’s the day,” you say softly, the words heavier than you expected. It’s the end of your time together. The last moment of this unending season of your life. Tomorrow. you both hit pause until the next time. “You’ll go back to the tour, and I’ll go back to everything else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes still focused on yours. “Yeah,” he finally says, voice soft but distant. “I guess we don’t have a choice.” You nod, the lump in your throat growing as you tilt head away, unable to look at him. You want to scream at him that you do have a choice. That he could ask you to stay, ask you to finally do him the favour of being his. That there is another option, he just has to say it.

“I know we don’t,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “But I wish we did.”

He sighs, eyes softening, his hand gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “I wish we did too. I wish I could give you what you need.” His voice is low, tinged with regret, and it makes your chest tighten in a way that hurts.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to talking about it, and it was barely anything. And for a brief moment, you think maybe there could be more. But the moment passes quickly, fading into that familiar silence between you two. He doesn’t press for more, and neither do you.

You sit up slowly, lifting your head from his lap, ignoring his confused look as you shake his hand from your face. His expression changes as you shift, legs settling to straddle him, lowering yourself on his lap as you rest your head against his chest. You close your eyes as he wraps his arms around you, relishing in his warmth, listening to his heartbeat, and begging for the ache to stop.

Andrew lets out a quick sigh, breaking your focus on his pulse. “So, how’s the new album coming along?” he asks, and you can hear the playful undertone.

You look up at him, seeing the mischief in his eyes. “It’s coming along,” you reply, trying your hardest to match his new mood. “You know, the usual. The pressure of getting it right, the expectations, the deadlines.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly to get a better look at your face. “Oh, yeah? Any songs about me?” His grin widens as he teases, the atmosphere going back to something just as familiar. You can tell he’s just trying to lighten the mood, and the effort warms your heart.

You laugh softly, the sound escaping before you can stop it. It’s like a breath of relief after the worries in your troubled mind. You sit up straighter, locking eyes with him, and you can’t hide the honesty in your tone despite your teasing smirk. “They’re all about you, Andy. They always are.”

His smile falls for a second, like that’s not what he was expecting you to say, which he probably wasn’t. Before you have a chance to clarify, he’s leaning in.

His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s too gentle for how much you both need it. It deepens quickly, the emotional tension feeling almost exactly like sexual. His hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers pull at the hair on the nape of his neck.

You can’t help but give into him, the way his lips move against yours with the perfect mix of gentleness and desire. He kisses you like he’s always wanted this, and you think that maybe you have too. The thought of everything that you want to say but you can’t becomes a distant memory as his hands squeeze at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

It doesn’t stay slow for long. The heat builds between you as his touch grows more urgent, more desperate. You can feel it in the way he moves, in the way his breath hitches when you tug a bit harder at his hair. You move your hands to roam over his body, exploring every inch of him. You trace the outline of his frame, the curves of his shoulders, and the defined muscles of his arms. Your hands are eager, and his hands match yours, caressing your body with a softness that has you trembling.

As the kiss deepens, his tongue teases your lips, asking for entry. You part your mouth immediately, inviting him in, and letting your tongues mix together. The taste of him is addicting, something you could never get tired of. His mouth leaves yours as he trails kisses down your neck, stopping briefly to suck at that spot just below your ear that has your back arching into him.

His hands move lower, his fingers trailing down your sides, pausing at the waistband of your silk pajama shorts. His warm touch is calming to your soul, but overwhelming to your body. He pulls his mouth from your neck and rests his forehead against yours, both of you huffing and sharing breath. Your eyes flutter open and you meet his darkened gaze, before you can speak, ask him why he stopped, he beats you to it.

“Whatever’s got you tangled up inside, let it go,” he whispers, his words slow and soft, but deliberate. “Let me take the weight off of you, love. Please.” His voice is whiny, borderline pleading. It makes your heart flutter, not just because of the softness in his words, but because he wants to take care of you. He’s offering himself, wanting to give you a release. And it’s real.

It reminds you that he’s here, now. As fully as he can be with you, and for the first time, you feel like maybe you’re both letting go of all the things that separate you. The world, the expectations, and the fear. It all slips away just for this moment.

And maybe this is the realest you’ll get with him, but maybe that’s enough for now.

#andrew hozier byrne #andrew hozier byrne x reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier imagines #hozier x reader #hozier x you #i love hozier #hozier fandom #hozier fic #hozier fanfic #hozier x y/n #the hoziest #hozier

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asirensrage · 1 year ago

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Lovestruck

Title: Lovestruck Rating: Mature Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x Undescribed!Reader Warnings: Non-descriptive smut? Nothing explicit. Confessions. Alluded semi-public sex. Mostly from his pov. Word count: ~1600 Summary: You're pretty sure Mitsuya treats you with polite indifference. He thinks that's how you treat him. Turns out you're both wrong.

Notes: Written for @enchantedforest-network's Sundress Season. I didn't quite go into as much detail as I initially planned but I like how it turned out. I hope you do too. Shoutout to @awkwardchick87 for the help in this!

You’ve known Mitsuya for years. Sort of.

The two of you have been dancing on the outskirts of your respective friend groups. You’re acquaintances more than anything, but that doesn’t stop the crush you have. Most of the girls who knew Mitsuya liked him in one way or another. He was sweet, determined and creative. It was a hard combination to resist.

You don’t sew, never had much skill with anything in the semblance of a needle, but your friend is a part of the club that Mitsuya leads and you’ve been used as a model for her designs more often than not. Standing in the room as she measures and adjusts has left you on pretty good terms with him. He’s polite, always trying to engage you in conversation to help keep you relaxed before one of the girls calls him for help.

So you don’t expect his reaction when he sees you this time.

🪡

He walks into the room and stops, stunned at the sight of you. In all the times he’s seen you, tried to talk to you to learn everything he could, he’s never seen you like this. You’re standing to the side, waiting patiently as your friend is doing…something. He doesn’t even know. He can’t take his eyes off of you. The shape of your legs, the exposed skin…his mouth goes dry. He’s wanted you for so long, since the day he met you and you smiled so sweetly at him, but you’ve never given him more than what felt like polite disinterest. And he’s tried. He’s tried to talk to you but the others in the club keep calling for his attention and he never gets the chance to run into you outside of these walls. Now you’re standing there, looking like something out of his dreams and all he wants is to take you home, to find out what you taste like and what sort of sounds you’ll make when he does.

“Wha-” his voice cracks and he laughs, rubbing the back of his head as he tries not to flush in embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

You smile brightly at him. “Hi Mitsuya! Sorry for intruding. I just stopped by for the last measurement.”

He blinks, breath catching in his throat at the way you smile. “Of course! Do…do you need help?” He swallows tightly, waiting in anticipation. The thought of being able to help, to touch your skin…he coughs, trying to get the image of his sliding his hand up under your skirt out of his head.

“I’m just about done,” your friend answers. They smile at you. “Thanks for your help.”

“Always,” you say, grinning back. You hop off the chair and Mitsuya has to force himself to drop his eyes as your skirt flies up with the motion. “Whoops,” you shove your skirt down and laugh it off, as if you’re not tempting him. He’s beginning to even wonder if you see him as a man. Maybe you just like torturing him.

He watches as your friend finishes marking down the measurements and you hover as you get ready to leave with them. His words feel caught in his throat. “Wa-wait!”

You pause as you’re walking to the door. “Hmm?”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You look to your friend. “I can wait outside,” you tell them.

“Not them, you. Please.”

You blink in surprise but nod, smiling at your friend and telling them you’ll catch up with them later. Your friend leaves and you turn to him, waiting patiently. He steps forward.

“If I’m keeping you, please…let me know. You can go.”

“I don’t have plans. It’s okay.” You turn towards him, hands behind your back which really just makes your chest press out more. You have to be aware of this, of what you’re doing to him. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he says carefully, “and if I’m overstepping, please tell me but I need to know…do I have a chance with you?”

You blink at him in surprise. “What?”

He steps closer. “Do I have a chance with you?” he repeats. “Every time you’re in this room, it drives me crazy. I’ve tried, over and over, to get closer to you only for it to feel as if I keep getting torn away by my own faults and I can’t–” he swallows tightly. “I don’t know if you’re seeing anyone, but I can’t stay quiet anymore. Not when you’re haunting my dreams and my inspiration.”

He watches as your mouth falls open in surprise. “I…wait, you like me?” you ask, looking around as if you expect your friends to jump out playing an elaborate joke on you.

Mitsuya can’t stop himself from moving closer, from reaching for your cheek only to pause. “Very much,” he agrees. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He meets your eyes with his own. “Please. If you’re already involved with someone, put me out of my misery. Tell me. I will retreat…but I need to know if there’s a chance. If you find me at all attractive or interesting enough to let me take you out.”

“I…” You look stunned.

“I have been dreaming of touching you…kissing you…” he admits, his face heating in embarrassment at how much he’s sharing. “I’m sorry.”

“Then kiss me,” you cut in.

It’s his turn to look at you in surprise. “What?”

You look like you’re trying not to grin back at him, eyes not meeting his. “You can kiss me…if you want.”

He cups your cheek gently, inhaling sharply at the feeling of your soft skin against the calluses of his fingers and palm. He tilts your head up slightly to look at him. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been daydreaming, Mitsu-”

He kisses you. His lips press against yours softly, swallowing the rest of your words. You don’t taste as divine as he dreamed but you taste human - real. It reminds him that this is actually happening. He breaks the kiss to let you both catch your breath, to give you a chance to stop him if you want, but you look up at him with those half-lidded eyes and all he can do is claim your mouth again.

🪡

It’s a blur how they got to this moment.

He confessed. Finally, he admitted to you everything he had been feeling and despite all of his fears, you confessed back. To him. And now he has you sitting on one of the desks, the skirt of your dress hiked up as he stands between your legs. You’re perfect.

He kisses your neck, sucking marks into it as he murmurs praise. His hand slides up your thigh, his callused palm feeling like it’s burning against your soft skin.

"Fuck…," you breathe, "Mitsu-"

"Let me hear you say my name," he murmurs against your skin. He needs to know what it sounds like. "Let me hear you say my name. Properly." He rolls his hips into yours, wanting more and trying desperately not to push you too far. "Come on, precious. Say it."

"Ta-Takashi.."

He groans. He digs his fingers in a little more, tightening his grip. “Again.”

“Takas-” he kisses you hard. It’s the best thing he’s ever heard in his life and he thinks he might break if you say it too often. He wants you to repeat it, over and over, until it’s the only thing you remember how to say. He wants the memory of him burned into you, just like you’re burned into him.

You lean your head back, giving him more access to mark your throat before you guide his hand higher. Mitsuya has never really believed in anything other than the results of hard work, but in this moment he thinks he’s been blessed. To touch you like this is a dream and hearing the sounds you make is nearly enough to break him. The fact that he can make you feel this good is enough.

You hook a leg around his waist, pulling him closer and Mitsuya groans against your skin. He can’t stop the way he presses his hips into yours, sliding the skirt of your dress higher as moving his hand between your legs.

He leans forward, kissing the spot between your neck and shoulder just so he’s closer, so he can memorize every sound you make as he touches you. He thinks he might be in love with every gasp, moan and whimper you make, with the way you keen for him as you arch with pleasure.

“Mi-Takashi–” you try to whisper, tapping his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to pull away, to stop, but he does. He looks at you, at your swollen lips and half-lidded eyes, and thinks to himself that you’ve never been more beautiful. “Hmm?”

“We…we should stop,” you say softly, catching your breath.

He moves his hand from between your legs, listening as you whimper at the loss. “Do you want to stop?” He asks, watching your face carefully.

“I…no,” you admit softly. “But we’re in the club room. What if someone walks in?”

“Ah.” He brushes his nose across your cheek. “We did get a bit carried away…but do you want to stop?”

You shake your head and Mitsuya can’t resist kissing you again. Especially when you open up so nicely for him, cradling him between your thighs.

He kneels before you, sliding his hands up your legs. “Then let them come,” he whispers before he ducks under the skirt of his new favourite dress of yours.

“Taka-!”

🪡 🪡 🪡 🪡 🪡 🪡

everything tag: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties

#mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #x reader #tokyo revengers fic #my writing #enchanted forest collab

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http-ducky · 4 months ago

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"Dove in The Crows Nest: A Love and Deepspace Story"

Chapter 1: Mourning

Luke + Kieran x Reader

SUMMARY: Before the Chrososhift Catastrophe that led to the opening of the Deepspace tunnel, your home was normal. You had loving parents, lived in a lovely house, and played with the neighbor boys almost daily. There was no way you could've known that your simple life would be destroyed. Torn apart by energy fluctuations and monsters that killed anything that moved. Your family left you behind, lost in the panic. By all means, you should be dead. A toddler left behind in the remnants of a once bustling technology hub, now overrun with wanderers and criminals-it's the perfect tragedy. But you weren't dead; against all odds, you survived thanks to the boys you once played with: Luke and Kieran. Their adaptability protected you and guided you whenever you were lost. Thanks to them, you live to fight another day, and you owe them more than you might realize. Now it's your turn to protect them. To prove your worth and not only survive but thrive. Show them that you are worth fighting for, and show yourself that you are stronger than you know.

A few warnings just in case: This chapter covers graphic descriptions of minor character death and goes into detail about the reader's experiences with disassociating to escape a situation mentally, being aggressively pulled out of that dissociative state, having a loose grip on reality, and PTSD induced night terrors that might trigger readers with dissociative disorders or anxiety. Please read with care.

A/N: Quite a few lines and scenes are taken from the LADS wiki or Luke & Kieran's World Underneath Anecdotes: Mischief to make the story feel as immersive as possible. They're pretty easy to spot if you've read Mischief or played the game up to Long-Awaited Revelry: Ambiguous Chaos (which I'm pretty sure you have if you're reading this), but just in case those lines and scenes are credited to Infold and the writers of Love & Deepspace, and a big thanks to the LADS wiki for being the backbone of the world building.

FYI: With what I have planned for this story, the lovey-dovey stuff probably isn't going to start until WAY later, so…slow burn? These first few chapters will primarily establish the reader's place in the story, their relationship with the twins, their experiences growing up in the N109 zone, and setting up the main storyline. I hope you enjoy my attempt at world-building (???) As always, criticism is appreciated!!!

Image Source: 饱饱家的小画家 ❤️

Being abandoned by society wasn't ideal. There weren't many outstanding role models to look up to after the smoke had cleared and any sensible adults decided to evacuate. Considering how many pets and children were left behind, however, it isn't easy to think there were any sensible adults in the first place. Perhaps all the chronoshift did was peel away the pretty facade the city put over itself. Hiding away the ugly truth that nothing good ever came from this place. Just selfish people and their selfish ideologies. 'If you throw away all morality and compassion, was it really all that bad?' At least, that's what the twins kept telling you. Those two adapted quicker to what your home had turned into than you ever could. Weirdly, they seemed…happier? Or it was that their boredom was now easier to satiate, what with all the violence and death that permeated the very air you breathed. It was hard to wake up in the morning without finding a life-threatening catastrophe to fight for survival against. Whether it was wanderers or flesh and blood, the only common courtesy found in these streets was the imminent threat of death.

Luke and Kieran were twin boys who lived next to you back when the N109 was still a typical city. In their panic, the adults, your parents, abandoned the city in mass hysteria. You always hoped it was due to their fear that they left you behind. Lost in the panic of it all, their minds prioritized their survival over risking the consequences of trying to save infant children, but the boys always said it must have been because they didn't want you. Any of you. You remember watching the news while in hiding, sitting in your ruined bedroom with them, curled into a blanket as all three of you watched the mass memorial broadcasted to mourn the lost children left behind, presumed dead. You remember frantically searching for your parents' faces in the crowd, looking for one last chance of closure. You didn't find them.

Ultimately, the three of you decided to stick together, recognizing that your chances of survival would be better than if you split. And it did; that first year, you saw kids' and adults' bodies alike strewn across the streets when it was your turn to gather food and supplies, torn apart by the wanderers in a brutal display. You ran home, holding in your tears, hoping a wanderer wouldn't catch you, too. The boys didn't make you go out again after that. You all were so young when "the Catastrophe" happened. Fragments of memories replay in your mind, often plaguing you with night terrors of the things you experienced. Things no child should go through.

They always start as nightmares. You were six in this dream when wanderers still roamed most areas. It was a nicer day, quieter than usual, thanks to the efforts of the newly formed hunters association. You and Luke decided to go outside to play while Kieran was getting food. You were playing catch, and Luke had thrown the ball too hard for you to get a grab on it, so it flew to the other side of the street. He teased you for having slippery hands, and you stuck your tongue at him as you ran off to get it. It had rolled into a bush that separated the subdivisions; a familiar roundabout would be on the other side. That's when you saw her—a hunter fighting with the biggest wanderer you had ever seen: its looming figure and the singular red eye was enough to burn its image into your retinas.

She was severely injured, the hunter; her face was covered in blood, and her leg looked to be bent in the wrong direction. You could see its bone pierce through her muscle and flesh, its foul scent almost reaching you. Every step she took looked painful, a hiss pushed from between her teeth every time she dodged or ran, but she still had her pistol pointed at the monster. You swore you could see tears falling down her cheeks, mimicking your own that stung your eyes whenever your lids threatened to close. Adrenaline flushed blood to your ears; you could hear your heartbeats pulse from your ear drum. The muscle in your chest wanted to jump out of your chest and run away, and you with it if your circulation could reach your legs. Its methodical rhythm only emphasized the unbearable pressure, like your skull would pop if you dared to look away.

Miss Hunter fought hard. Despite how much pain she was in, despite the wet reflections from the pools of her own blood, she fought. You could almost see yourself; you could stare at the mirror image she left in the murky, rusted brown of her blood and find another little girl fighting for the right to live. The irony wasn't lost on you, even despite your underdeveloped brain. She was losing this fight; she was putting in everything her humanity could give and losing. The banging of gunshots made you jump every time she squeezed the trigger. Its violent sound made your head hurt; your ears began to ring so loudly that you had to cover them and crouch over in an attempt to ease the pain. The shadows of their fight almost looked like dancing in a child's mind. Their twists and turns, her flailing to find stable ground to aim as the monster swung and scratched and clawed and bit. If you imagined hard enough, the woman's screams became singing, the monster's roars were the wind, and the blood that stained your hands and knees was just the paint for the roses. If you could escape into your very own wonderland, then maybe Luke and Kieren could come find you. Perhaps you could finally leave this terrible, awful place. Maybe you could be free and happy with the two people you loved the most. The snapping sound was just a twig; those sudden loud noises were birds, and the stream of reddish-brown liquid that began to pool at your feet was the river of tea. It was wacky and weird here, but it was safe. You were safe. They were safe…

But you just couldn't dream hard enough, could you, Alice?

All it took to shatter your carefully curated reality was a single, curious glance up: to find the Jabberwocky tear the white queen apart, her pristine dress and hair ruined by your tea. Because this was real, and you weren't in Wonderland. There was no magic cake to make you taller, just as her arm was no longer attached to her body. You couldn't make a magic potion to make you the size of a mouse, just the same as how you couldn't mend the bone that snapped so cleanly on her other leg. The Cheshire cat, his grin so pointed and fun, couldn't guide your way any more than you could guide your eyes away from hers. That moment, she saw you, and you saw her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was silent in her death when the monster snapped its jaws shut, tearing her torso from her waist. You, too, watched in silence as her now still body rolled on the ground, her arm still outstretched towards you. The part of you that wanted to still believe in your fairytale told you she was sleeping, exhausted from her fight, and getting some well-deserved shut-eye. But the other part of you, the part that remembered, took all of five seconds to rewire your brain again. Your hands shot up to your mouth to cover any screams that threatened to come out, just like Keiren taught you.

In reality, you don't quite remember how long you stayed there, watching the corpse's eyes stare into your soul as her blood pooled around her remaining body and stained the grass red. It must have been a while because, by the time the wanderer was finally satisfied with the state it left her in and disappeared, Kieran had returned from scavaging and joined Luke in searching for you. It was nightfall when they found you in that bush, and it only took one side glance from Luke at what you were locked in staring at and a nudge to Kieran's side that they agreed to ditch the ball in favor of heading home. In the terrible nightmare world of your dreams, however, you couldn't help it. Your terror and lack of ability to run away made you scream. A shrill, bloodcurdling kind of scream that couldn't be held back by a child's hand. And the wanderer heard you; how could it not? Your cries rang in your ears well out of your dream as you awoke in your bed and could still see, hear, and feel the wanderer's breath, the metallic scent of blood on its maws covering your face. The upper half of that hunter is in its jaws, trying to claw her way out. You could almost feel her fingertips trying to caress your skin while her wails of agony overlap your own. The lines between fiction and reality have blurred to the point where you can't tell what's real anymore. Was this another intruder upon your wonderland, or should you pray to whatever god would listen for the chance to finally feel at peace?

"WHAT IS IT? WHOOSE THERE!?" The door to your room flew off its hinges as Luke and Kieran burst in, holding darts and a wooden bat while wildly searching the room for any signs of an intruder. When it was evident that, in fact, nothing was there, Luke was the first to run to you to try and calm you down. He wrapped his arms around you, pushed your head into his chest, and squeezed, effectively covering your eyes and ears. You tried to toss and shove him away, still fearful of the monster that you could no longer see. Your nails dug into his arms as you tried to push them away from you with all your might. But he didn't budge, only held on higher so you could hear his heartbeat from his chest. A reminder that he was still there, that none of what you saw was real. Kieran sat next to you on the mattress and softly rubbed your back while he called your name to try and coax you back to reality. "( )? ( ) it's okay; it's just us in here. There's nothing over there." And while the comfort of their gentle tones and touch did help, the imagined scent of blood being quickly replaced by the real thing certainly didn't.

It was only until your breath began to even and you whispered to Luke that it was getting difficult to breathe that he finally let you go. As you began rubbing away any tear stains left on your face (and quietly chastising yourself for the apparent discoloration of Luke's shirt), you lifted your head to get a good look at them. Their faces, shirts, and arms were covered in cuts, bruises, and blood. Your heart dropped as your panic-ridden brain imagined they were like the hunter: vengeful ghosts haunting your dreams for being weak, but again, when the logical side of your brain kicked in, the thought was quickly thrown away. After taking a few deep breaths, as ordered by Kieren, you looked around for your clock. "What time is it…?" "Three AM," they answered in unison. Luke backed up to stand next to his brother; you got a better look at the two as their identical eyes did the same to you.

Thankfully, they didn't seem too hurt, and most of the blood didn't look to be theirs. Keiran had his hair tied up behind him, giving you a better view of his massive black eye, while Luke's unruly hair stayed down in an attempt to cover the busted lip you saw peeking through the strands. You sigh. "How was the fighting ring?" Kieran was the first to speak. "They said we couldn't join because we were 'too skinny' or something-." You vaguely recalled last night when the two of them came home angry because something didn't go according to plan. Luke's lips curled into a mischievous grin as he went to finish his twin's sentence. "So we beat up all the other fighters; that way, they had no choice but to let us in." Naturally.

You scooted over to Keiran at the edge of the bed and placed a hand over his chest, closing your eyes when a soft glow radiated from your palm. When you were twelve, you learned you were an Evolver: someone who obtained a special superpower, known as an Evol, only possessed by a small portion of the human population. You were "lucky" enough to have been born with a potent healing Evol, which came in handy with the maniacs in your life who seemed to always be in some danger as of late. So, like all things in the N109 zone, it became part of a deal. They protected you and let you stay with them; in return, you'd heal their injuries. The boys didn't seem to develop any powers, something they would often whine about; you saw that as a blessing. They got themselves into enough trouble as it is without adding magical powers into the mix.

"Sooo…" Luke began, "What was that?" Kieran gave Luke a pointed look as he put his hands up in defense. "What? I'm the only one who thought the screams of bloody murder were weird?" Kieran's wounds fully healed, and you beckoned Luke to come closer, putting your hand on his chest as well when he stood before you. "It was nothing. Just another nightmare." They looked at each other in a silent exchange. You were always jealous of how they could do that, have entire conversations with each other, and not need to say a word. A simple glance and they were on the same page. Most people could only wish to have that sort of connection in their lifetime, you included.

"Been getting those a lot lately; did something happen? Wanna talk about it…?" You couldn't tell which twin had asked you, not that it mattered. The answer would be the same. There was no way you could risk proving your weakness to them and risk getting left behind. They were strong and had each other; they didn't need you. You were safe as long as you continued to prove your value, so regardless of how you might feel, you couldn't tell them anything. You owed it to them.

You shook your head again in silent denial and quickly moved on from the subject, so they didn't have time to bring it back up. Something that would distract them: "All this to try and kill Onychinus's boss…you two really are crazy. Aren't you worried he might hurt you? Or worse…?" Kieran pulled out one of his darts and began fiddling with it. "It's not like we have much to lose; might as well make the most of it. Go big or go home, right?" You furrowed your brows at his lax attitude towards the subject. "Your lives? Each other?" 'Me?' You could only think of the last part. As much as you wished they cared for you half as much as you did for them, you knew they only had room in their hearts for each other and their own amusement.

They looked at each other and laughed. "We're on borrowed time anyway, aren't we? Might as well go out with a bang!" Luke's words felt like one of Kieran's darts shot straight into your heart. "Yeah!" Kieran continued, "We should count ourselves lucky to be killed by him; better that than risk transforming into one of those…things." You tighten at every word they speak. They were right, probably, but that didn't mean the reality of the situation hurt any less.

Two years ago, when you were fourteen, a group from an illegal research facility started gathering up as many kids roaming the streets of the N109 as they could. They were looking for test subjects to experiment with the effects of protocore enhancement and embedding those protocores into human specimens, trying to see if the cosmic energy residing in protocores could force an Evol or somehow augment a pre-existing one. Kids of the N109 were the perfect targets, already considered forgotten tragedies; no one would miss them or notice they were gone. For two years, you were separated. Luke and Kieran were taken to a facility whose specialty was powerless twins; from what they told you, they each had half of a protocore lodged in their hearts. Their connection surpassed the subconscious, and now they felt everything together. See from each other's eyes, feel what each other feels. Their pain was shared, split between the two of them. Some part of you tried to find the bright side: that at least this way, neither one of them would feel alone in their suffering. You couldn't help how your skin crawled, however, imagining waking up from the procedure and suddenly seeing double, feeling double, hurting twice as much as faceless researchers poked and prodded at you to see if your brother could feel the same. You shook in anger every time you thought of it. Stupid people and their stupid misconceptions about twins.

Truthfully, you couldn't quite remember what happened to you. It was like you spent two years falling in and out of sleep. If you thought hard enough, you could place the blinding lights of the operating table, the stale scent of the room you always seemed to wake up in, and the blurry faces of children and doctors alike asking you questions, but no matter what you did you can't seem to recall what they were about. You couldn't regain yourself until days after Luke and Kieran broke you out and managed to escape. You broke into tears the first time you saw yourself in a mirror. The boys had mugged some people for money and took you to a clothing store to get out of the rags the lab kept you in. They randomly handed you some clothes to try on and shoved you into a dressing room while they "handled the store owner" (as they put it). Your feelings overwhelmed you when you turned around to check yourself in the mirror, and your face and body were completely different from how you remembered. You were taller and built differently from the way you were before. Your hands roamed your face and skin while trying to find some sense of normalcy, something recognizable, but you couldn't find anything. You tugged and scratched at your arms and cheeks, making red marks with every passing of your nails. You scratched so hard that you drew blood from your forearms, but not even the hue looked the same as it dripped onto the floor. You don't remember when you screamed or when you fell to your knees. When you sobbed and broke the mirror in fear of what you were looking at.

The twins flung the curtain off its rack to find you curled into a corner, broken and scared. Only then did you think of getting a good look at their faces and seeing that they, too, had changed. Whereas before, you stood a few inches above them, they now were a good foot taller than you. And while their faces still mimicked each other, there was something so decidedly different that, for a moment, you thought there was no way it could be them. Their smiles weren't the same, and their eyes had lost their playful glint. Before another wave of despair could wash over you, they grabbed your arms and ran out of the store without a word. That night, the three of you discussed each other's experiences with the experiments…and you discovered that two years of your life were gone. Forever.

It'd only been a few weeks since the three of you escaped, hiding in a small abandoned house you temporarily called home. Most buildings in the N109 Zone were renovated from previously derelict structures. In the shadows, where neon lights from the bustling streets can't reach, it was easy to find a vacant space that wasn't too dilapidated. However, A few days ago, they returned to you with a document they 'found' with their names on it. It described their procedure, the effects, and…their estimated time of death

Three months. Their bodies were rejecting the protocore, and it was predicted that they had three months to live before becoming…something. Not quite wanderer, not quite human. When you asked them what this transformation would entail, they wouldn't elaborate, just insisting that allowing themselves to undergo it was out of the question. It was the first time in a long time that you could recall genuinely seeing them scared. But before you could process the words enough to react, Luke ripped the papers from your hand and threw them out the window before telling you their master plan: they were going after Sylus, the unofficial head of the N109 zone.

You had reminded them multiple times of the stories you heard growing up about his influence and power; nobody could lay a finger on him, but they would wave you off and tell you the same thing they were telling you now. Once, when trying to convince them to give up on this fruitless adventure, they asked you if you could heal them. If whatever experiment was done on you could stabilize the protocores in their hearts. You didn't think they could have that much hope in you, but you didn't know. You didn't know what had been done to you, and you didn't know if it affected your Evol at all. It was the only thing that felt the same as before.

Which brought you back to the present: Your fingers started to sting while the last of Luke's wounds closed up, and you shook your hand away as the burning sensation subsided. You didn't bother looking up at him when you stood up from bed. "I'm gonna go get some water." Luke's eyes lit up at your statement, and he dashed out of the room to the ice machine. Kieran groaned and rolled his eyes at the sound of his brother rummaging around for the best block. You couldn't help the tug of a smile from the corner of your lips when you watched them. They are so similar, yet so different.

You once asked Luke why he loved ice so much, and apparently, during one of their escape attempts they got caught by the guards, and Kieran ended up getting beaten up so badly that he ended up with a mouthful of blood. They were stuck in solitary confinement for two weeks because they refused to reveal how they managed to get out, and Kieren denied all medical treatment. But because they're connected, Luke also had to suffer despite having already healed. The ice was initially numb to the pain that wasn't his own, and it later developed into a thrill for the cold. Kieran, after his two-week confinement, had taken the lesson to heart. The day his punishment ended, he exacted his revenge with a dart he made. After that, crafting darts became a hobby. Yet another instance of change that happened without you ever knowing about it.

Luke was already crunching away at his ice cubes and waiting for more when you poured a water bottle into a glass and topped it off with ice. Luke scooped up two cubes as they fell, popped them into his mouth, and then turned back to his brother, who was now sitting on the couch. "You want some ice?" but Kieran waved his hand in dismissal. "Ice reminds me of when I got beat up. I'll pass." Laughter filled the room as Luke tossed an ice cube at Kieran before plopping onto the couch and crossing his legs. "Serves you right." His twin looks down at the ice cube in his hand with a frown before dropping it on the ground, making Luke whine about 'wasting a perfectly good ice cube.'

You drank your water and sat on the floor beneath them, leaning against the couch frame. The room was silent, except for the ice melting in your glass and Luke's crunching. There was comfort in the quiet. For a moment, it was like you were fourteen again. All the wanderers were wiped out, the hunters' association had officially deemed you no-hunt zone 109, and you had each other. All you had to do was stick together and survive. In that memory, nothing else mattered.

"We're going back tomorrow." Kieran leaned back against the cushions and reached his arms above him. "Fourth rule of a successful ambush: swiftly abandon flawed tactics and use new strategies to confuse your opponent!" you stared down at your now empty glass in quiet contentment. You knew what he was referring to: "The Four Rules of A Succesful Ambush!" was something you used to read in a comic book about spies when you were younger. They loved it so much that they began to use them as their own. You doubted that the silly rules used to fight comic book villains would work on the real threat they were going after. You could hardly manage to mumble out a meek "What's the plan…?" without the threat of tears rolling down your face again. If they had noticed your struggle, they wouldn't have mentioned it. Instead, choosing to continue with a level of excitement that didn't match the conversation topic.

Luke punches the air in front of him: "We're gonna pretend to want to be his subordinates! Then, when he least expects it, we'll stab him in the back!" He makes a gesture with his fists to mimic the action of stabbing someone as his other hand goes to give his brother a high-five. You could only give a hum in response. You could say something about how Sylus had likely seen this tactic before, what with being the most extended running boss in the N109's history, and that they were almost certain to fail. You wanted to tell them to stop, to give up on this adrenaline high, and stay with you where it was safe. You could crawl on your knees and beg them to return to the way things were before, one last chance to feel some sense of normalcy before the only friends you'd ever known and your only source of protection from this damnable place were gone forever. But you couldn't. You couldn't be so selfish as to take away their last chance at feeling some sense of purpose before it'd be taken away. So you stood up from the floor, leaving behind your empty glass, and went back to the room to sleep. From behind you, you could hear one of the boys stand up and call out to you; their voice almost seemed strained, "Night ( )!" Kieran.

You didn't bother to look over your shoulder; it was too painful to think this would be the last time you'd ever see them again. Instead, you nodded your head and walked away. "Goodnight, Kieran…Luke. Good luck tomorrow; I'll be here when you get back…"

Did you know you could've read this sooner? Chapters get posted earlier on my A03 page! Chapter 2 is already out!!!

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hongjoongspoetry · 3 months ago

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Sparks and Bruises | Teaser

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to strangers to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, more to come...

🥊 Wordcount: Estimated 12.0K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). So, two more days left until the last fic of the event is out!!! I'm so excited to share it with you guys :3 But first, here's a lil sneak peak

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes such as descriptions of minor injuries and explicit language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

Masterpost Event taglist

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.”

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips.

“Long time no see, huh?”

#[🌸] cherry blossom march event #cromernet #song mingi x reader #song mingi #ateez x reader #ateez

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ranchclan · 4 months ago

Note

📜 ❔📝⛔️

📜 How does your clan’s warrior code differ from other clans?

Ranchclan in particular has a pretty lax warrior code! Especially compared to Valleyclan who can be rather traditional, Ranchclan is much more welcoming of outsiders (doesn’t allow daylight warriors though, you can be an ex-kittypet but your focus has to be on your clan, not your folk), Obviously clerics are allowed to have kits, as are the leader and deputy even if there’s talk about it. I reference a lot of @/bonefalls work and their expanded warrior code, including stuff like Queens Rights.

❔Do you have any suggestions for people looking to start their own clangen blogs?

Include everything in your notes, don’t include everything in your notes. Which doesn’t make much sense, but what I’m saying is like, look at Everything. The relationship tab, cats thoughts, patrol beginnings and events, and you don’t have to write All of it, because a lot of it is probably useless, but when you’re able to string a couple of events relating to a small group, it really works out in your favor for connecting dots and plot lines.

Play 24 moons ahead, and DRAW 24 moons ahead. This may just be a me thing, but having the buffer pages of regular updates on queue, and giving me time to work on 25-48 and 49-72. It also helps with plot writing because you don’t get attached and have big introductions for loners who join the clan only to die from redcough the next moon. This way you can track important plot lines between multiple moons and be able to set the scene for how and when events happen, it’s also great for me making bonusranch content for inbetween because I get interactions from people who inspire them the week of posting ya know.

Speaking of, don’t be afraid to move around small events in the timeline or diverge from clangen as much as you’d like, it’s just the base, and for the most part it doesn’t matter if someone comes out of the closet on moon 23 or 24 if it fits with your pacing better.

Keep your clan small. It’s going to grow rapidly, as clangen is wont to do. Ranchclan in particular has smaller litters for whatever reason, but don’t be afraid to cull kits (sorry), loners, or other clan-joiners to reduce your population and keep only the characters who have plot lines and investments. Otherwise! Save them for mass extinction fodder.

Typefaces, typefaces, typefaces. So many clangen blogs suffer from the fact that some of y’all have ass handwriting or pick really swirly cursive fonts, or write too small! (not to call out anyone specific, many blogs do this and I get the reasons for it!) but making a clean, concise, and legible typeface is going to up your engagement, and makes your panels look cleaner. There are nice handwritten fonts out there, or making your own like ranchclans custom typeface from Calligraphr. Same thing with actually labeling characters in your panels, it’s really useful especially when you’re just starting and introducing characters, and/or when your clan gets large asf and needs reminders. Something I really want to do for Ranchclan sometime is go through and make image ids for the whole thing, captions in the description, and I want to go through with a colorblind filter to make sure that my type doesnt blend in with the background

📝 What do your notes look like?

These are some of my older notes, and like I said previously , a lot of these events get moved around to different moons where less happens. I’ve also started taking more in-depth notes since I started, and events I don’t use but still like, I save for bonusranch content. I sometimes have notes like if someone is injured and it later leaves a scar, I go back and mention where the injury in placed in my notes for future reference.

⛔️How long are you planning on making your comic? For as long as you feel like it, or is there a set end? Also @nimbusclan for asking this question too!!

So I was actually just talking with my partner about it, and I think the goal for Ranchclan is 1000 moons!! I’m not holding myself super strongly to that if I end up losing passion about it, but so far I’m having the time of my life working on Ranchclan and will keep doing it till I’m bored, no set end, just the cats daily lives. I’ll be working on other projects in the meantime, like Dungeonclan (sorry I started Houndclan and did get bored, dogs are less interesting to draw despite their variety), and expanding ranchclans world with Valleyclan and Wanderingclan. Maybe someday I’ll post about my human specific ocs (*cough* dnd characters *cough*)

Thank you so so so much for all the questions!! I really appreciate it my dude 🧡🧡🧡

#ranchasks #luckyfoot meows #this was so nice Ty Ty Ty

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gremlin-girly · 4 months ago

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Part of the Sun, Sea & Sirens Collection

Pairing: Siren!Curtis x f!antartic researcher!reader (Snowdrop)

Tags/warnings: SMUT, dub/non con (for siren song), monster fucking, descriptions of drowning (sorry there's not many other things you can do in the sea lmao), descriptions of animal attacks, blood, descriptions of hypothermia, dry humping, size kink (I made him big and beefy soz), clit play/teasing, nipple play, kinda cum play,talk of mates (as always xoxo),

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI! All work is 18+

Summary: On a routine trip to monitor some penguins, things take a turn for the worst. Thankfully, you're rescued and hatch a plan to get back to your outpost and home with a new found friend.

Word count: roughly 6k

A/N: So many rehashings later we. Are. Here. This was a real labour of love because I had to look up so many things and the story just kept going and going and going... and then i got an integral plot point WRONG. 😩 oh well. Part 2 shouldnt take as long. Enjoy!

Additional Author's Notes to be added later for research links etc. X

Banner by me, made in Canva (image credit to the creators, I sourced these on Pinterest) | Dividers by: @/bernardsbendystraws

Navigation | Sun, Sea and Sirens Masterlist | Curtis Masterlist | Part 2

Your expedition parka was zipped all the way to your chin as you threw on your ugliest, most beloved bobble hat to brave the harsh freeze of the Antarctic.

“Do you think I could request a parka in any other colour than dehydrated piss yellow?” You ask Amil as you tug on your gloves.

Amil was one of the other four researchers with you on the expedition and probably the one you were closest to, mainly due to the fact that you studied inter-connecting fields; yours being polar marine life and Amil’s being observational oceanography. Oceanography has many fields of study, Amil’s being focused ocean-ice interactions, specifically focussed on how the rising sea levels were affecting the oceanic climate. In the same vein, the melting of the ice caps meant changes to polar marine life; your area of expertise. Many a late night on the desolate planes of the Antarctic had you both chattering away in the common area discussing possible solutions and outcomes of your research.

“We don’t even get funding for better canned food; you’d be hard pushed to find approval for a new colour coat.” He laughs up at you from lacing his boots.

“Yeah,” you sigh and open the door. “Very true.”

You knew that life as an Antarctic researcher wouldn’t be a cake walk. Below freezing temperatures and no fresh food other than fish meant you were limited to a minimum of six months of fish breath. The only upside was watching and studying what little life seemed to flourish in this frozen wasteland. Penguins were a regular feature favourite, some of which had been tagged by the team in order to tell them apart from the others, and you closely monitored them. Sometimes seals or orcas made an appearance, which meant you had to watch on at the edge of your hiding spots as nature took its course.

Looking out onto the vast icy plane before you, the sun’s rays making the snow glitter, you can’t help but wonder if somewhere out there in the unforgiving cold there was a discovery waiting for you to find. You’d heard about bacteria and the like but part of you wanted something more, something bigger, like the abominable snowman or a yeti. Something worth studying. What if there was a culture or language that hadn’t met human connection yet? What if you were the person to make that connection?

Dreams of grandeur and snowman-human communications often occupied your thoughts, even if you yourself knew that it was just a dream.

Checking everything one last time, you and Amil begin to make your way to the boat.

The boat wasn’t really a boat, per se, more of an inflatable red dingy. Funding really was low.

As Amil tugs on his life jacket, a lovely neon orange to match the yellow of the coat, you do a check of the boat; ensuring no bite marks may have appeared over night from a bored polar bear. You give Amil a quick thumbs up as you begin the arduous process of fighting your life jacket on whilst Amil checks the recording equipment. On days like these when the sun is bright penguins are out in droves. Which means so are all the predators.

You hate to idly watch by and do nothing but, research is research, and mother nature is cruel and unforgiving at the best of times. You and Amil heave the dingy onto the dark water clambering in quickly before it moves too far, the buoys along either side of the dingy bob frantically at the nuisance but quickly settle as the tiny engine roars to life and you set off across the water to the penguin outpost.

“Do you think we’ll see any orca today?” Amil asks, tinkering with the camera.

“Possibly.” You say casually, manoeuvring around a stray ice plate. “It’s quite warm today, so I’m hoping we can see the seals on the beach.”

Amil chuckles. “They are cute when they sunbathe. Maybe Marnie will be a little more confident and say hi.”

Marnie was one of the seal cubs you’d miraculously managed to put a tracker on. A sweet white ball of fluff who was so shy she rarely peeked her head past her mum.

“I doubt it. But damn it,” You groan. “She’s just too damn cute!”

You stall the boat about twenty metres from the penguin outlook and watch on with a happy smile as they waddle around. The water is quiet, barely making waves against the boat and you and Amil make the silent agreement to move a little closer to the giant ice floe with the oars.

“Oho,” You whisper to Amil as he focuses the camera lens, pointing to one of the penguins carrying a small pebble. “Looks like someone’s trying to propose.”

Watching the tiny penguin hop over others to an awaiting mate is probably the sweetest thing you have ever been blessed to witness in real-time. Coos and caws of excitement from the penguins erupt all over the floe and you and Amil cheer on silently from the dingy, grinning widely at each other. It’s only when the penguins chatter dulls again that you hear another noise.

You check behind you, the water inky black even in the sunlight. There aren’t any ripples, no black fins protruding the surface. But the noise remains.

“Do you hear that?”

Amil looks at you and strains his ears before nodding. “What the hell is that?”

You shrug helplessly. It’s an eerie howl, low and gravelly. You’ve never heard anything like it before, and you’re supposed to be the expert. Looking back to the water you squint, hoping to see something. You think you catch a glimpse of a tail but you can’t be sure; the water is too dark to see anything unless it was at the surface. However, a sense of unease creeps in, like you’re being watched.

“We should go.” You say, making a grab for your oar. “I don’t like this, Amil.”

Amil rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You can’t be serious, we just got here! Scared of your marine monsters you always hope to see?”

You shake your head, cold sweat rolling down your back even in your many layers of clothing. “It’s not that it-“

You pause as fear seeps into your bones, quietly muttering. “Listen.”

Amil frowns but follows your instruction. The penguins have stopped chattering. Huddled together on the ice floe, they’re almost silent apart from the occasional squawk from a young chick. A predator must be near, one that you can’t see, and suddenly you’re wishing that you’d never asked for a bigger discovery.

The howl comes again, then what sounds like the bang of a drum. You wrack your brain for answers, but you can only settle on orca. But if it was orca you'd have seen them by now. They hunt in packs, they’re mammals and need air, a dorsal fin or a snort for air would have pinpointed them for you. But you also know that orca, for all their intents and purposes, don’t hunt humans. Their intelligence alludes them to the fact it’s not optimal to eat you but that doesn’t mean you want to get close enough to test that theory.

The sound of water splashing makes you turn your head but there’s nothing but quick ripples when you look. You’re ten miles from the shoreline you came from, your camp another five inland on a snowmobile. If your dingy tipped, you’d have maybe fifteen minutes of swimming to complete before going hypothermic if you were lucky. And that’s if whatever was in the water was happy to only eat penguin.

“Amil,” You whisper hurriedly, grabbing your friend’s attention. “Your oar. Let’s go.”

Amil, now pale-faced after finally understanding your predicament, shakily picks up his oar. You both gently dip your oars in the water and watch them disappear as you slowly begin to row backwards from where you came. A curious, or brave, penguin steps down to the edge of the ice floe and dives into the water quickly followed by another handful. You sigh, grateful for the distraction until one of the penguins slams into the side of the dingy, making it rock violently. You grip the wide sides and peek overboard. Only darkness stares back.

“Hooooo,” You breathe out nervously, nodding at Amil and begin rowing again. Another penguin smacks into the dingy, this time catching a rope from one of the buoys that may have not been as tight as you thought, ensnaring itself in a knot as the bouy bobs away from you. Your training and research dictates that you should always let nature take its course, however, if you were a tiny little penguin furiously trying to escape an unknown monster, you would be grateful for a helping hand from a piss-yellow-coat-neon-life-jacket-wearing hairless yeti.

You lean over the edge of the boat, ripping the small swiss army knife free from your deep pockets and sawing at the rope frantically as the penguin splashed around in a blinding panic.

"Amil!" You scream sending ripples across the surface, half turning to look for your friend for help. "AMIL!"

It happens so fast, you only catch snippets of the next few moments; the feeling of hot steaming breath on the back of your neck as teeth sink into the faux fur of your hood, the growl of triumph in your ears as you're yanked backwards viciously, the look of terror on Amil's face as he reaches for you, centimetres from your own outstretched hand as you hit the water and the taste of winter ice filling your mouth as you try to scream.

The last thing you hear before the being dragged under the ice is Amil screaming your name.

You can't remember ever being so cold.

Your body seizes as your legs flail helplessly. You feel incredibly stupid. Leopard seal. Of course, it was a leopard seal. Not much was known about them other than a few measly facts like their singing, their size and their territorial behaviour.

Ice burned in your lungs. You were lightheaded, low on oxygen and dizzy. However, escape would be futile. You feel the maw release you and for a few moments you begin to float upwards - you scrunch your face waiting for the killing blow only to be barrelled into by something bigger.

Which can never be good.

It feels like you're moving diagonally. There's a howl, a grumble and you swear you can hear a man's voice tell you you're safe. Half convinced you're dead or dying you don't give it much credence until you breach the surface of the water and are thrown onto ice.

You cough and splutter salted ice water from your lungs and heave a sharp, deep inhale of air. You don’t know where you are, or how you’ve survived but everything aches from adrenaline. Moving to sit up, you notice you’re on thick, clear ice that surrounds every corner of your vision but it blurs before you can make out anything distinguishable.

Your dehydrated-piss yellow parka has absorbed too much water and weighs down on your shivering body. Panic settles. You need to get out of these clothes ASAP and get dry.

That’s rule one of hypothermia avoidance.

The zipper slips from your fingers a few dozen times as you try to undo it, teeth clicking together like a ghostly xylophone echoing against the ice. There’s a swish of water behind you and you think the seal has decided to finish what it started. You half turn, ready to be met with a maw of sharp teeth, but instead you’re met with a beast of a man clambering out the hole in the ice.

His arms are thick with muscle, straining as he heaves himself from the water. His hair is close cut but because his face is focused downward, you can’t make out any features on his shadow-cast face. Your eyes trail his torso; like the rest of him he’s huge, with taut muscle and dark, thick hair that runs from his chest all the way down to his abdomen. His body is littered with scars, ranging from silvery slices to pink teeth-marks. He’d clearly wrangled with beasts plenty of times.

You breathe out slowly, watching the rest of his form emerge from the depths. Scales dance around his hips in what little light is available and you blink rapidly as more and more appear. You think, finally, that you’ve drowned and this is the final image your brain has decided to subject you to; a giant merman with a tail as blue as the midnight sky.

Maybe he’s here to finish what the seal couldn’t.

The thought terrifies you and you shuffle backwards, your hands failing to find grip in the ice so you end up blindly kicking your legs. The movement makes the man (monster?) raise his head, cementing you to your spot as bright, frost-blue eyes connect with yours.

A vicious thought enters your brain; about how you wanted this. You wanted a discovery and by a sick twist of fate, you’ve gotten it.

“LIE DOWN!” He bellows, icicles shaking above you. He slides across the ice so quickly, grasping you by the shoulders to keep you still. Your wide eyes can’t even cry because you’re so scared. He seems to briefly register your fear because in a softer voice he adds, “I need to get you warm and dry. Trust me.”

You nod wordlessly, stuck between fear and logic with your chattering teeth. The merman, for lack of better a word, tears at your ugly coat and hurriedly peels away at your layers. Your shock doesn’t even let you feel embarassed about being naked in front of the merman, too busy focusing on your own survival to even think about letting a bit of bare skin get in the way.

The ice floor beneath you is cool against your skin but not freezing, yet you still shiver. The merman lifts you with ease, holding you close as he moves across the open space to a nest of furs you’d missed when you’d first breached the ice. Setting you down gently, he wraps you in a fur leaving only your face and wet hair visible. The scent of the fur is overwhelming; leathery, salted musk that had mingled with the creature's sweat. It was strangely comforting, considering the situation you were in.

“Th-thank you.” You slur, cosying yourself beneath the blanket. “A-are we s-s-safe here?”

He grunts and nods in response but doesn’t say anything else, watching you carefully. To say he’s huge is an understatement. He’s positively gigantic, towering over you with a fretful look etched along those strong features. He’s borderline stauesque, almost unmoving muscled ivory skin that looks almost blue in the reflection of the cave. Your discovery, your saviour, your merman was the most beautiful specimen if you’d ever seen one.

“What’s your name?” You puff out slowly, trying to keep your breathing steady as you fight the tiredness settling in your bones. Adrenaline levels in your body must be dropping but you can’t sleep yet, not until you have some questions answered and can safely stay warm.

“Curtis,” he murmurs, leaning down closer to inspect your face. “It’s Curtis.”

“Curtis.” You murmur back and a smile creeps onto your lips. A big, beautiful creature called Curtis was your saviour. A sea monster called Curtis is almost laughable but it's cute. He's cute.

“What’s so funny?” He asks raising an eyebrow at you quizzically, his head tilting slightly. His eyes are possibly the bluest you’ve ever seen and you’re utterly lost within them.

“Nothing.” You say quickly, ducking a little further under your fur to hide your lips. You give him your name, smiling dumbly at him. He says it slowly, savouring it on his tongue and your heartbeat quickens.

You're a scientist. He's a discovery. Why are you so wound up like a teen with a crush?

His blue eyes are still watching you closely as his large tail curls around your tucked knees and, with what you can only be described as purring, nudges at your forehead with his.

A wave of warmth rolls over your body and settles between yout thighs, making you sigh with delight. You blink up at him lazily, well-aware that it’s most likely the hypothermia making your brain turn to blissful fluff, but you’re suddenly more concerned about the fact he may get hypothermia too, even as a merperson.

“Where’re your furs?” You ask, shuffling your legs against his tail. He was emanating heat like a merman radiator.

He chuckles. "You're using them."

“Oh.” You blink in slow surprise. “We should share then.”

Curtis watches you with amused fascination and you gingerly lift the furs, offering to share your warmth with him.

“You need them more than me.” He counters and you shake your head.

“I can’t have you going hypothermic on me, either.” You huff before shivering. “Just please get under here.”

Curtis sighs through his nose, draping a heavy arm around your waist, tugging you closer to his huge body, letting the furs contain your heat. You squeak but the moment your bare chest touches his you can feel heat pour from him and instead of making a point to divide up sides, you hum with delight. Curtis mimicks your hum and you feel that tide of warmth wash over you again.

“You’re so warm.” You whisper and his grip tightens.

"Hush," He sighs, his other arm acting as your pillow and pulling your face into his chest. "You're safe now. Close your eyes and rest."

Your face is buried into the hair on his chest, inhaling a musky mix of salty sea water and sweat as your arms wrap around him. You shudder with cold as you fight away the impending feeling of panic. Amil thought you were dead. Was Amil safe? Did he get back to base? Your friends, family...

"I need to get back to the base." You breathe quietly. Your legs brush against the scales of his tail and your surprised to find that they're soft, not scratchy. Moving of their own accord, your legs rub against the scales, the friction building much needed heat. "They need to know I'm okay."

"Stay here tonight." Curtis rumbles and you feel your argument die in your throat. "That's tomorrow's problem."

A large palm moves soothingly up and down your back, and you find yourself curling into him, chasing his warmth. You don't know what's come over you. You should be terrified, you are terrified, but it's lost within a cloud of fog over your brain. Your body wraps itself around Curtis like a second blanket, a leg hitched over his hip to press close to his body under the fur.

You find your body slowly melting into him and you sigh with contentment; despite anxiety's slithering tendrils curling at the edges of your psyche, you felt safe. Comforted.

Horny.

That couldn't be right. Your brow furrows slightly as you chide yourself. You're a scientist. adrenaline has done one over on you, and although you aren't a psychiatrist, you could make a safe bet that this feeling was linked to the fact you almost died gruesomely and Curtis was your saviour. Plus, he was easy on the eyes too.

From where your head is on his chest; vibrations rattle along your skull as Curtis, for lack of a better word, begins to purr. That rolling warmth you felt earlier returns, your body slowly drawing itself from sleepiness. Then the sound stops as you fidget, fighting your body to stop itself from grinding against Curtis' scales.

"I'm sorry," Curtis murmurs against your ear and despite the warmth emanating from you both, you shiver. "I was getting too comfortable."

"Too comfortable?" You echo, peeking up at him. His eyes meet yours, searching your face and studying your reaction with budding curiosity.

"I didn't mean for-" He looks apologetic. "It's my song."

You blink up at him. "Song?"

He nods gently taking your hand closest to his chest and placing it where your head had been resting, near his heart and then he hums.

The same vibrations rumble through his ribcage, brain fog descends once more making you feel giddy while your stomach swoops with anxiety. However, despite the anxiety, you find yourself humming back and matching his vibration with your own.

You argue to yourself that you mimic him, that you're doing what you'd do if you found another animal; trying to understand how they communicate. But deep down, within the roils of terror, you knew your body acted of its own accord.

"Your soul called to mine in those cold, dark waters." Curtis' low baritone echoes around the cave, sending vibrations across the thick ice beneath you. "And I responded. You feel it don't you? When I sing?"

You couldn't deny the feeling but then he adds in a whisper, "That's how I knew you were mine."

You can feel the thud of his large hear pumping beneath your palm. You're part terrified, part intrigued; how was this different to the dreams of your yetis and snowmen?

The other part, the deeper, darker part of you knows what's he's saying is true. You're both connected somehow and you can't deny your attraction to him, even if you are still frightened of how your body is reacting to him.

It must read all over your face because Curtis chuckles, low and deep. You peek up and catch a small smile and his glittering blue eyes as he looks at you like he's won the lottery and it makes both your heart thrum. He moves his face closer, pressing his forehead to yours and nudging your nose with his again. You move your face slightly and Curtis moves again, this time capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. It's short and unexpected but it still leaves you breathless.

"I am sorry if I scared you earlier," he murmurs, his nose nudging yours as he purrs again. "I wanted to make sure you were safe and unharmed."

"Stop doing that." You eke out, face flushed with embarassment as you grip onto his shoulder. Damp heat had settled between your thighs and you desperately needed friction.

Curtis looks at you quizzically before realisation dawns. "If you need to use me," He says with a small smile. "Do so. I won't mind."

You bury your face into his chest to hide how red your face is.

"Anything my mate needs or wants from me is yours."

Mate.

That word rips through your mind and you try to argue

"I'm not - we're not..." You say thickly. "Mates?"

"It's a rare occurrence for humans to be mates but it does happen." Curtis nods. "Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. I thought there was no one for me. But then I heard you."

You cast your mind back to when you were in the boat. Had he been watching you then? Was the gaze you felt his and not the leopard seal?

Or was it beneath the surface of the water? Did your scream send vibrations through the water that he happened to hear? If so, that opened up a research possibility.

Vibrations we're a clear method of communication, nothing surprising about that since a lot of marine animals would use the water to their advantage. Without meaning to, had you bound yourself to him?

You shake your head, nose and cheeks brushing against the coarse hair on his wide chest. You didn't want to think about it but at the same time it was all you could think about. From the way he spoke, it sounded like these merfolk mated for life. And it didn't help that you were so hot and bothered by him that you just wanted to crawl on top of him and-

Your right leg hitches itself over his tail, the thick muscle sits between your legs now, soft scales biting gently against your skin. You timidly roll your hips forward and a groan wracks your body as your clit rubs over the slightly bumpy scales. It feels better than good, it feels amazing and you roll your hips again, biting your lips this time. You can't stop yourself, the pleasure you feel easing the ache you'd been feeling.

Curtis' left hand, the one that had been running up and down your back, grips the back of your thigh and hoists you higher, your face closer to his and your needy cunt pressing against the his scales. His nose nudges yours again, and you raise your lips to his with no hesitation. He tastes like salt water and when you hum, licking away the salt with your tongue, Curtis' grip on your thigh tightens and lifts it higher letting the furs slip away and bearing your cunt to the icy cave.

You gasp quietly and peek at him through tired lashes, his blue eyes dark and focused on your face as he adjusts his wide hips. Then you feel it, the heavy weight of his thick cock moving through your folds easily, slowly. To say he was huge was understatement. His cock matched his imposing size; and when his scaled hips rolled back and the leaking tip of his cock brushed your throbbing clit, you jutted your hips forward to meet his. You want to climb him, fuck him, milk him. And Curtis seemed to know this, smiling at how your lips part and how your eyes beg for more.

"Needy little thing," He chuckles. "But not tonight. It'll be too much for you."

He places a chaste kiss to your forehead, moving his hips again, your pussy clenching as his cock ruts between the soft of your thighs, giving your clit plenty of attention. It's not long before your moans become high and breathier and you cum with a shudder and a loud whine over his cock.

"You look so beautiful when you cum. I can't wait to see you stretched over my cock." Curtis murmurs as he continues to thrust through your silky folds before he reaches his climax, coating your thighs with thick sticky spend.

You cast a glance downward, watching the scales shimmer in what little light you have. The scales fall in a V shape around his hips, dark hair of his snail trail disappearing under them. His cock, strangely, is where it would be if he were human only difference is that it's protected by scales. Your fingers delicately trace the line where scale meets skin as Curtis tugs the fur back across you both, shuddering at your touch.

He huffs a breath but allows you to continue, his own fingers tracing patterns against the back of your shoulders.

"So pretty," you murmur sleepily, watching his muscles twitch under your touch.

"Rest." He urges quietly with a kiss to your forehead. "We can explore eachother more tomorrow."

You hum in acknowledgement, your eyes slowly closing. It's not long before you're asleep, dreaming of merfolk and their communication, society and their mating rituals.

When you blink awake, you're not sure how long you have been asleep. It may have been hours or minutes but you're cosy and warm with Curtis still wrapped around you, now acting as big spoon. His legs are tangled with yours, which is strange because, if your memory served correctly, he was a giant merman last you checked.

Your face heats as your realise that your inner thighs are still sticky with Curtis' cum. So that wasn't a dream. But Curtis doesn't have a tail anymore. You remove left arm entrapped under the arm Curtis had lay across your waist, exploring down his thigh; muscular, some coarse hair, but no scales.

You frown.

Maybe in your vulnerable state you'd assumed he was a merman. You make a small grumble of frustration. Curtis stirs gently, his cock twitching against your ass.

"Snowdrop," He mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You angle your head to peek at him and see his eyes are still closed but his arm around you squeeze you tighter. Your face heats with embarassment as you mutter a quick apology.

"Go back to sleep." Curtis repeats, snuggling into you again, his beard tickling the nape of your neck.

Your mind starts to race, subconsciously wiggling further back against him under the furs. You shift your legs every few moments, remembering the state you were in; blissed out after humping his thick cock. Shame and arousal wash over you. He'd not only let you do it he'd encouraged it; using you only after you'd cum and not pushing to fuck you. Your heart strings tugged, even if it was the bare minimum. He seemed to have genuinely taken to you and you were still trying to make sense of him; you almost felt guilty for it.

There's a sigh behind you and Curtis' big hand that had been been draped over your waist slowly made its way between your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing slow circles, making you gasp and jerk in surprise.

"I'll help you get back to sleep then, Snowdrop." Curtis murmurs, angling the large arm under your neck to fondle at your bare tits. He rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he he rubs at your clit, swiping some of his still-sticky cum over your sensitive nub. You groan pressing your ass back against him. His fingers dip downward to your cunt, slipping in one thick finger as he kisses and nips at your neck, slowly pumping you a few times before adding a second finger and letting your walls constrict them.

"Your cunt is still slick." He comments, his half-hard cock pressing against the curve of your ass. "You must have been having good dreams."

Your pussy squeezes at his words and you can feel his smirk on your neck, his fingers pressing against your walls to keep you stretched open. His thumb swipes at your swollen clit and he tweaks at you nipple, earning himself more moans of pleasure.

"Curtis please." Your back arches against him, letting the pleasure wrack your still-tired body.

"I'm sorry, Snowdrop. If I don't stretch you open you'll never fit on my cock." He purrs, kissing your cheek softly. "We can't have that, can we?"

You groan in response when his fingers start to curl and move inside your pussy. Curtis was right, you were still wet, and your orgasm was pending on release as he holds you at the edge; curling and pumping his fingers all while toying with your nipples and clit. It was too much.

"Curtis," you gasp, weakly reaching for his face, behind you, twisting your neck uncomfortably to place sweet kisses against his lips. "'M gonna cum."

"That's fine, pretty thing." He murmurs. "Cum for me."

Gentle kisses are placed to your temple as you heave breaths, shuddering as your cunt gushes around his fingers. Curtis' fingers linger inside you for a few moments before retreating, and you watch in a haze as he takes a long lick of them, savouring your cum against his tongue. His eyes are almost predatory black as he looks down at you.

"You taste..." He trails with a happy hum, lapping at his fingers. "Delicious. I'm going to enjoy ruining our bedsheets when you're ready."

"You know what bedsheets are?" You giggle softly as he slides back beside you, pecking your lips as your body still thrums with remnants of your orgasm.

"Of course." He replies but doesnt elaborate further. His arms wrap around you, holding you close and he starts to purr with contentment. Your body grows tired again, relaxing into his hold.

"Curtis," you whisper.

"Mm?"

"Thank you." You curl under his chin, twisting your legs into his as you fall away into sleep, holding him tight.

When you wake, hours later, you're greeted by the smell of cooked fish and smoke. There's an ache between your legs from your two earlier trysts, however, the need for food is at the forefront of your mind now. The trysts can be addressed later.

It's only a moment before Curtis appears at your side, wrapped in layers of fur and holding a freshly cooked fish out to you. You take it, blowing on the charred skin and try not to think about what you're eating as your teeth sink into the flesh. You're so hungry. Hungrier than you've ever been and the fish is finished in seconds and you look up at Curtis sheepishly.

He smiles softly. "Good. You have an appetite."

One of his hands cups your cheek, gently tilting your face to look up at his. "There's plenty of food for you."

When Curtis turns to get you more fish from the fire, you take a moment to glance at your surroundings. You're in an ice cave. Naturally occurring hollow structures in ice or ice floes. You'd been in them before, when out exploring; they make excellent shelters from the elements since the ice is so thick. The cave is almost sloped, with the entrance higher in the ice.

Curtis is near a small fire by the entrance of the cave, ensuring no smoke is getting trapped to suffocate you both and, not far from where your lying in the furs, is the hole Curtis had emerged from the day before. Sea water sloshes three inches from the surface. So you were on the ocean at least.

Looking behind your makeshift bed was very few items. Some cans of food, a small roll of tools and what looked to be spare fur clothes to fit Curtis' enormous body.

Your tattered clothes are next to Curtis drying out and when you look over at him again you can see that he definitely did not have a tail. You rub your eyes and double check.

Nope. No tail.

It must have been your mind playing tricks on you. However, he is as handsome so that was still an excellent discovery.

You shuffle under the covers trying to hold the fur over your chest when Curtis returns, holding two fish out to you. You're halfway through the first when you notice he's just watching you eat and you hold the second one out to him.

"You'd better eat too." You urge, feeling guilty for stuffing your face while your saviour hadn't taken a bite.

Curtis shakes his head and smiles down at you. "I've eaten already. I was making sure you there was enough for you after you woke."

"Oh thanks."

Curtis raises his eyebrow. "Especially after your... restless night."

You blush hard, stammering out an apology.

"It's quite alright, Snowdrop. No need to apologise." Curtis settles beside you, watching you tear through your fish. "It's my duty to make sure you're well taken care of."

You almost spit the flesh all over him. "Your duty?"

Curtis nods and looks at little sheepish. "As your mate. You may not remember the conversation from last night since you were running on adrenaline."

You did but were half convinced it was a mixture of death defying hypothermia and your imagination. Clearly, he wasn't a merman but he was perhaps a weirdo living in an ice cave. Though, surviving this long in the uninhabitable plains was ny impossible...

"I, erm..." you swallow your fish meat thickly. You sit a little straighter. The last thing you want to do is piss him off, considering his size and stature you'd be easy to... well, do anything to. However, you can't resist blurting the question that's been bothering you since you woke up the first time this morning. "Do you have a tail? Sorry. I just remember seeing a tail and I think it was a fever dream."

Curtis blinks at you and chuckles. "Yes."

"I thought so - wait - excuse me?" You look dumbfounded and you're sure he's just messing with you.

Now Curtis looks as confused as you do. "All merfolk have tails?"

"Hoooookay," you say, your mind racing. So last night was not a dream or your brain playing tricks. Curtis purrs in response and you feel your skin prickle and when your eyes meet you can tell he thinks he's being cute.

"Hey," you snap, cheeks growing red as heats spreads from between your legs. "Don't do that. I have more questions."

"You didn't seem to mind it last night." Curtis says but bows his head to you. "But ask away."

"How long have you been out here? Where's your family? What-"

exactly are you?

You don't voice the rest of your question, thinking it a bit too rude, but Curtis doesn't seem to mind as he begins to tell you about his time out in the great frozen unknown.

He'd been left for about a year on his own. His family, what he called a pod, was a myriad of merfolk that gathered together as a family unit. According to Curtis, his pod had never truly settled like some merfolk had and spent most of their time travelling the sea in an almost continuous migration.

"With the ice melting, pollution and sea travel, it's been harder for us to keep hidden and find refuge." He explains, then fixes you with a funny look. "I don't know how it'll work with a mate like you."

"Stop calling me that." You chide softly, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. "So, what happened?"

"I decided that enough was enough. That we should settle as a unit, like we should have years ago." He grumbles and then shrugs. "We didn't know where to start or if it would be safe when we got stuck here. The cold water killed off many of the elderly. The children struggled to acclimatise and the leopard seals and some orca saw them as easy pickings. I sent them on the migration path early urging them to settle someplace. Myself and a few others volunteered to stay behind to keep them safe on the journey out of these waters."

The last part went unspoken but you could piece it together; Curtis had been the only one of the volunteers to survive. The cold must have had a hard time affecting that gigantic body of his.

"Well, surely you could find them again?" You press. "If you migrate every year and travel there has to be-"

"I wouldn't know where to begin." Curtis sighs dejectedly. "We have different routes. And with how dangerous the sea has become..." he shakes his head. "I made my choice to protect my pod when they left this place. I can only hope they found somewhere to settle."

His big blue eyes look at you, hoping for understanding and your heart aches for him. You place a small hand over his reassuringly and give him a smile.

"But what about you?" You say gently. "You can't stay out here. It's uninhabitable for a reason."

"I like the cold." Curtis huffs haughtily.

"Yeah well," you huff back. "Mate or not, I can't survive in those waters for more than fifteen minutes without thick insulated SCUBA gear. And without water or proper food, I would die within the week. Give me a beach in the Bahamas with a few cocktails and I'd be golden."

You give him a sideways glance and see him shift his hunkering form uncomfortably, knowing you were correct. Clearly the thought of abandoning his post made him uncomfortable, the mere thought of his pod returning and not finding him anxiety-inducing. You sigh through your nose, trying to think.

"We could go to the research outpost where I was stationed," you say slowly, watching his expression shift to unease. "Plenty of food and water and shelter."

Curtis harrumphs but then an idea swims from the depths of your brain amd you clap ypur hands together, startling Curtis as the sound reverberates around the cave. You turn to him beaming.

"We could find your pod." You say excitedly. Curtis' eyes narrow.

"I know you're right about going you don't need to manipulate me, Snowdrop." He grumbles, shoulders slumping. You scoot closer patting his thigh, still brimming with excitement.

"No we have maps, tech, SONAR-" Curtis' eyebrows raise as you speak. "We could map out where your travel paths are. We do it with orca and other animals all the time. If we do that we could narrow down the areas you visited most and where the pod would most likely settle."

Curtis eyes are sparkling by the time you've finished speaking and he's grinning at you almost madly. "So, I have a smart mate."

"Don't call me that." You snip quickly, but you're still smiling at him. "Do you know a way to get us to the out post safely? By foot?"

Curtis' face falls and his thick brows furrow with thought. "There aren't enough furs or food if we went by land." Curtis explains. "But there are no predators. Only the sun. We would starve to death or freeze long before we reach where I found you in the water."

He pauses and looks slightly apologetic as he continues. "But if I took you beneath the surface, the journey would be done in less than an hour. Less than a day if I take supplies with me."

You nod along thoughtfully. "I'm sensing there's a but?"

"But," Curtis sighs. "We would be crossing through leopard seal territory. Again. You could potentially drown, be injured or killed and that's before we're out of the water."

"I could go hypothermic." You finish and Curtis nods. "And you don't know how to get to the compound or how to work the equipment."

"But underwater is our best bet." Curtis says slowly. "But what if my pod comes back to find me?

"We could leave a message in the ice to head to the out post." You suggest. "Leave my contact information? We could always-" you can't believe you were saying this. "-Come back and update the messages if we don't locate them elsewhere."

Curtis looks visibly relieved. "We could?"

"Of course." You give him a reassuring smile. "My research is based out here anyway I could... try and bring you with me."

Curtis smirks. "I could always follow your boat."

"Right. Merman." You smile sheepishly. "I'd have a hard time explaining that to the other researchers, gotta make sure you don't get kidnapped by the men in black."

"No one could keep me from you." He says firmly, making a sweet rumbling sound that keeps you still as he kisses you adoringly. You can feel yourself literally swooning and it's almost laughable until Curtis pulls back, looking at you with a soft smile. "But I have to get everything ready for our journey."

You nibble at your fish, now cold after your chatter. The plan was that Curtis would make trips back and forth with the clothes and what little belongings he had, scouting the area first before taking you. That way, not only was the journey safer, but he could focus on moving faster with you in his arms and when you reached your destination, could wrap you in furs that would be dried in the sun.

You re-dress into your clothes from the night before, still a little damp in places and the piss yellow coat now had a smokey salt scent to it, and watch Curtis undress to jump into the ocean.

Your eyes trail his muscular legs, all the way to his torso and your face heats when you see he's been watching you oggle him for the past two minutes.

"If we survive the trip," he says, voice sultry as he ties a leather belt with a sheathed hatchet around his waist. "You can explore me all you like."

You bluster, about to argue back when he dives through the hole and vanishes for what feels like an age.

You shouldn't be attracted to a fish man. You chide yourself, pacing the ice cave to stay warm. The more you thought about Curtis, your circumstances of meeting, your research despite your current mate situation, the more you realised that regardless of being his mate (however that happened) you'd have been attracted to him anyway. And from what you'd seen and heard from myths and stories, you much preferred having a hunk of a mermaid than some terrifying sea creature that wanted to eat you for dinner. You shudder, remembering the leopard seal. At least you'd have Curtis for protection.

After what felt like an age, Curtis' head pops out of the hole in the ice.

"Bad news." He pants. "The ice floes have moved. It may take longer than anticipated to reach your out post."

"Shit," you hiss, passing him his few belongings wrapped tightly in a fur. "How much longer?"

Curtis shakes his head, taking the fur parcel from you. "Perhaps a few minutes? The good news is that I can't see or hear any sea leopards."

You sigh with relief. "Okay. Phew."

You give him a short smile and he rises higher out of the water to catch your lips in a wet kiss that leaves you a little lightheaded and you murmur out a quick "be careful" as he disappears below the surface of the dark water.

The second time he returns, he's a lot faster. He gives you a once over, trying to give you a reassuring smile when he sees your worried expression.

"You ready?"

You nod, breathing quickly, trying to steel yourself.

"I'll be with you." He affirms. "I'll keep you close and take you to the surface as soon as I can."

You look down at him, fear and cold making you shake but you manage a smile when you see his soft features look at you with such affection and brace as you slide into the water.

Sliding into the water was a lot more difficult than being pulled in. Even with your layers the icy water still penetrated to your skin and the darkness that enveloped you made your heart jumps erratically. Thankfully, the hulking mass that was Curtis was there to hold you as you took one final gulp of air and dipped under the surface.

He moved fast. Now that you weren't actively drawing, you could feel the pressure of speed from the beat of his tail against your body and in mere seconds you were breaking the surface, bobbing together in the freezing open ocean.

The sun, as always, was high and bright and you had to squint as the snow and eyes glittered back into your retinas.

"Okay?" Curtis asks nudging your cheek.

"Yeah. Let's keep going." You nod with a smile, taking another deep breath as Curtis ducked back under, following the route he'd mapped as quickly as he could.

Maybe it was because he was enjoying how close you were - or that he was so focused on his mission to get to the outpost that he didn't notice the leopard seal barrelling towards him from the depths.

When he did notice, it was too late to move out of the way but Curtis turned his shoulder, wrapping his arms to protect your head as the sharp canines of the leopard seal sank into his flesh and you squeaked in terror.

Curtis cried out and glowered into the black eyes of the seal as it challenged him to move.

"Fucker," Curtis' voice echoed viciously through the water. "You were watching this whole time."

Your brain was racing, you couldn't open your eyes but you needed to breathe. Curtis was stuck in a catch twenty two. If he released you to the surface, the leopard seal would release him to chase you as the easier target and, being injured, Curtis would struggle to keep pace. Even if he managed to keep the seal occupied, you weren't able to reach the outpost on your own besides the fact that another seal could potentially be nearby. Although they hunt in pairs often, it didn't mean they never did.

The other option was to fight off the seal here and now. But by doing that, you could run out of air and drown in his grip before he could reach the surface.

Curtis growled, and you could feel the anger and anxiety reverberate through your soul. You pat Curtis' side blindly with a loud snarl of the seal so close to your face and a grunt from Curtis as he keeps the seal at his shoulder. Your eyes are squeezed closed and the lightheaded dizziness from the lack of oxygen is making it hard to focus but you find the hilt of the hatchet, tearing it free from it's confines and jamming it into the snout of the seal as hard as you could.

The seal releases Curtis' shoulder with a sickening shrill, and Curtis tears through the water, upwards closer to the surface for you to breathe. He half throws you onto his back and you pretzel your legs around his waist, your arms wrapping around his neck as he takes off again. It happens so fast that you barely comprehend it, your body producing a fierce amount of adrenaline that you can't feel the cold anymore.

"Well done back there!" Curtis shouts to you, pride clear in his voice and your heart swells, but it's shortlived when you hear a trill from behind you. The leopard seal had given chase; clearly not happy about missing out on dinner and second time. "We're close, don't worry."

You burst from the water first, grateful for once to see a wide open plain of snow and the distant outline of the outpost. You roll off Curtis' back and go to pull him up but his hands claw at the ice as he yells out, his tail splashing angrily in the water.

He goes to clamber out again, when the seal knocks into his side and back down under the water.

"CURTIS!" You shriek, falling to your hands and knees at the water's edge. You search the surface and can't see a thing, panick brewing as you try to think of how to rescue him. You're no mermaid. You're lucky if you get away with no hypothermia a second time.

You clutch the hatchet with white knuckles and then an idea.

"Bring it to the surface!" You call out to the ocean, hoping Curtis hears you. "Bring it close!"

So much for leaving the animals alone.

Moments later Curtis appears again, maw of the leopard seal snapping furiously at his face with a Cheshire Cat like grin. Until you swing the hatchet into it's back.

It wails, it's head turning to you as you reel back with the hatchet in hand, raising it in threat again and-

It stops. It growls lowly but stops fighting Curtis and looks directly at you, considering you almost thoughtfully before moving off Curtis entirely and disappearing under the ice floe.

Both you and Curtis wait a few moments more, just in case it returned, but when you begin to shiver Curtis heaves himself out of the water with a groan, collapsing into the snow. Blood oozes from the wound, slowed from the cold, but you take great effort in tugging him away from the water's edge with his good arm.

You look over his shoulder wound hurriedly, they're deep but nothing that wouldn't heal. However, his tail and side have some pretty nasty scratches and bites too.

"We have a first aid kit at the out post." You tell him, lifting his torso steadily into a seated position so you could wrap him in a fur that he'd left. As you look up out to the sea, you can see the head of the leopard seal watching you both with a managing gaze.

You shiver. "Come on, let's go."

Curtis grunts you see his tail shimmer and in one blink it's gone, replaced by two tree trunks for legs. Questions for later.

Gathering your few supplies you both clamber on and slowly make your way to the out post in shuddering silence, focusing only on conserving your energy until you get to the outpost.

End of Part 1

A/N: That's part 1 folks 😵‍💫😭 I had to cut it here because even though I'd written it... turns out the other creaure I wanted to add doesn't even live in the antarctic (and I hate to say this but I found out from a tumblr post that the artic inst a shortened name for the Antarctic and if you look up the difference you can probably guess what animal it was and i feel so stupid lmao). This took so much longer than anticipated honestly. But the good news is part 2 gets to be re-worked a little and hopefully won't take as long. Though I don't know if I want to do a one shot for the next one (it's either Lloyd or Steve) and then continue the series as it was posted (Ari, Jake then Curtis)...

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