#please do not judge me based on the warnings list

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Improper Fraction

Pairing: Michael Gavey x f!reader Warnings: Sexually explicit content. Word count: ~5.1k.

Summary: Michael gets great satisfaction from humiliating a fellow student during the fresher's week pub quiz, only to get a nasty shock when he realises he'll be seeing lots more of her. And she's keen to get her own back.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Isn’t this something we should save for the first years?” she asked Libby, as they pushed through the door of The Bull.

It was early evening, and the place was already starting to fill up as students crowded in for The Bull’s annual end of Fresher’s Week pub quiz.

“We come every year,” Libby replied breezily, making a beeline for an empty table in the corner, and shrugging out of her denim jacket.

“But we’re not students anymore,” she protested, hovering behind the empty chair opposite her friend.

“I’m not, but you are, so why break tradition?” Libby grinned, a toothy, determined smile that made it clear she would not be budged on the matter or from her seat. “Since you’re stood up, you can get the first round. I’ll have my usual.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing as she turned to go and fetch their drinks.

She had studied Mathematics for four years at Oxford University, before being accepted for the integrated master’s level course in Mathematical and Theoretical Physics. She was hoping that the research level training would help her on her path to becoming an astrophysicist, until then she worked weekend shifts at a bookshop just off of the high street. Libby had completed the three year History of Art course more than a year ago, and had yet to move on from the city. Libby claimed it was because she enjoyed the culture and pace of life, but she knew her friend better than that – it had more to do with the bartender she’d been hooking up with on and off since she’d started a part time job at the wine café in Jericho. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for Libby sticking around – it meant not having to look for another flatmate, and Oxford would be a lonely place without her; a proclivity for numbers and equations left little opportunity for socialisation.

Pushing her way back through the crowd, trying and failing not to allow the two pints of Strongbow she carried to spill over the edge of the glasses, she frowned as she saw two men she didn’t recognise seated at the table either side of Libby. One was dark haired with a nose that looked as though it had been broken more than once, and the other was sandy haired and bespectacled – the sort of person she’d move away from on a bus, judging by the well worn Merrell walking shoes that peeked out from beneath the table.

Placing the glasses heavily down upon dog eared beer mats, sending more cider frothing over the sides and onto the sticky wood beneath, she shot Libby a questioning look, before taking her seat opposite her, the two strangers now on either side of her.

“This is Oliver,” Libby explained, dragging her pint towards her, “ and this is Michael. You need a minimum of four people for a quiz team, so I invited them to join us.”

“Hope you don’t mind,” Oliver said apologetically, shifting his gaze to her, “all the other teams were full.”

“Fine by me,” she replied with a shrug, hoping she appeared more casual than she felt. There was something about Oliver that made her feel uneasy, though she couldn’t fathom a tangible reason for why that was.

Libby took a swig of her drink, either not noticing the tension around the table or choosing to ignore it. “Oliver’s studying literature,” she said brightly, “so we’ll smash that round. What about you, Michael?”

“Maths,” he answered.

There was something smug and self assured in how he allowed the syllable to roll off his tongue, as though he were announcing to the table he was better than anyone else seated at it, without even needing to say the words.

“No way!” Libby swatted his arm, earning a scowl which she again chose not to notice, and nodded towards her friend seated opposite her. “Two maths boffins at the same table!”

Michael turned to her, his eyebrows raised in obvious disbelief. “You’re reading maths?”

“I was. I’ve just started my masters,” she offered a thin smile, taking a drink as a distraction from the scrutiny she felt beneath the intensity of his stare. The bittersweet liquid fizzed against her tongue, and she found it an effort to swallow as he continued to study her intently.

“Wow, someone actually worth talking to,” he scoffed finally, having decided he was satisfied with her answer. “I’m a genius. I can do any sum in my head. Go on, ask me.”

She hadn’t expected that. A normal person would have asked follow up questions, enquired about what a masters degree in mathematics entailed, instead he had managed to turn the conversation back to himself.

Laughing nervously, she shook her head. “What?” she stammered, “I–”

The tapping of a finger against a microphone echoed through speakers around the pub, and the loud chatter and laughter quieted down, as the quizmaster introduced himself and explained how each round would be conducted and scored. It was broken out by subject – a round each for English, maths, science, history, geography and art, with a bonus round for pop culture. Not an average pub quiz, but Oxford wasn’t an average university, and the student body revelled in flexing the superiority of their intelligence.

Oliver took care of the English round, marking his answers down against the shared sheet of paper with quiet confidence. When it came to the maths portion, Michael gleefully snatched up the answer page and pencil.

“I’ll take care of this round, don’t worry,” he announced, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger.

She scowled, irritated by his dismissal of her, but decided, for the sake of keeping the peace, to keep quiet. It wasn’t until the final question in the round – add 8.563 and 4.8292 – that she finally spoke up.

“I should get to do at least one,” she insisted, grabbing the pencil from Michael and slanting the paper towards her. 

She quickly scribbled her answer – 13.395 – and then righted the page back towards him.

Michael’s eyes moved from what she had written and then to her. “That’s wrong,” he said with a smirk, and crossed out her answer, replacing it with 13.3922.

He was right, of course – in her haste to contribute she had forgotten to add a zero to the end of the 8.563 portion of the sum, and instead carried the final 2 of 4.8292 into her addition of 9 and 3.

She dropped her gaze to the drink in front of her, watching the bubbles rise to the top of her half drunk pint, as it sweated with condensation. Her cheeks blazed with humiliation. If only this Strongbow were large enough for her to topple into and drown. “How could I have gotten that wrong?” she thought, “Such a stupid bloody mistake.” The quizmaster announced a short break, and Oliver offered to buy a round for the four of them. Michael joined him at the bar, leaving her and Libby alone.

"Don't spiral," Libby urged, leaning across the table and rubbing her arm in a comforting gesture, "literally no one but you cares that that wasn't the right answer."

She raised her head, glancing around, and her eyes immediately met the steely stare of tMichael as he looked over his shoulder at her from the bar. The smug, self satisfied smirk on his face was proof enough that Libby was wrong – he cared.

“That’s wrong,” echoed in her mind on repeat for the rest of the evening.

By the time the quiz drew to a close, their team had not even come close to winning. The fifty pound bar tab had gone to a team that Oliver told them was made up of a student named Felix, and his cousin, Farleigh, and a gaggle of their hangers on. He spoke of them with a longing that suggested he would much rather be at that table than theirs. The maths and science portions they had perfect scores for, thanks to Michael – she hadn’t participated after he had corrected her, what little enthusiasm she had started with had been crushed. They had done okay on English and art, thanks to Oliver and Libby’s efforts, but had only managed a few points for geography and history, and had gotten nothing at all for the pop culture round.

“Guess we’re all just a bunch of losers then,” Michael commented with a wry smile, before downing the dregs of his lager.

There was something about the enunciation he placed on the word “losers” that formed a pit in her stomach – even if it wasn’t a direct dig at her, it served only to exacerbate the embarrassment she already felt at her earlier blunder. She knew it was silly to have such a strong reaction to an honest mistake that had been made in a hurry and, deep down, she knew it wasn’t that that was getting at her – it was how he seemed to gloat and take satisfaction in her having been wrong in the first place.

“Right,” she said, rising from her seat and grabbing her bag as she looked to Libby, “shall we?”

Libby nodded. “Was great to meet you both,” she said brightly, pulling her hair free of the collar of her jacket as she put it back on. “Sorry we weren’t better quiz buddies.”

“Wait,” Michael called after her as she turned to leave.

She paused, eyes wide in anticipation as he rose from his seat and extended a beer mat towards her. There was a phone number scrawled hastily on the lager stained edge of it, alongside the name ‘Michael Gavey’. “Just in case you ever want any tutoring,” he grinned, “seems like you might need it.”

Before she could open her mouth to speak, Libby was dragging her outside, the beer mat still held limply between her thumb and forefinger. The moment the door swung closed behind them, she exhaled a growl of frustration up at the sky, which had turned to the inky black of night in the time they had spent in the pub.

“I’m sorry,” Libby said, the soft look in her eyes showing she really meant it, “if I’d have known he was such an arrogant twat, I’d never have–”

She sighed, waving a hand dismissively as she interrupted her. “It’s not your fault. I just want to forget I ever met him.”

“Don’t chuck it away!” Libby called out, halting her actions as she held the beer mat precariously over the top of a litter bin on the street corner.

“Why in god’s name would I ever want to keep it?” she asked incredulously, yet found herself slipping his number into her bag all the same.

Libby grinned, linking her arm through hers as they began to stroll back towards their flat. “You could have some fun with him, get your own back.”

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. She’d settle for never seeing him again, that would suit her just fine.

Unfortunately, she had no such luck.

**DIVIDER**

It was an uncomfortably warm Thursday afternoon, almost a week had passed since the Fresher’s Week pub quiz, and she had mostly forgotten about the egomaniac she had been forced to share a table with. She had spent the week buried in dissertation research, wanting to make a start as soon as possible to ensure she chose the field best suited to her to write about. However, the unseasonably warm weather was making the library feel stifling – as much as she admired the university’s dedication to preserving the historical beauty and structure of its buildings, it was days like today that she resented the lack of modern conveniences, such as air conditioning. Original stonework was all well and good, but she failed to see how it could be appreciated if its occupants were all forced to sweat to death.

She rested her elbow on the table, her chin propped on her hand as her eyes scanned repeatedly over the same line in the plasma physics textbook she had pulled from the shelf. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she placed her hand over her mouth much too late as she let out a loud and exaggerated yawn.

“If this is the attitude you have towards your studies then no wonder you get such simple addition questions wrong.”

She tensed, her shoulders pulling up to her ears. “Oh christ, please no,” she thought. 

That familiar voice, smooth as silk, and yet maddeningly irritating sounded again, this time much closer. “Mind if I join you?”

Michael didn’t wait for a response, instead placed his books beside hers on the table and sat down.

“Is your friend…Oliver?” she began, searching her memory for his name, “Is he not around for you to study with?”

“No,” he answered, his tone clipped and more curt than it had initially been, suggesting this wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss further. He opened a notebook, drumming his fingertips listlessly against its lined pages before looking at her again. “What’s that you’re reading?”

She sighed, lifting the textbook to show him the cover before setting it back down again.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked conversationally.

The casualness of the question caught her off guard, and she frowned for a moment before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms across her chest. “Would it upset you if I didn’t?”

“I suppose not. I’m quite used to people disliking me. But I’d be curious to know why you in particular feel that way.”

She hated the way she felt when he stared at her like that, his gaze penetrating and intense. It made her skin prickle, and her mouth run dry. She wet her lips, doing her best to keep her voice quiet and even in the hush of the library. “I find you rude and arrogant.”

“Well, you’re meek and insecure,” he stated matter of factly.

Bristling with annoyance, she rounded on him, leaning closer as the anger in her voice combined with the effort to keep quiet caused it to come out as a hiss. “See?! This is exactly what I mean, who the fuck says things like that?!”

“I’m confident in who I am, secure in my intelligence,” he explained calmly, “can you say the same about yourself?”

She scoffed, pushing her chair back so hard that the legs scraped loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing off of the vaulted ceiling of the library. There was no way she was going to stay here with this prick and be insulted, it was too hot to put up with someone so irritating. She gathered her belongings into her arms, not bothering to put them back into her bag, and stormed away.

**DIVIDER**

“He called me meek and insecure, can you believe it?” she raged at Libby as she sat cross legged on the sofa of the living of their small flat. 

The communal space was open plan, a cosy living room that opened out onto a poky kitchen. Libby stood at the breakfast bar, her back to the cupboards as her fingers tapped against a Super Noodles flavour packet, while she waited for the kettle to boil.

“We-ell…” Libby began, offering her a tight smile.

“Are you kidding me?!” she seethed, wide eyed with disbelief.

Her friend turned, poured boiling water over the noodles in her bowl, before placing it into the microwave. It beeped as she pressed buttons, before whirring to life.

“You’re my best friend,” she said, crossing the space to sit next to her, “and I think you’re amazing, but I don’t think you think that. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

She frowned, her mouth twisting in confusion. “Is it a bad thing that I’m not arrogant?”

Libby shook her head. “It’s a bad thing that you allow yourself to be torn down so easily. Look at how you acted at the pub quiz.”

“That jumped up little twat was rude to me!” she protested, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“He was,” Libby agreed, “but what I think got to you is that you share the same field of study, and despite only being in his first year he’s more secure than you are.”

She fell silent, chewing her lip. She wanted to protest, to say she was wrong, but she couldn’t. It had gotten to her how confident he was in his own ability, and he was really only just starting out. She had just begun a master’s degree and was still doubting herself, feeling as though she didn’t belong.

“I think he quite likes you,” Libby added with a knowing smile, “and I think if you gave yourself the chance to think about it, you’d realise you fancy him a little bit too.”

“Absolutely not,” she denied flatly, “have you seen the way he dresses?!”

“Already thinking about taking his clothes off, see?!” Libby laughed as she swatted at her.

She tutted, pawing through the things that she had brought back with her from the library, noticing something that she hadn’t bundled in with the textbooks she’d borrowed. She rummaged in her bag, her heart dropping upon realising it wasn’t in there either. “He’s got my notebook…”

Libby grinned as the microwave beeped, jumping to her feet “Saved by the bell!”

Feeling around amongst the stray bobby pins and discarded chewing gum wrappers at the bottom of her bag, her fingers finally wrapped around the beer mat she’d chucked in there the previous week, and pulled it out. She tapped it against her knee as she looked at the phone number, trying to decide between spending ten pence on a text message to ask if he had her notebook, giving Michael her own number in the process and opening herself up to further interactions with him, or just cutting her losses and buying a new pad. The one she had left in the library had all of her dissertation notes though, and she’d have to start from scratch if she bought a new one.

Flipping open her Motorola, she typed out a text message – “Do you have my notebook?” – and hit send.

Almost twenty minutes later, and ten minutes into an episode of Come Dine With Me, her phone buzzed with his response – “who is this? ;-)”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groused to herself, letting her phone snap closed and drop back onto the sofa cushions, as she resigned herself to simply buying a new notebook. She didn’t want to play his stupid games, and certainly wouldn’t be texting him back.

A few moments later, her phone buzzed again – “Yes, I have it. You could come & collect it from me tomorrow?”

**DIVIDER**

This was not how she had envisioned spending her Friday night. When she had finished her third year, and moved into a flat with Libby, she thought she had seen the last of student halls. Yet, here she was, trudging up the steps of Balliol College as the faint sounds of laughter and music drifted faintly along the hallways. It was a reminder of her own university experience – or rather the one she’d missed out on. She had spent many Friday nights lost in her studies, while the rest of her peers socialised and partied without her. It was what had made her glad to be out of student accommodation – she was free of the reminder that the world was going on around her while her own was at a standstill.

She checked her phone again, ensuring she had the correct room and then knocked. Michael answered, wearing a blue checked shirt tucked into tan coloured cargo trousers, and she had to fight a smirk at the sight of how high up they were belted around his waist. 

“Come in,” he offered, stepping to one side.

She hesitated – she had been anticipating just grabbing her notebook from him and then leaving. An invitation into his room was unexpected. She relented when he gave an impatient raise of his eyebrows, and stepped inside.

It was cleaner, much cleaner, than a student’s room had any right to be. The window was cracked open, allowing a slight respite from the humidity of the old building, and the scent of bar soap and clean laundry hung lightly in the air. The sheets were pulled taut against the single bed that sat against the far wall of the room, with a poster above it that made her lips quirk into an involuntary smile – “sketching rational functions is a pain in the asymptote”. The desk in the far corner of the room was even tidy, with all of the books stacked neatly. It was there that she spotted her notebook, placed close to the edge.

“So, I’ll just grab this and go then…” she began, moving towards it.

“What’s the rush?” he asked, grabbing a plastic water tumbler full of white wine from the bedside table and holding it out to her, “I’ve got us drinks.”

“Wine?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrow, accepting the cup from him. “Very fancy for a student.”

He smirked. “Well, you’re an older woman, I thought alcopops might be beneath you.”

She sipped the wine. It was room temperature, and so tart upon her tongue that her face reflexively twisted in disgust as she swallowed it with a slight sputter. “Thank you,” she coughed, “that is truly, truly awful.”

Michael lifted his own drink in mock toast. “Costcutter, two bottles for a fiver. I am a student after all.”

The two of them sat side by side on the bed, their backs against the wall as they drank their sour wine, and chatted. He was all of the things she had thought he was – arrogant, obnoxious and callous – but he was also fiercely intelligent, confident, witty and handsome in his own curious sort of way, though she attributed that to the bottle of wine they had polished off between them. She discovered that he had earned his place at Oxford via a scholarship, and had an eidetic memory for numbers – he really could do any sum in his head, and was hoping to specialise in mathematical engineering.

“So, theoretical astrophysics is your thing then?” he asked, as he cracked open the screwtop on the second bottle of wine and refilled both their tumblers.

“You read my notebook?!” she asked, feeling her skin grow heated with embarrassment. The idea of him reading her notes made her feel vulnerable, as though he was looking at her naked.

“I had a quick flick through,” he admitted with a shrug, “it’s rare to find someone our…well, your age, with an interest in maths and physics, especially a woman.”

She hummed softly in acknowledgement, her gaze falling to the plastic rim of the cup she held in her hands.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, twisting his torso to face her properly. “Why do you diminish yourself like that?”

She shrugged, sipping her wine. It was less foul now that she had gotten used to the taste. “I dunno. I just–”

“I’ve read your notes,” he pressed, “your intelligence is far superior to anyone I’ve met here so far. Why aren’t you proud of that?”

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Hard to be confident in your abilities when you get a stupid pub quiz question wrong.”

Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But you knew where you went wrong,” he insisted, “do you see what I mean? You aren’t walking around genuinely believing that 13.395 is the answer, you know it’s not.”

“Then why were you so cruel about it?” she asked softly, her tone laced with uncertainty.

“I was teasing you, I didn’t mean to be cruel,” Michael admitted, “I guess I was trying to flirt…”

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, the admission making her breath hitch, before she giggled. “So you are bad at something after all.”

He grinned. “I suppose so, but I’d still rather be a maths genius.”

She shifted around on the bed to face him. “Can you still do any sum in your head after a bottle of wine?”

Michael reached up, placing his half drunk cup on the window sill. “Try me.”

She lifted her gaze towards the ceiling momentarily as she thought of a sum, before looking at him again. “98 times 63?”

“6,174,” he answered with a confident smile.

“That’s incredible,” she laughed, leaning forward and placing her hand on his thigh. “149 divided by 4.8?”

She noticed him tense, his sharp intake of breath from the presence of her touch, and he blinked, hesitating before he answered. “Erm…31. Shall I do the decimal places?”

“No,” she replied, smirking as an idea occurred to her.

She moved to straddle his lap, her knees either side of his legs as she wound her arms around his neck, her breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. “865 times 17?”

“Jesus Christ," he breathed as his hands came to rest up on her hips.

She could feel him trembling beneath her, and she enjoyed it. She wasn’t sure if it was the cheap wine, or knowing she had a self proclaimed maths genius at her mercy, but she felt powerful. “That’s not the answer, is it?” she cooed, burying her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and tugging gently. Michael groaned and the sound made her clench around nothing as heat pooled in her belly. “865 times 17?”

“Uh…it’s…it’s…14,705,” he stammered, his breaths becoming laboured.

She wasn’t even sure if that was correct herself, she’d need a calculator to check, but right now she was too lost in the moment to care. For the first time in a long time, she felt confident. “Good boy,” she purred.

Trailing her hands down the cotton fabric of his shirt, she slowly began to unbutton it. His skin was pale as it was revealed to her, his chest had a light dusting of blonde hair that trailed down to his bellybutton. He was thin, but in a way that showed the definition of wiry muscle instead of the outline of bone. He looked mesmerised as he stared up at her, pupils wide and full lips parted, and he muttered a curse under his breath as she dragged the flat of her palms over his bare skin.

She was curious to see if he’d make a blunder and embarrass himself just as she had when they first met. She rolled her hips against his provocatively, feeling him growing hard beneath her, as she ran the tip of her finger down the centre of his chest. “58,793 plus 118,248?”

Michael whined, his eyes screwing shut as he bucked up against her, gripping her hips tighter as she rocked against him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she chided, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. “Correct answer, or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, contining to press his erection insistently against her through his trousers. “It’s er…it’s…shit…it’s 177,041.”

“Well done. I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?” She smiled wickedly down at him, pulling away as he leaned up in an attempt to kiss her. “No, not that.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, it was just that that felt too intimate for what they were doing. She was enjoying being in charge, and didn’t want to break the spell of whatever had empowered her to take the lead.

His eyes dropped to her hands as they grasped at his belt buckle, tugging it open and freeing his cock. His chest rose and fell unsteadily as she wrapped her hand around it, stroking slowly. It wasn’t overly girthy, but what it lacked in thickness it made up for in length. A prominent vein ran along the underside, and the head was ruddy and swollen, weeping with arousal. Michael hissed through his teeth as she swiped her thumb against the tip of him, the pass of her palm against his shaft becoming more insistent.

“17,604 divided by 56?” she whispered.

He moaned, the back of his head hitting the wall with a soft thud as it tipped backwards in pleasure. She could feel herself growing wet at the sight of him, the telltale patch of dampness in her underwear growing sticky and clinging to her flesh.

“It’s…it’s…”

“Yes?” she urged, stilling her hand on his shaft, but not letting go.

“Please…please don’t stop,” he panted, his voice a pitiful whine.

“Then tell me the answer,” she demanded, giving him a gentle squeeze that made his hips jerk off of the mattress.

“314…point…point,” he gasped as she resumed the back and forth motion over his manhood, and she grinned wolfishly.

“Poor baby can’t remember the decimal point?” she teased, feeling him begin to throb against her palm.

“I can’t…I can’t,” he panted, “I’m gonna…”

With a final flick of her wrist, she watched in rapt fascination as spurts of pearly release coated her hand and splattered across his lower abdomen as he pulsed steadily in her hand, gasping for breath as his hips bucked involuntarily.

She smiled down at him when he finally stilled, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks, fogged up glasses, and the mess he’d made of both of them. “Turns out there are some sums you can’t do, after all,” she teased, letting go of him.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, lifting off his glasses and running a hand through his hair as he sagged back against the wall. “I don’t even care, that was incredible.”

She laughed softly, wiping her hand off on the bed spread as she climbed off of him and sat next to him. “What about me?” she asked coyly, “You got to come and I didn’t.”

He eyed her sheepishly as he put his glasses back on, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I don’t really know how. I mean, I’ve never…”

Dread passed over her like a bucket of ice water as she realised he was a virgin. She hadn’t even stopped to think that this could be his first sexual encounter, she’d just assumed it wasn’t, and was now terrified she’d taken advantage of him.

Seeming to sense her inner turmoil, he reached out, his slender fingers gently encircling her wrist in an attempt at reassurance. “I guess I don’t know everything after all,” he offered with a slight smile, “but lucky for me, I have a brilliant teacher.”

She softened, her eyes lifting to meet his as she relaxed, knowing she hadn’t overstepped. “I suppose tutoring sessions may be required after all.”

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More Michael fics

[losers-clvb]

possession sam winchester x ruby x angel!reader

content: mentions of (kidnapping, shackles, punishment via cutting, non-consensual voyeurism), stockholm syndrome, manipulation, coercion, demon blood sam, sam and ruby are possessive and mean, sam is manipulatively soft, ruby is manipulatively mean, praise, language, religious themes, smut (oral sex (fem and male receiving), dirty talk, edging, size kink perhaps, marking/bruising, unprotect piv penetration, face sitting, implied cockwarming), canon typical blood play (think sam with the demon blood, i don't know what else to call it), perhaps some fluff if you twist it enough

word count: 4.9k

note: everyone say "thank you smin!" for inspiring this with our feral chats over messaging. i may have missed some warnings, please let me know if i did. i'll say this until my lungs give out: LET ME INTO YOUR MARRIAGE, JARED AND GEN!!

The cool metal of your runed shackles weighed your hands down, forcing them to rest on your knees.

Here you were, again, praying out for help, again.

It was a lost cause. You’d been locked up here -- some hidden away cabin -- for longer than you could even keep track of. Every prayer, every beg, for rescue had gone unanswered. Still, you couldn’t stop your kneeling against the floorboards of the bedroom, hands clutched together.

“Mmm…,” you heard purred out from behind you, “still at it?”

You ignored the voice. He was cruel. Cruel and mean and so fucking hot that he had lured you into this whole trap.

Sam Winchester was supposed to be kind. He was supposed to be the kind of boy you smile and flutter your lashes at to get whatever you want. Something had changed since your first meeting with the man.

You suspected that something was your other captor, who had been significantly missing for days.

The thumping of boots on the creaky wood floor made you shiver, and you quickly mumbled the rest of your prayer. Cold fingertips grazed against the bit of spine that pushed against the skin of your bent neck. You hated the way you loved it.

“They’re not coming.” Sam hummed. “Your family no longer deems you worth the effort.”

You swallowed, lip quivering. You were scared of Sam, yes, but not because he’d hurt you. He’d simply sat back and watched as Ruby sliced into your skin after your first, and last attempt at escape. You’d looked to him for help. All he had to offer you was a look of faux sympathy. You knew the truth from the shimmer of something dark in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. You didn’t need to explain the apology. It’d been the only thing you’d said since he had caught you in the woods last week, your weak body thrown over his shoulder.

“Oh, I know you are.” He tutted condescendingly, giving you a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He brushed a hand over your hair and you leaned into it. “But bad girls need punishment.”

“Where’s Ruby?” You asked. The words threw him off-guard, but he didn’t show it.

“She’s out. Just you and me right now, angel.” Sam’s voice was so soft, so calming, you’d forgotten your momentary fear of him.

“Don’t call me that,” you immediately responded, but had the sense to add, “please.”

“Oh, so quick to abandon your faith?” Sam raised his eyebrows and you looked away. Your eyes were watering and you felt the need to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying.

You knew it was wrong. You shouldn’t give up. Not ever. That was where angels fell into trouble. They gave in to emotion, to the overwhelming sense of dread when their Father ignored their prayers. You had thought you were better than them, but here you were. You should have known you were weak when you had let Sam, the old Sam, kiss you.

“Oh, my angel.” Sam’s voice weaved into your brain, growing roots into the smallest parts of you. You didn’t correct him this time.

“Remember, they abandoned you first,” he cupped a hand on your cheek, using his thumb to brush away the stray tears, “they left you here to rot. Who was by your side through the days and nights?”

“You,” you whimpered, your chains rattling with your shifting movement, “and Ruby.” You watched a soft but wicked smile cross Sam’s face.

Neither of you acknowledged the fact that the days and nights were his and Ruby’s faults. You wouldn’t be suffering like this if it wasn’t for them abducting you. They’d hoped your loss in Heaven would spur an army of angels for the rescue, an army they knew they could defeat. When no one came for you, the two had come to a silent agreement: you were theirs, forever.

“That’s right,” he cooed. He knelt to your level, eyes raking over your worn nightgown. “And who always knows best?”

“You and Ruby.” You echoed, the names tumbling from your lips on instinct. They’d flipped some switch in your brain long ago, but it had taken time for you to truly follow everything they said.

Alone, you were still that hellbent-on-escape little angel they’d trapped, but in their presences? You grew weaker until all that you thought was what they had fed you.

Sam and Ruby both knew, it wouldn’t be long before you were wholly theirs.

“Mhm,” Sam trailed a finger over your collarbone. He just wanted to feel your skin. The warmth reminded him that you were real.

There had been a time, before Ruby, when he loved you in a way that was holy. He wanted to give you the world. Your risk of falling had kept him from doing all of the things he really wanted. He had dared a small kiss, in the moments before he’d faced a nest of vampires alone. He couldn’t die without knowing how you tasted.

Now, with the demon blood -- Ruby’s blood -- running through him, he wasn’t in the mood to compromise. If you would fall, then he and Ruby would catch you. Heaven didn’t deserve an angel like you.

They did.

They loved you in the only way they knew how, obsession, but it was love, no less.

“Can you take them off?” Your voice was meek. Terror ripped through you when Sam pulled his eyes back to yours. You were tempted to take it all back, beg for forgiveness for even asking, but Sam gave you a sad smile.

“The last time I took them off, I had to chase you through the woods like a rabbit.” Sam was right. The moment your shackles had left your wrists the week before, you had headbutted him in the nose and dashed out the door.

Ruby had tried to snatch you back up, but it was Sam with his long legs who had caught you. He’d knocked you to the ground before slinging you over his shoulder. Your widened eyes had caught sight of the blood streaming from his nose, the fire of rage burning in his eyes, and you immediately started your groveling.

Sobs of “I’m sorry” had left your throat and lungs raw. Ruby didn’t listen. She just sliced away at your forearm with your own blade. Her goal was made clear when you caught sight of the cuts.

She’d carved Mine into your skin. Mine meaning you would never get away from her, or Sam, for that matter.

Sam had pulled you into his arms after that, a pool of your blood staining his shirt. He didn’t care. He simply brought you to your room, a square space with only a bed, and wrapped your arm in gauze.

“I’m sorry,” you had quivered out again.

Sam smiled, kissing your forehead.

“I know.” He had responded before tucking you into your soft sheets and blankets.

That night, he’d fucked Ruby so hard he had seen stars.

“It won’t happen again, I swear.” You promised, shifting your knees again. You took Sam’s hands into yours, wrapping your fingers around them.

“I won’t run. Please, I’ll be a good girl.” You begged, bringing your forehead to where your hands connected. Sam loved this, watching you plead with him to get what you wanted. He wasn’t going to give in that easily, not yet, but it was a nice sight to have.

Then you said those words. You hadn’t known the impact it would have. You were just babbling on.

“Please, Sam,” you hesitated for just a moment, “I love you.”

It had been the first time you had said it. Ruby and Sam had dragged a vague confession-like thing out of you before, but this was the first time you dared to say those exact words. You meant them, in a twisted kind of way. That was the best part for him.

Sam dove onto you, lips smashing into yours. He’d kissed you before. Once as his old self, and dozens of times as this new version. It had only ever been something small, a peck lasting a few seconds if he was lucky.

This was different. He loved you, and you loved him. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He wouldn’t hold back anymore.

He moved his lips against yours hungrily. You melted into him, letting your mind drift away to a better place.

His hands worked at your shackles, the lock clicking open with the turn of a key. You sighed when they dropped to the floor. Your wrists were flushed red, the skin raw, but the weight was finally gone.

You stayed true to your word. You didn’t run. You were a good girl.

“Really, Sam?”

Her voice chilled you to the bone. Sam pulled away but you slumped into him, burying your face in his neck.

“Ruby,” Sam said, his hand splayed across your back to hold you close. He didn’t seem all too shocked to see her. You wondered how long she’d been there.

“One mutter of love from her and you’re rolling over like a dog.” Ruby stepped closer into the room, her eyes stuck on you clinging to Sam. “She’s lying.”

“No, she’s not.” Sam hooked a finger into your hair to pull it away from your face. “Isn’t that right, angel?”

You nodded, eyes closed. Ruby frightened you more than Sam. She’d been mean from the start. She’d also shown some softness to you, but nothing like Sam. You didn’t know if it was enough to compensate for her torture.

“Use your words,” he encouraged, tracing a finger on your cheek.

“I love you,” you said to Sam, then, after a second of contemplation, you opened your eyes and looked at Ruby. “And I love you.”

You watched something cross over her face. Something dark and lustful. She twisted her sneer into a smile and you kept your eyes locked on hers while she walked to you.

“She’s not gonna hurt you,” Sam soothed in your ear when you tensed up. “As long as you’re a good girl, she won’t hurt you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from whining when she finally reached you. You were still in Sam’s arms, but he’d moved one of his hands to rest on the back of Ruby’s thigh. Ruby narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t believe you.” She said, a challenging look in her eye. You let out a shaky breath, fear racing through you. She didn’t believe you?

“I-I love you, please, I swear.” You stuttered. You didn’t know what she would do if she thought you were lying. Your forearm throbbed in pain at the memory of your last punishment.

Ruby dragged her eyes to Sam, tilting her head in a silent message. He must have known how to decode her, because a second later he was standing next to her. You were left alone, on your knees, with Sam and Ruby towering over you. They held twin smirks at the sight of your widened eyes.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Sam hummed, turning his head to Ruby, “I don’t believe her either.”

“She likes to lie.” Ruby agreed, nodding her head. Sam still looked at Ruby, but her eyes never left yours. Your pace quickened. They loved the fear radiating from you.

“No, no, I’m not lying,” you rushed out, “I love you, both of you, so much.” You scrambled closer to them, resting your head on Ruby’s stomach. Your hand grasped at Sam’s shirt. “Please believe me.”

“Prove it.”

Your trembling paused for a moment. You tilted your head up to look at Ruby and she smirked. Her fingertips danced over your cheek, landing on your lips. You just watched her, tears threatening to well back up.

“Show us how much you love us.” She pressed two fingers past your lips. You didn’t need to ask what she meant. You knew.

You’d heard them enough, the moans and grunts echoing through the thin cabin walls. They did it on purpose, you’d realized once. They were loud and messy and verbal in an attempt to lure you in. They’d hoped you would give in to their control faster if you heard what you were missing out on. It had worked, not in the way they had wanted, but you found yourself yearning for their dirty words during sex to be aimed at you.

You pressed your tongue against the pads of her fingers, sucking on them.

“Good girl.” She praised before pulling them out.

Your hands flew to the front of her jeans, hastily unbuttoning them. You tugged the denim down her legs, pulling her underwear with them.

“So fucking ready to please.” Sam mumbled, palming himself through his own jeans. He’d have your lips wrapped around him soon enough, but right now he wanted to watch. Ruby weaved her fingers into your hair, helping to guide your mouth where she wanted it the most.

You dragged your tongue through her folds. Your eyes fell shut at the taste.

“That’s right,” Ruby cooed when you got the rhythm down, “just like that, angel.” You looked up at her through your lashes, a swell of pride blooming in your chest when she moaned.

Sam placed his hand where Ruby’s lay tangled in your hair. He interlocked his fingers with hers. They were one, putting just the right amount of pressure on you to get Ruby biting back noises.

You trailed your hand to the front of Sam’s jeans. For a moment, you just brushed your thumb against his bulge, feeling the hard denim against your fingers. He rolled his hips, chasing the friction.

Sam bent his neck down to Ruby’s level. He kissed her hungrily. This was different from the way he’d kissed you. With you, he’d been starved of your touch for far longer. Ruby, he was comfortable with. The passion was still there, but Sam knew the best angle to slot their lips together.

Sam pulled her bottom lip in between his teeth when her mouth fell open. You had flicked the tip of your tongue against her clit and it had the effect you had hoped for.

“Knew you’d be good,” Sam growled at you, sucking on Ruby’s lip before moving to her neck.

With the help of Sam’s hand over your own, you were able to undress his bottom half. His cock sprang free, red and angry.

“I don’t know-,” you started to say when you saw Sam’s size, but Ruby clutched her hand around your jaw, making you look back at her.

“Don’t you love him?” She asked, a cruel spark running through her eyes.

You nodded.

She smiled and used her thumb to swipe up the mix of her arousal and your spit that was glistening on your chin. Her eyes rolled back when she wrapped her lips around the digit, sucking it clean. With a look from her, you knew you needed to do this. No, you corrected yourself, you wanted to do this.

You turned your attention to Sam, who was staring down at you while he stroked himself. He raised an eyebrow.

“C’mon, angel,” Ruby murmured, rubbing herself with her middle finger, “show Sammy how much you love him.”

You hesitated before wrapping a hand around Sam, just above his own. You noted the way your fingertips weren’t able to touch. A squeeze made Sam suck in a breath.

You kissed his leaking tip, the taste of him leaking through to your taste buds. Slowly, you pushed him past your lips. Your jaw dropped further and further as you took in more of him. You stopped when he brushed against the back of your throat.

“Aww, poor angel can’t fit it all in.” Ruby mocked in a sweet voice. She pushed slightly on your head, forcing you closer to Sam’s abdomen. Your breath hitched as you tried not to gag.

A smile twitched onto Sam’s face at the sight.

“See how she’s taking it,” Ruby purred to Sam and pushed you further, “she was made for this -- made for us.”

Sam steadily let the air out of his lungs, dropping his head forward when your throat constricted into a swallow. He swooped his head lower, nipping at Ruby’s cheekbone. He still had his hand twisted with hers in your hair, but he took his other and began to drag circles on her clit.

Ruby’s mouth fell open in ecstasy. You felt the twitch of Sam against your throat when Ruby groaned. In the haze of her pleasure, she rushed her pushing and your nose crashed into Sam’s pubic bone. This time, you did gag. It was too much all at once.

You dug your nails into Sam and Ruby’s thighs, hoping to get their attention to what you were going through. They continued to be enamoured by each other. Sam was pulling on the skin of her neck with his teeth, just enough to leave bruises. Ruby was grinding into Sam’s hand, moans falling from her lips.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You pulled your head back, straining against their shared hold. Somehow, you slipped out of their grasp. You tumbled back, catching yourself on your hands.

Your chest heaved and you trembled, trying to catch your breath enough. It had scared you, that small moment when you didn’t know if you would be able to come up for air.

“Oh, angel.” Ruby knelt to her knees, brushing your tears away. You didn’t flinch. Ruby loved you, and as long as you were a good girl, she wouldn’t hurt you. “Was it too much?”

You nodded and let her palm cup against your cheek. Sam gathered one of your hands in his, helping you to your feet. You swayed a bit, but ultimately stood your ground by leaning against Sam.

“We’re sorry, baby,” Sam kissed your forehead. He was surprisingly sweet for someone who was still rock hard. You closed your eyes and buried your head in his chest. You felt your hair get brushed back.

“Let us make it up to you,” Ruby kissed your neck. “Let us show you how much we love you.”

You hummed out a response.

They worked together to guide you to your bed. You didn’t know how it would fit all three of you. Sam and Ruby didn’t seem worried about this fact.

Sam gathered the hem of your nightgown up, lifting it over your head to leave you naked. When you regained your sight, Ruby had shed the rest of her clothing. You eyed her like she was the most holy thing you’d ever set eyes on. The flash of mischief in her eyes told you she was anything but.

“Lie back, angel.” Ruby instructed. She placed one hand on your back and the other on your chest, helping you into the position she wanted you in. She left featherlight kisses on you, spanning across your chest, stomach, thighs. She was working you up while Sam undressed himself.

“Fuck, this all from loving us?” Sam asked when he caught sight of your glistening center.

“I love you.” You whined when Ruby tapped a light message against your clit with her finger. Sam and Ruby exchanged similar looks of joy at your programmed response.

This was is it. They knew it then.

You were theirs, all theirs, only theirs.

They took turns going in on you, tongues sometimes mashing together when the other couldn’t hold themself back. You were a writhing mess, but they held your hips steady.

“So good,” Ruby muttered, panting. She nipped at your clit lightly, just enough to make you squeak. She pushed her tongue into you, fucking you with it while Sam slithered up to your face.

“So perfect,” he whispered to you, kissing you. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his lips. He brushed a thumb across one of your nipples.

“I’m-,” you broke mid-sentence when Sam sucked a mark onto your neck, “I’m gonna come.” Your voice was small.

You grasped onto Sam’s shoulders. He slunk back down your body, leaving bruises with his mouth along the way. You locked eyes with Ruby. She smirked against you and sucked a bit harder.

She saw it in your eyes, the sparkle you got just before you came. You didn’t see the spark of dominance in her before it was too late. She’d pulled away from you, leaving you whining as your high slowly simmered down.

“Not yet.” Ruby slid up to your level, kissing your forehead. You knew better than to argue. Snuggling into her neck, you felt Sam’s hands graze against your skin until they cupped over your breasts.

“Wanna feel you come apart on me, angel.” Sam whispered into your ear. He kissed your neck.

You let out a breathy whine, a quiet and soft noise. Your eyes fluttered shut while they showered you with kisses.

You never felt more loved.

In Heaven, you were a soldier. A pawn in the divine plan. You were used to deliver salvation to humanity, responsibilities of keeping everything as it was supposed to be according to your Father’s plan.

Here, you were appreciated for what you brought to the table. You had no expectations, nothing other than complete obedience. You didn’t have to think. Sam and Ruby loved you, and they would take care of you until the end of days.

You needed to give them more. You needed to show them how much you loved them.

“Ruby?” You asked in a timid voice. Your lips brushed against her skin while you spoke. She smirked, locking eyes with Sam. She was waiting for you to do this. She knew what would come next.

“Yes, my angel?” Ruby answered.

“Can I make you and Sam feel good again?”

Ruby ran a tongue across her teeth, trying not to let you know how much your willing nature was already pleasing her.

“Yes.” She was already guiding you up to sit on your knees on the bed. She motioned to the spot where she wanted Sam and he obliged, rolling over to lay on his back.

“Right here, angel, sit right here.” She instructed, her firm grip on your hips dragging you to rest on Sam’s thighs. You brushed against the base of his cock, making you let out a shaky breath. You were already sensitive after the night’s earlier events, but the knowledge that he would soon be inside of you was enough to intimidate you. The sick part was the arousal that washed over you in tandem with the fear.

Ruby bent down until her mouth was just over Sam. She spit onto him, using it as lubrication to prepare him for you. Not that it was all that needed; you were dripping just thinking about how much you loved them both.

“Come here.” Ruby beckoned. She helped you move over Sam, lining him up with your entrance.

“I’ll be gentle,” Sam lied, assuring you when he noticed your hesitation. He could have been sincere in it, you thought, but you knew his intentions went out the window the moment you sunk down onto him. His eyes flicked to pure black. It was a reminder that his humanity was dwindling. The demon blood was converting his soul to darkness.

You sighed, your head falling back, when you finally reached his base. You sat there, trying to organize your thoughts. Sam didn’t like that. He didn’t want you to think.

He gripped onto your hips, lifting them before letting his own hips follow, slamming himself back inside. You gasped, a moan escaping. Ruby rested one hand on your lower back, the other on Sam’s abdomen, like the puppet master she was. She controlled you both, but her hold on you was stronger than the one on Sam.

“Fits so well,” Sam grunted, pounding into you. You let out a strangled moan. You gripped onto Ruby’s arm, needing to stabilize yourself.

“See what you’ve been missing out on?” Ruby flicked the tip of her tongue against your cheek, pushing her chest closer to you. You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe with the speed Sam was moving at.

That pleased Ruby even more. You were her dumb little angel, listening to everything she said.

She pulled away from you to climb onto Sam’s face. This scene was too much. She needed to come, and she knew Sam was always happy to offer his mouth up for that assistance. She sat comfortably on his face, eyes fluttering shut when he groaned into her.

You watched her with a hazy mind, choking on your breath at the pleasure. When she looked back at you, her eyes were the same inky black as Sam’s had been. It should have sent a shiver down your spine that you were in the presence of such evil.

But Ruby didn’t feel evil. Not when she was pulling you toward her to kiss you so hungrily. This was your Ruby. She loved you, and you loved her.

You whimpered into her mouth when she clawed at your arms, tearing away the bandages. In the haste of trying to prove yourself to Sam and Ruby, your slow-healing cuts had been ripped open. The blood seeped out slowly, not enough to trickle, but enough to drip when it pooled up too much. You hadn’t noticed.

Ruby did. An idea popped into her head, one bred from the desire to be closer to you. She remembered forbidding you from healing yourself after your punishment, and, God, was she grateful for it when her tongue flashed over your arm.

She’d tasted blood before, bathed in it even, but nothing like this. Your blood brought the sweetest sting down her throat. She relished in the fleeting pain. She scraped her teeth against the slices, chasing the high angel blood was bringing to her. You whined as she moaned.

Sam almost protested when Ruby slid back but before he could get a word in, she slammed your forearm down to his mouth. He sucked on instinct and his thrusts stuttered with the tang of your blood.

It didn’t hurt him like it had Ruby. No, it had a different effect on him. It turned the dirty inside him clean, filled him with hope. He felt lighter, almost. Somehow he knew that the mixture of demon and angel blood in his system would make him more powerful than ever.

The thought brought his pace back to life.

His hips were unforgiving on the backs of your thighs, bruising them with every moment of contact.

Ruby reclaimed her prior spot over his face. This time, Sam had her falling apart in minutes. He’d gotten a new spark inside of him with this whole thing. You and Ruby were his girls and he’d be damned if you two went unsatisfied.

A scream caught in your throat when you came. You doubled over, falling to Sam’s chest. It didn’t falter his pumping in and out of you. In fact, it seemed to motivate him more. The clenching of your walls around him had him silently begging for release. He needed it.

Ruby took no time to level her head with Sam’s. She was still recovering from her orgasm, but knowing he was still inside you had her kissing next to his ear.

“Come in her,” she whispered to him, nibbling on his earlobe. Sam groaned in anticipation. He’d been planning on doing it but now Ruby had given him the permission he needed. “Fill her up for me.”

“Fuck,” he seethed when it finally happened. He dug his hips into your ass, grinding up to ensure his release was deep inside. He was able to get in a few sloppy thrusts to guarantee he was completely satisfied before he relaxed into the mattress of your bed.

You were heaving out breaths. You hadn’t opened your eyes since your orgasm, but they both knew you weren’t sleeping. Ruby traced a finger across Sam’s cheek before kissing him.

“Good boy.” She praised, earning her an exhausted smile from him.

“Angel?” Ruby asked softly, skimming her hand over your shoulder. You didn’t move. The only indication you had heard Ruby came from the small “Hmm?” that vibrated from your throat. She smiled wickedly at that. You were completely spent. Still, she wanted one last thing before you fell asleep.

“Tell me again.” She ordered. You needed no explanation, even with your fuzzy mind keeping you from thinking.

“I love you,” you mumbled, shifting your hips. Sam scratched lightly against your back, making your skin tingle.

“And who will love you when no one else will?” Ruby asked. She pulled a blanket over you three, protecting against the cold night air. Not that anyone would get cold tonight, not with your bodies still tangled together.

“You and Sam.” You breathed out one last answer before drifting off. The soothing circles on your spine calmed the part of your brain keeping you from sleep. Ruby smirked proudly, kissing both yours and Sam’s foreheads while you both slept.

“Good girl.” She purred, settling in to watch over you both all night long.

The morning would come, but your fear of them would not. The wounds on your arm would heal into a scar, spelling out their possession of you every time you looked at it. As long as you were a good girl, Ruby wouldn’t hurt you again, a mantra that reminded you to never try to leave them again.

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess

additional loveys that i know will want to read this : @saltcxrcle @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @ambiguous-avery

[100vern]

in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[yupstillaghost]

✨️Halo & Horns🥀

Part 2

Erik Campbell x Pastor's Daughter Reader

Part 1

Part 3

Summary: Your parents said you're not allowed to see Erik again after your father caught you alone with him. Erik is unphased by your father's threats towards him, so he makes an attempt to contact you.

Warnings: oral piercing, swearing, strict parents, talks of religion, extreme romantic tension and tooth rotting fluff, shirtless Erik. MDNI

Other: No use of Y/N, description of articals of clothing reader is wearing, but no physical description of reader.

Author's note: so many people wanted to be on the tag list, but unfortunately, I'm capped at 50 mentions per post. So if you didn't make it, I'm sorry 😞 also not me just getting a sudden burst of inspiration and deciding to drop part 2 out of nowhere.

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As soon as you got home from the Campbell's house, you received a lengthy lecture from your parents on the importance of supervised dating. Your father explained that temptation is everywhere, and it's always waiting for us to have a moment of weakness in order to strike. Then your mother explained the importance of faith in relationships and marriage and how Erik Campbell was not the right fit for you. Your father agreed of course.

"That Campbell boy might have seemed charismatic sweetheart, but so was Satan himself" he preached to you. "Dad, don't you think its unfair to judge someone based on their looks and one conversation?" You asked in a meek tone.

"Perhaps. But I could tell straight away that Campbell is not a man of God and he would not be a good influence on you. So it's important that you stay away from him" your dad explained in a more calm manner in hopes of getting through to you. You looked to your mom for her opinion, but she looked back at you with an apologetic glint in her eyes.

"Sweetie, we only want what's best for you" your mother cooed "besides, there are plenty of fish in the sea." You allowed your shoulders to drop and stared down at your lap, feeling defeated. Once your parents indicated that you were free to go, you got off the living room couch and practically bolted to your room. You wanted to slam the door to show your parents how upset you were, but you knew that would only lead to you getting your door taken off the hinges like when you were a child.

You were a grown woman, but your parents still treated you like a little girl and you hated it. But unfortunately, your father was a firm believer in the classic saying "you live under my roof, you live by my rules."

You changed into your pajamas and immediately climbed into bed. You were so troubled after the conversation with your parents that you didn't even have the energy to finish the moth creature in your sketch book. You tried to distract yourself by doom scrolling on your phone, but not even that helped.

Your mind was overloaded with thoughts of Erik. His pale blue eyes, his voice, his little grin, the softness and warmth of his tatted skin. You repeated your interaction with him in your head over and over like a cassette tape stuck on an endless loop. You screwed your eyes shut and roughly ran your hands through your hair before yanking your covers up and over your head. "God, please let me forget him" you prayed silently in the darkness, almost in tears. "Please let me forget about Erik Campbell."

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The next morning, you sat at the breakfast table staring blankly into your cup of coffee with newly pronounced under eye bags. You barely slept the night before because your prayers to forget about Erik went unanswered. You were up a majority of the night thinking about him, and when you did finally manage to fall asleep, he was waiting for you in your dreams. It was like there was an Erik sized cockroach infestation in your brain.

"Sweetheart, do you mind fetching the mail please? Your father asked you while cutting his sausage links your mother prepared for him. All you did was nod as you slowly stood up and sluggishly walked to the front door.

You made your way down the driveway to the mailbox, the bottom of your fuzzy pink slippers dragging on the pavement. You squinted as the morning sun assaulted your corneas. You were too tired for all of this. It was all Erik's fault. You reached into the mailbox and pulled out an assortment of envelopes. You held them in front of you and sifted through them as you walked back up your driveway.

Bills, bank statements, junk mail, and a folded piece of paper that caught your attention. You stuffed all the other mail under your armpit so you could use both hands to unfold the paper. Once you fully unfolded it, your eyebrows threaded together in confusion. It was a flier for a local tattoo parlor.

"Marked Tattoo & Body Piercing Studio" you read the flier aloud to yourself. It was a strange thing to find in your mailbox, to say the least. Sure, you would sometimes receive fliers in the mail for all sorts of things, but never a tattoo parlor. You couldn't help but feel like there was some sort of significance to it. Your mind wandered to Erik again and the tattoos that adorned his arms.

"Wait a minute...Erik is a tattoo artist" you thought to yourself. Your eyes scanned the flier again. You looked at the address and phone number printed at the bottom of the shop's name. There, next to the shop's phone number, was the letters EC scribbled on the paper. Your eyes went wide when the realization hit you. Those weren't just any random couple of letters, they were someone's initials. EC...Erik Campbell.

Erik was trying to communicate with you discreetly by leaving the flier for his work in your mailbox. So clever, but so risky. You could only imagine what would have happened if it wasn't you who found it. You quickly refolded the paper and shoved it into the pocket of your pj shorts as you swiftly walked up to the front door of your home.

You handed the mail to your dad, and you tried your best to calmly and nonchalantly walk up the stairs to your bedroom. Once you were inside with the door securely shut, you plopped onto your bed and took the flier out of your pocket. With slightly shakey hands, you picked up your phone and dialed the number on the flier.

"What if he doesn't answer?" You considered "What if I'm wrong about this?" Your nerves had your whole body buzzing with anxiety and anticipation. You decided you had to at least give it a try, so you slowly pressed the call button and put the phone to your ear. The phone only rang twice on the other end before someone picked up.

"Marked Tattoo & Body Piercings, Erik speaking" said the familiar male voice on the phone. You gasped slightly as soon as Erik's monotone customer service voice hit your ear. You were shaking. You couldn't believe you were right about the flier and that it was Erik on the phone with you.

"Umm..hi" you spoke softly to make sure your parents couldn't hear you. "Is that you, Peach?" Erik said with more vitality in his tone. You could practically hear the smirk on his lips through the phone.

"Ya..its me" you giggled nervously. You didn't exactly plan out what you were going to say to Erik if he picked up the phone, so to say you were nervous would be an understatement.

"I see you found my little easter egg" he chuckled on the other end. "Yes I did. I applaud your creativity, Campbell" you teased. You heard Erik bite back a laugh on the other end of the phone and your heart rate started to pick up. Just a few hours ago, you thought you would never hear his voice again. But there he was talking right into your ear.

"Well, you left before I could ask for your number yesterday, and I knew I couldn't just walk up to your door because then your old man would start shoving a crucifix in my face" Erik explained with sarcasm at the end. You held back a giggle after what he said about your dad. It was funny to you because it was pretty spot on.

"That's a fair assumption" you agreed with amusement in your voice. The banter between the two of you made you forget your nerves and the fact that you're not even supposed to be talking to Erik. You didn't care. You missed him, you needed this. You needed to hear his voice. You heard Erik take a deep breath through the phone.

"Listen, Peach, the thing is I can't stop thinking about you. I know your parents don't want me near you but honestly, I don't really give a fuck..I need to see you." Erik's confession rocked you. You were dumbfounded. You spent all night thinking about him, and it filled your stomach with an unimaginable amount of butterflies to think that he was going through the same thing.

"You still there?" Erik asked softly. You didn't realize how long you were quiet for. "Ya, I'm still here" you whispered "I wanna see you too, Erik." You and Erik exchanged numbers over the phone while you tried to stay as quiet as possible. Adrenaline was pumping throughout your body. If your parents walked in on you, this could all be ruined immediately.

"Is there any chance I could see you tonight?" Erik asked while sounding hopeful. "You could come by the shop after closing. It would just be the two of us. No witnesses."

You took a minute to ponder the possibility. You thought about how you could go about seeing Erik without your parents finding out. You looked at the flier again, it said the shop closed at 9:00pm. You then remembered you had Bible study tonight at 8:00 with girls from your new church. Judging by the address on the flier and the address of the girls' house that would be hosting Bible study, you could leave early and head right there.

"That sounded creepy, didn't it? I'm sorry, Peach" Erik blurted out, interrupting your thoughts. You giggled as a way to reassure him.

"No it wasn't, I was just thinking it over. I have Bible study tonight, but I can leave early" you said to him through a whisper. You heard Erik let out a single chuckle and you just knew there was a smirk on his lips.

"You're really willing to sneak around for me? Your dad would probably tie boulders to my ankles and throw me in a river if he finds out" Erik exaggerated. Though his assumption was extreme, you smiled none the less at his strange sense of humor.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him" you responded, feeling like a rebellious teenager for making plans to meet up with a guy you were told to stay away from.

"Then I guess I'll see you tonight, Peach" Erik mumbled in a husky tone. "And bring those drawings of yours with you. I'd love to see them." With that, you said your quiet goodbyes and hung up the phone.

You stared at your bedroom wall and let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. You were stunned by what you just did. You talked to Erik on the phone. You made plans to meet up with him tonight. Your stomach turned wildly. You felt a twinge of guilt for disobeying your parents, but your excitement to see Erik again overpowered it. You were an adult, your parents couldn't keep telling you what to do. You wanted desperately to be free of their rules and expectations, and if the only way to do that was to sneak around, then so be it.

--------------------------------------------------

You were bouncing your leg with your Bible in your lap as you sat in the circle of women discussing a verse from... Genesis? Exodus? You couldn't remember because you weren't really paying attention. You kept stealing glances at the clock on the wall. It was almost 9:00pm, which meant it was almost time for your rendezvous with Erik. You closed your Bible gently and placed it in your small backpack next to your sketch book. It was time for you to make your escape.

"I'm gonna head out girls, I'm not feeling well" you lied expertly, standing up from your chair and swinging your backpack onto your shoulders. They all wished you well, and you were out the door and power walking to your car in no time. You got into the driver's seat and put the address of the tattoo parlor into your phone's GPS app. You drove the whole way there with a swirly feeling in your stomach, your clamey hands gripping the steering wheel.

When you arrived, your heart felt like it was going explode out of your chest. You made sure to park down the street instead of parking right in front of the shop. You didn't want anyone you knew to drive by and possibly recognize your car. You walked up to the shop with your hood up, feeling like you were about to do something illegal. Seeing the tatted and pierced man you had a crush on wasn't illegal of course, but you couldn't risk getting caught.

You walked into the shop, and almost instantly, you felt out of place. The tattoo parlor was dimly lit and the brick walls gave it an industrial feel. The decor was definitely something your parents would turn their noses up to, but you kind of liked it. The place looked cluttered, but it seemed like an organized clutter.

Throughout the shop were black leather stools and tattoo chairs with a matching black leather couch in the waiting area. The shelves that held various objects like oddities and bottles of tattoo ink were accented with red led lights. It gave the shop more lighting while also adding a sensual feel. Your blue jeans and lavender hoodie were the only colorful things in the whole shop. A stark contrast indeed.

You peered around the corner of the front desk, looking for the man you were there to see. You could hear faint talking over the death metal music playing on the Bluetooth speakers, so you followed the voice.

You then found Erik hiding in the corner of the shop, but he wasn't alone. He was sitting in one of the stools with a girl in the tattoo chair in front of him. It seemed like he was finishing a piercing he did for her. Judging by his gloved hands working in the girl's mouth, he must have given her a tongue piercing.

You cringed a little at the thought. Not because of the tongue ring itself, but you couldn't imagine how bad it must have hurt. You heard Erik trying to have a conversation with the girl while having his hands in her mouth. You stifled a giggle, watching his attempt as you stood about 10 feet away from them.

"So there's this girl, right? She's extremely gorgeous and super sweet. We met at my parent's barbecue yesterday, we got to talking, and we completely hit it off." The girl in chair just made agreeable noises as Erik continued his monolog while screwing on the ball of her new piercing.

"Now I get to hang out with her after work tonight. I'm psyched out of my mind about it. I feel like I could run a fucking marathon" Erik finished screwing on the ball of the piercing and the girl brought her tongue back in her mouth.

Erik looked to his right and saw you standing idoly by, waiting for him to notice you. You felt a whole wave of emotions crash over you when his muted blue eyes connected with yours, but you stomped them down so you wouldn't be overwhelmed. You shyly waved at Erik, and he flashed you that grin that you were thinking about the whole day.

"There she is," Erik cooed to you. "Mind waiting for me up front, Peach? I'm just finishing up." You nodded while replying with a "mhm" before turning and walking back to the front of the shop.

You sat down on the leather couch while you listened to Erik go over the aftercare instructions with the girl he just pierced. You then watched as the girl left out the door, already touching her new tongue ring despite Erik telling her not to. You heard footsteps approaching the front of the shop and Erik came into view from around the corner. He went to the door and locked it and then proceeded to flip the "come in, we are open!" sign to "sorry, we are closed."

"I thought you said no witnesses" you said to him with a smirk to let him know you were only teasing. Erik smirked back at you followed by a snort.

"She came in 10 minutes before closing time, and it was only a piercing. If she came in this late wanting a tattoo, I would have told her to kick rocks." You smiled at him but then you bit the corner of you lip when you realized what he was wearing.

Erik had on the same black skinny jeans and combat boots you saw him in yesterday, but it was the upper part of him that had you stunned. He was wearing a black leather jacket but he didn't have a shirt on underneath. You could see bits of more tattoos that you didn't know he had poking out of the jacket.

You saw a black and gray dragon that spanned across his chest right underneath his collarbones. It was so dark but so detailed that you could still tell what it was from a mile away. Right below it is what probably had you the most speechless. Right under the dragon was a huge skull tattoo that took up the remaining skin of his torso. You just sat there and marveled at him as he sauntered over to you. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Like what you see, Sweets?" Erik spoke in a gravely tone, taking notice of where your eyes were focused. You snapped out of your daze and looked up at Erik, who was now standing over you. You stood up quickly and gazed at Erik with a sheepish look on your face.

"Sorry I was just..." you trailed off, racking your brain for an excuse for your staring. "Don't be sorry, I didn't get these tattoos for people to not look at them" Erik reassured you.

"Did you draw these too?" You asked with curiosity as you took a step closer and placed a hand on the dragon adorning his chest. You quickly realized you were touching Erik's tattoos without checking with him first yet again. There was something about him that just made you forget what personal space was. You tried to withdraw your hand from him, but he gently took your wrist and placed your hand back on his bare chest.

"I don't mind you touching my tattoos, Sweets" Erik said in a low voice, practically reading your mind. The close proximity you found yourself in with him made your brain short circuit. You weren't standing this close to him yesterday. If you were, your father would definitely have an aneurysm.

Erik still had his hand wrapped around your wrist, so he pulled your hand to the right side of his chest. There, you could feel his heart beating rapidly, and you instinctively flattened your palm. Your previous question to Erik was long forgotten, and so was the tattoo on his chest. All you could focus on was his heart rate and the fact that it matched your own.

You were brought out of your head by Erik using his other hand to lift your chin so you could look into his eyes. His eyes gave you that sparkle from yesterday. You didn't realize just how much you missed Erik until now.

Your senses were overloaded with him. The warmth of his skin under your palm. The smell of his cologne mixed with the smell of ink. The sound of his steady breathing in the quiet tattoo parlor. The way that he looked just as handsome and dangerous as the last time you saw him. All that was left was...taste.

No, you couldn't, not yet. It was too soon. You were moving too fast. You slowly took your hand off Erik's chest, his grip on your wrist letting go at the same time. You dropped your gaze down to your feet as you exhaled a stuttering breath. Erik wasn't ready to let you go, but he didn't want to overwhelm you any further. So he settled for holding your delicate fingers in his large hands.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come on so strong" Erik whispered his apology with sincerity in his voice. Your overwhelmed state shifted to embarrassment. You did not have a lot of experience with romance due to your religious upbringing, and you feared it was evident to him now. What women in her 20s gets overwhelmed by just the probability of a kiss?

"You're fine Erik its just.." you dared to glance back up at him to see a worried look in his bluish gray eyes. "I just don't want to move too fast" you finished with a meek tone. Erik brought a hand to your upper arm and squeezed it gently.

"We can move at whatever pase you want, Peach. I'm here for the ride either way." Erik spoke to you softly while showing you a genuine smile with teeth. Your cheeks took on a pinkish hue after hearing his words. You beamed at him, feeling grateful that he was so patient and understanding.

"So, do you want to see my drawings?" You asked him shyly, and he instantly beamed at you.

"I'd love to"

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[tacobacoyeet]

please give us mike ross x lawyer whos at his level (maybe a little better) please please please

deserved | mike ross x reader

a/n: ahh my first suits fic!!! how exciting! thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy! this is loosely based off of s5e7, "hitting home". as a disclaimer, the extent of what i know about the law is capped off at what they portray in suits, so... take this with a grain of salt. let me know what you think!

warnings: SMUT 18+, mention of weed, cursing, i can't write anything happy so this is just pure angst, honestly not my best work but i am new to writing for suits so... it will get better!

The gavel hasn’t even fallen before the tension in the courtroom snaps like an overdrawn violin string. You stand there, motionless, victorious, your breath still caught somewhere between your ribs and the space between triumph and fury. The opposition’s final objection is overruled, your client is grinning ear to ear, and the judge’s ruling seals it: an absolute slaughter in your favor.

It isn’t just a win. It’s your win. A seismic moment in a case that’s been bleeding in and out of your sleep for weeks, and you make it look like a walk in Central Park on a Sunday morning. Effortless. Inevitable. Cataclysmic.

Your heels echo against the marble as you exit, head held high, not smug—but with that glint in your eye that only the truly dangerous possess. You are hot shit, and everyone in that courtroom knew it. The whispers follow you into the hallway, part reverence, part fear.

You can feel his presence before you even see him, that skinny tie and brainy smirk radiating toward you.

Mike Ross, golden boy of the Upper West Side courtroom scene, Harvey Specter’s hand-picked prodigy, leans against the far wall with that crooked smile he wears like armor. He has that unreadable thing in his eyes again—half admiration, half something else, something volatile. He claps, slow. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Remind me never to go against you in court,” he says, pushing off the wall like gravity doesn’t apply to him.

You smirk, the corner of your mouth curving with practiced restraint. “You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

There it is again—that delicious undercurrent. Rivals, yes. But also something else. Something you both refuse to name.

“Not the way you win, anyway,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice, not quite bitterness, not quite awe. “You didn’t even blink.”

“I don’t need to,” you say, brushing past him, the scent of victory—and maybe a whisper of your perfume—lingering between you.

“So what happens if I win it?” he asks, voice light, but there’s something behind it—something biting.

You don’t look at him. “Win what?”

“The promotion.”

You snort. “You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

You slow just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Loser buys dinner. Pricey. Something with that wine that Donna likes. The good shit.”

Mike tilts his head. “And if you win?”

“Then you’ll buy,” you say. “But we both know I prefer whiskey.”

His grin is slow, crooked, infuriating. “Don’t worry. It’ll be my drink of choice on your dime.”

While Mike Ross is Harvey’s shadow, you are Louis Litt’s firestorm. And for all their differences, you and Mike? You are the ones to watch. The two brightest meteors in Pearson Specter Litt’s sky—bound to crash, or burn, or… both.

You make your way back to the office like you’re gliding—high on the win, high on the recognition. The entire floor practically vibrates with something electric… jealousy, awe, maybe even a little fear. You like it. You deserve it.

Louis catches up to you near the bullpen, practically bouncing on his heels. “Did you see his face?” he asks, referring to the opposing counsel. “Absolutely gutted. Like someone stole his cat and peed on his briefcase.”

You don’t even blink. Just grin. “Thanks for the image, Louis.”

“No, thank you, Y/N, for another thing to add to my list of why I’m better than Harvey.” He scurries off, practically humming.

You continue through the corridors, collecting stares like accolades—until you walk straight into the last person you want to give you one: Harvey Specter.

“I heard about your win,” he says, arms crossed like judgment incarnate.

“Thanks,” you reply. “But don’t try to hide the fact that you’re sizing me up behind a half-assed compliment.”

“I’m not sizing you up.”

“So you’re not here to pick at me, gather intel, and report back to your precious baby so he gets junior partner?”

“I’m here to give you your flowers.”

“Sure. With a dagger between the stems.”

Harvey narrows his eyes. Then—barely—a smirk. “Watch your back.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t want Mike to have this.”

He doesn’t deny it. Not exactly. “It’s not about what I want. There’s more at stake than you know.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

And for once, you have nothing clever to say back.

You don’t think about it until the next day, when the break room becomes a confession booth for two idiots who haven’t learned to keep their voices down.

“Someone said Soloff’s pushing for Ross. Can’t believe it.”

“He’s good. And Harvey doesn't seem to be doing it, so why not? Come on, man. It’s going to be him.”

You freeze. Your fingers grip the paper coffee cup so tight it crumples. You back out of the room like it’s on fire, heart hammering against your ribs. You just won a case bigger than any associate has in the last ten years, and Mike’s name is still floating around for the junior partnership? The thought sits with you for the rest of the day, swimming between the lines of all the paperwork you’re trying to focus on. It’s a distraction, an obstruction in the view of the crown you know you deserve.

That night, you make a mistake. The kind you never make. You misfile a critical document and can���t find it in the system. You tear through records, hands trembling, and by the time it’s 1 a.m., you’re on the floor of the file room, crying.

Of course, it’s just your luck that Mike finds you there. You’re too tired to bother wiping your tears. It’s useless, anyway.

“Go ahead and start thinking about thinking about dinner,” you say coolly, your voice thick with the weight of your actions. You can kiss that promotion goodbye.

Mike doesn’t ask questions. Not right away. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t offer comfort wrapped in sarcasm. He just sits there beside you, the paper silence of the file room folding around both of you like a second skin.

The tears come harder before they stop. You hate that he sees you like this. Hate more that it’s not the first time he’s seen you bruised by something intangible—expectation, pressure, fear.

“I’m fucked,” you finally mutter, voice raw. “I ruined my chances.”

“No,” he says gently. “You didn’t.”

You let out a hollow laugh, more breath than sound. “Tell that to Louis when he shows up in five hours and doesn’t have the brief for the Morland review.”

Mike leans back against the cabinet, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve done everything right since you got here. One mistake isn’t going to erase that.”

You look over at him. His eyes meet yours—steady, kind, too understanding.

“Easy for you to say,” you murmur. “You’ve never had to claw your way into a seat at the table.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t contradict you.

“No,” he says softly. “I guess I haven’t.”

That night doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t even feel like a turning point. But it plants something—an ache, a pull, a splintered kind of closeness that neither of you wants to name.

You don’t tell him to leave. And he doesn’t.

The next morning, Mike is called into Jessica’s office.

“You wanted to see me?”

Jessica doesn’t look away from the view beyond her office windows, the entire city of New York beneath her. “Do you know how hard I worked to get a view like this?”

Mike stands still, silent.

“Full scholarship to Vassar. Three years at Harvard Law. First Black woman to clerk in the Third Circuit.” She finally looks at him, gaze sharp as a scalpel. “And I’m not going to waste all that just to let someone take everything away.”

“Jessica,” he says, “as far as I can tell, Soloff’s holding up his end of the bargain.”

“He’s doing more than that,” she replies. “He just sent out an email nominating you for junior partner.”

He freezes.

“And you’re going to figure out a way to turn it down.”

“What?”

“Go ahead. Take a minute. Congratulations—you’ve earned it. Maybe aside from Y/N Y/L/N, you are the best associate I’ve ever seen.”

He stares at her. “Then why—?”

“These are your options,” she says, cutting him off. “Medical issues. Family emergency. You’re not ready. Whatever it is, you cannot accept a junior partnership at this time.”

“Jessica, no one turns down partner.”

“Well, they do now.”

“Then don’t send out the press release.”

“You’re not hearing me.”

“No, you’re not hearing me. What do you think happens when word gets out that I was offered the one thing every associate dreams of—and I said no?”

“Nothing,” Jessica says. “Because you’re going to put your mind to finding a good reason with as much enthusiasm as you did bullshitting your way into this job in the first place.”

Mike says nothing, just turns away, walking slowly to the exit with his mind running a mile a minute.

“Oh, and Mike?” Jessica adds. “If, for some insane reason, you decide not to do the right thing here, you cannot expect this to get handed to you. I may not have enough time to sway the partners out of voting for you, but I may not even have two. You weren’t the only associate nominated today.”

A few days later, when Louis gives you the news, your ears ring. You, Y/N Y/L/N, Junior Partner. A shiny new office and a golden nameplate, the bow wrapped around the gift of the title and the congratulations pouring in from every corner of the building. For some reason, though, you can’t celebrate. Can’t breathe. You think of Mike—how he’d been so dead set on a competition on those courthouse steps, how he rubbed your back in the file room when you told him he had pretty much earned the position. Something is wrong.

Later that evening, you find him sitting alone in a darkened conference room.

“Why?” you ask.

He doesn’t even look surprised.

“You think I threw it.”

“Didn’t you?”

He turns, finally meeting your gaze. “You earned it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He stands, slow and quiet. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He brushes past you, but you can’t let it lie. Not this time.

“If it had been you,” you say to his back, “I wouldn’t have questioned it.”

You don’t miss the way his entire body tenses for a moment. “But it wasn’t me,” he says, voice low. And then he’s gone.

Two days later, you stand in front of his apartment door, soaked through with rain and something darker. You don’t knock. You pound, your knuckles red with the pressure behind your rap.

He opens it after a beat, eyes bloodshot, wearing sweatpants and the smell of weed.

"You gave it to me," you say, pushing your way inside. "You handed it to me like I was a fucking consolation prize."

Mike shuts the door behind you, groaning. "It’s been two days, Y/N, why can’t you just take the fucking win?"

You glare at him, poking a finger into his chest. “Tell me you threw it. Tell me the truth.”

“I didn’t—”

"Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me. You were supposed to be my competition."

"I was."

"You were the frontrunner. Everyone knew it. Even after I won that case. But then you just... disappeared. I’ve spent every goddamn second since wondering if I finally beat you. If I actually earned it. But I didn’t, because there’s no way they’d just hand it to me after I fucked up with Louis's case the other night."

Mike steps forward, frustratedly running a hand through his unruly hair. "You deserved it just as much as I would’ve!"

You let out a bitter laugh. "What was it? Did you feel bad when you found me crying? Is that it? I'm not a fucking baby, Mike, I can take a loss when I know I've earned it. Was that why you were in Jessica's office the other day?"

"That's not it—"

"Then why!?" you snap.

"Because I never went to Harvard. I never went to law school."

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t move.

"You’re lying."

"I wish I was."

You stare at him. The silence between you isn’t quiet. It’s screaming.

"You let me kill myself to beat someone who wasn’t even eligible."

"I didn’t know Soloff was going to nominate me."

"But you knew the truth. And you didn’t think I deserved to."

"I didn’t want to hurt you."

"You did hurt me, goddamnit!"

You shove him, chest heaving, and he stumbles back. "You lied to everyone. But me? You watched me suffer for something you already knew couldn’t be yours."

"I didn’t know what to do."

"No. You just didn’t want to do the hard thing."

His hands fist at his sides. "You think I don’t live every day wondering when the lie’s going to catch up with me?"

"I don’t care about the goddamn lie." Your voice cracks again. "I care that you didn’t trust me with it. That you watched me go to war and stood there silent."

"I was trying to protect you."

"No," you say. "You were trying to protect yourself. And now we’re both bleeding for it."

The words hit like shrapnel. He takes a step forward. So do you.

"I hate you for this," you whisper.

"I hate myself more."

And then you grab him by the collar and kiss him like you mean to end him.

He kisses you back like he means to survive.

It isn’t slow. It isn’t careful. It’s a collision—months of resentment and rage igniting in a kiss that’s more claw than caress. You push him backward, teeth grazing his lip, hands tangled in his hair, because if you don’t hold on this tight, you might break something worse than pride.

"You let me bleed for something you knew I’d never get clean," you bite out, nails dragging across his shoulder blades.

"You think I didn’t want to tell you?" he growls, breath hot against your cheek. "I fucking choked on it every time you looked at me like I was the only one who understood how you felt. Now we’re both living nightmares that look like dreams."

"You let me believe I earned it," you hiss, pushing his pants down as he rips at your blouse. "I sold pieces of myself for that vote."

"You got it because you deserved it!" he snaps. "I gave it up because I had to."

"Shut up." You shove him toward the bed.

"Make me."

You kiss him again—rough, violent, full of every word you can’t say. He grabs your thighs, drags you down onto the mattress, climbs over you with hands that know your body like regret.

He doesn’t ask.

He just shoves your legs apart and drags your underwear down with a rough tug, his mouth still wet from kissing you like punishment. You gasp when he slides into you—fast, hard, no patience, no pretense.

You claw at his back, pull his hair, bite his jaw. "Is this how you fuck someone you gave your promotion to?"

His laugh is breathless and cruel. "I didn’t give you anything. I took it away from myself."

"Same thing," you spit, nails sinking in. "You couldn’t even give me the truth."

His thrusts get meaner.

"You want the truth?" he growls, fucking into you like it’s the only thing he has left. "I thought about you every goddamn day I had to keep my mouth shut. I watched you kill yourself for it."

"And you said nothing."

"Because I was afraid you'd look at me like this."

You wrap your legs tighter around him. "Well, I am. And now you’re gonna have to fucking live with it."

He slams into you so deep you nearly sob.

"Good," he breathes. "Then hate me properly."

"I do."

Your voice cracks around it. You mean every word.

He fucks you like it might undo the damage. You take him like it might make sense of it.

No softness. No forgiveness. Just sweat and skin and fury. Moans muffled against shoulders. Hands holding too tight. Nothing between you but the truth.

You come with a curse and a gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling. He follows with a groan buried in your neck, collapsing over you, shaking.

Any words you could think to say at this point would only make things worse. So you keep them to yourself.

And still, neither of you move.

You stay like that for a long time. Skin on skin. Rage cooling into something heavier. He shifts once, like he’s about to speak, but doesn’t. Doesn’t dare.

You stare at the ceiling.

"I didn’t want to win like this," you say finally.

His hand twitches against your side.

"I know."

You turn your head, meet his eyes. They’re red-rimmed. Hollow.

"But you let me."

He doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t explain. He just looks at you like he already knows there’ll never be enough sorry in the world to fix what’s broken.

"I’m not asking you to forgive me," he murmurs. "I just... didn’t want to lie to you anymore."

You nod slowly. Not agreement. Just acknowledgment.

You roll away from him, spine to spine, staring into the dark.

Not touching. Not speaking.

But neither of you leave.

Not yet.

-----

tagging: @artstennisracket, @glennussy

[arielleslipgloss]

Victoria Secret Is Back!! Here’s Your Guide To A Victoria Secret Angel Makeover (Part 1)

“I feel like when people judge me they’re not judging me, because they don’t know who I am.” - Gisele Bündchen 🪽

Hiii doll, welcome to Arielle’s makeover store!! It looks like you set an appointment for a Victoria Secret Angel transformation. Is that correct? Perfect, relax and take some notes if you like!

In this series, I’ll be going over things like fashion, perfumes, makeup, hair, nails, what you eat, and more!! I hope you all enjoy this series, let’s start on your makeover💗

Before we actually get started, please keep in mind I’m not a doctor and I don’t own any photos that are being used. Thank you!!💋

1. Start Eating Clean!! I know you’ve probably heard someone say this before, and maybe it’s time you actually listen to them for once. If eating clean is confusing, no worries. Let’s start with the basics!! Now, the first thing is mindset. It may seem off topic, but trust me. What I mean by this, is think of eating healthy as a lifestyle. Many people think of it as restrictive diet. Which, it’s most definitely not. Instead of thinking of it as being “restrictive” think of it as discipline. I can tell you based off of my experience that this way of thinking works!! Next step, is to eat real whole foods. Literally start eating what God has provided us with since the start. Eat meat for protein, fish for healthy fats, naturally fermented foods for probiotics, fruits for healthy digestion, nuts for fiber, vegetables to improve your immune system, etc. Real whole foods, will make real impacts on your health. And let’s not forget supplements help a lot too. However, I would talk with a professional about what supplements to take. Overall, everything listed helps to get that inner and outer glow.

2. Body Care!! The key to soft skin, smelling good, fighting skin issues, and obviously feeling/being clean. As always, let’s start with the basics. A simple body routine consists of a body wash, something to exfoliate with, (ex: African net or exfoliating glove.) and lastly moisturizer. Super easy, effective, and simple. However, let’s crake it up slightly. If you wanna smell good try a dry brush, quality sugar scrub, Moroccan Kessa glove, body wash, scented lotion or body butter, shimmery body oil, deodorant, and the cherry on top perfume obviously. Now, me personally I really only do all of this together once a week. Cause the truth is, it does take a while to do all of this with my hair care routine. However, in the end it’s so rewarding and I feel amazing every time. All of this is completely optional of course, EXCEPT the first routine I listed. If your not doing the three step body care routine I listed at first, sorry but I’m just gonna assume you smell bad. The first body care routine is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL. Well, now that you know that let’s go over some products. I am not gatekeeping here, so here are some my favorite body care products. Starting off strong with, the dry brush from Kitsch that’s available at Ulta Beauty. For good quality sugar scrubs I love making my own or using Josie Maran’s (available at Sephora & Amazon.) For finding an affordable and amazing Kessa glove Zakia’s Morocco (on Amazon) is perfect. When it comes to body washes, Dove and Naturium (Target) are my top choices. My favorite body lotion is from Naturium, but Esos lotions (Target) smell amazing. Another great Josie Maran product is their body butter, it’s leaves the skin soooo soft. Next, is NUXE’s shimmery body oil that’s available on Amazon. I will be skipping my favorite deodorants, since I feel that everyone has different preferences. Which, leaves us with only perfumes left. My favorites are Strawberry Poundcake (Bath & Body Works), Philosophy Warn Cashmere (Ulta Beauty), and despite not listening to her Billie Eilish’s Eau de Parfum smells like a literal glazed donut. Hopefully, that all helps!!

3. Be Kind!! The year is almost over and it’s never too late to share your love with others. So be kind to everyone, even if they have hurt you. Try complimenting people more, like the VS models would hype each other up. Maybe try giving 1-3 compliments to people you see. Oh, and always remember to be kind to yourself. It’s much harder to be nice to others, if you can’t be nice to yourself. So, take this advice as you will. Just never forget that you won’t remember that argument in 5 years.

4. Skincare Secrets!! I’ll be listing the top skincare secrets I’ve seen the angels share for perfect looking skin. Starting off with, eating their skincare. Whether it’s Gisele Bündchen’s Elderberry jello or Adriana Lima’s avocado smoothie. The angels know it’s important to eat and drink their skincare. Some recipes the angels have shared like Miranda Kerr’s celery juice and Candice Swanepoel’s favorite smoothie are amazing for your skin. Overall the angels aim for clean and beneficial foods/drinks. Which, I go over in the very beginning of this blog. Next secret is, lymphatic drainage facial massages. These massages are perfect for sculpting your face, and super easy to do. I mean all you need is, either a gua sha or your hands. Plus with the internets help, you can find videos on what massages to do. Now, what I’ll be sharing next is no secret. However, drinking water is a MAJOR step to having glowing skin. If you’re not drinking enough water your skin will let you know. Seriously, water works miracles for your skin. It reduces puffiness and inflammation. Which are things you’ve probably experienced. So, go drink your water right now if you haven’t. Last skincare secret of the angels I’ll be sharing is, facials. Most models have facials done regularly or for big events. However, it can be a bit on the pricey side for some. But no worries, I’ll be revealing how to have your own facial at home. For facial we’ll be focusing on cleaning your pores. First things first, is steaming the face. The benefits of steaming your face are honestly endless. Which, is why I love facial steamers so much. For those who don’t own a facial steamer just use a bowl, hot water, and a towel. Simply, put your face by the steaming water and throw the towel over your head. Then, wait for about 10 minutes. Next, grab yourself a clay mask. I personally loveee Zakia’a Morocco Ghassoul Organic Clay Mask. Once you’ve applied your mask, keep it on for however long is instructed. After that, rinse it off and wash your face with a gentle cleanser. Making sure you thoroughly cleanse your face for at least one minute. Last steps, are to moisturize and massage your face for a good ten minutes. And just like that, you have an easy and quick pore cleaning facial at home. That I can guarantee you is probably 10x cheaper. With that all being said, that’s all of the skincare secrets I have to share in this blog. However, I of course will be sharing more in my other upcoming blogs!!

5. Workout!! As we know, working out is so good for our health. It’s incredibly important for our bodies to move everyday. Now, I’m not saying to do an intense workout everyday. But, maybe go on a 20-30 minute walk everyday. You can also make a workout plan. Try aiming to do pilates, a dance workout, or any workout in general every 3-4 days each week. Not only does this help with a busy schedule, but also will make you feel productive.

6. Sleep!! In order to have a proper makeover you must get sleep. Getting sleep for at least 8 hours will help with your energy, digestion system, eye health, and your brain functioning properly. Sleeping will overall improve your health. So, making a night routine that will help you go to bed at a certain time.

7. Read And Journal More!! Reading and journaling can often be used to refresh our minds. Both can help relive stress, anxiety, and improve our health. Of course, be mindful of what you read. Some books can be bad for our health, so be aware. However, taking a break from our phones to read or journal should become an everyday habit. Maybe go outside and be with nature as you read or write. Take the time to breathe and sort through your thoughts.

8. Self Care Sundays!! Before the new week comes along, take the time to do some self care. Workout, shower, do karaoke, a face mask, eat nutritious foods, drink tea, watch your favorite movie, wash your bedding, read or journal, plan for the week, go on a walk, dress up cute, do your skincare, clean your room, give yourself a spa day, etc. Just do what you love and what makes you feel genuinely happy.

”The more you trust your intuition, the more empowered you become, the stronger you become, and the happier you become.” - Gisele Bündchen 🐚

Thank you dolls for reading this until the end!! I hope you enjoy this series 💗

Remember to trust your intuition and stay pretty.

Xoxo, Arielleslipgloss 💋🎀

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 33.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: THEY HUGGED. THEY HUGGED. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. BIG shoutout to my mom for helping me write this chapter. She is an absolute BEAST when it comes to law <3 so please make sure to give most of the thanks to my mother LMAO (and yes, it was slightly humiliating to ask her help with this). apparently the chapter wasn't as long as i thought, but hey, 7.2k words is still hefty Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 30 / chapter 31 / chapter 32

Three days later, the courtroom was completely packed.

Cameras clicked, pens scratched against paper, and the tension was thicker than ice as the spectators whispered among themselves. Power, politics, and consequence hung in the air; an evident reminder of what was to come. The eyes of the world were on Jack Rollins as he sat chained and shackled to the defendants table on the far side of the room, his face blank and uncaring.

On the other side of the room sat a team of the Avengers. Steve, wearing a clean navy suit that barely hid his incredible frame. Natasha, who was wearing a sophisticated black and red suit with an annoyed look upon her face and her arms crossed.

Maria Hill was wearing a simple black and white pantsuit, her hair in its signature bun while sitting rigid and unreadable, the recorded confession tucked beneath her casefile carefully. Clint and Wanda were also present, sitting on the end of their table with equal expressions of suspense while simply adorning their uniforms.

Each of them were staring at Director Holloway, seeing right through his tailored suit that he attempted to wear as a suit of armor. Suddenly, the gavel was struck loudly, the sound crashing through the room like an explosion, and everyone immediately quieted down as the judge entered the room.

"All rise."

Everyone stood in unison, and as the bailiff called the court into session, the judge sat down and gathered herself. She was an older woman, a fire within her green eyes and curly greyed hair framing her face as she nodded to everyone within the room.

"Be seated."

The crowd sat down in unison, chairs and benches creaking, and the prosecution stood, the woman's voice clear, sure, and assertive as she looked at the judge.

"Your honor, today we bring forth not just a trial for Jack Rollins, but a call to action as well. This case is deep-rooted not only in HYDRA, but the Central Intelligence Agency. It is not just about one man's heinous desires or one man's betrayal, but the failure of a security agency within our own government, our country, that is supposed to keep our people safe. It is a call to action to figure out how and why and to immediately end this treasonous behavior."

Steve glanced at Director Holloway from the corner of his eye, and he watched as the man seated directly behind the defense's table shifted uncomfortably within his seat as the crowd began to scrutinize him.

Clenching his jaw, Steve glanced back to the judge, who frowned at the woman's opening statement, and at the sound of shuffling beside him, Steve glanced at Maria whose fingers had ghosted over the tape recorder. Then, the prosecutor cleared her throat before regarding the Judge with a firm look.

"I'd like to call a witness to the stand: Agent Maria Hill."

Murmurs echoed through the crowd, and Maria stood with practiced poise. She was comfortable and confident as she walked to the stand; as if she had done this a hundred times before. Once she was sworn in and seated, the questions immediately began.

"Agent Hill, if you would, can you state your name and affiliation for the record?"

Maria nodded, introducing herself.

"Agent Maria Hill, former Deputy Director for SHIELD."

The prosecutor regarded Maria with a steady look, asking her as she stood in front of Maria.

"You were involved with the independent investigation into Jack Rollins' activities following a discovery made by the Avengers, is this correct?"

Maria replied coolly, nodding as she responded.

"Yes, Mrs. McDaniel. I co-led the investigation into the CIA after irregularities surfaced within the agency."

The prosecutor, Mrs. McDaniel, nodded before she began to pace slightly, glancing down at the ground as she held her hands behind her back, looking up at Maria once more after a moment.

"And, pray tell, what did you find with this investigation?"

Maria answered immediately, adjusting in her seat as she stared down Director Holloway through her reply.

“That Jack Rollins was not only a former HYDRA operative who survived the attack at the Triskelion in 2016, but that he continued covert operations within a post-Winter Soldier initiative while under the guise of CIA employment—backed, knowingly, by Director Dean Holloway.”

The courtroom broke into hushed whispers as the shock went through the crowd, and the Judge immediately banged her gavel once in warning.

"Order!!"

The crowed instantly quieted down, and the prosecutor gave a slight nod to the Judge in thanks before McDaniel gestured towards the evidence box where Natasha's recording was sitting.

"We understand that you have brought a recording into evidence today. Can you explain to the court what this recording entails?"

Maria nodded, gesturing with a nod of her head towards the box as she explained.

“Yes. The evidence is direct audio confession from Director Holloway, recorded during a closed-door debriefing. Permission was granted to record for internal review."

Director Holloway instantly became red in the face at Maria's white lie, and the prosecutor asked.

"It's our understanding that Director Holloway admitted to the CIA's involvement with HYDRA, is this correct?"

Maria looked at Holloway again, her voice steeled and firm as she glared at the man as he damn-near pouted right back.

"Yes. Director Holloway admits to protecting Rollins and redirecting the attention of HYDRA-affiliated incidents. He also admits to providing logistical resources that ultimately enabled human experimentation and funding an enhanced super soldier program, namely Project Achilles."

There was a moment of silence before the prosecutor turned to the Judge, stating to her firmly.

“We would like to submit the recording into evidence.”

The judge nodded, her annoyed eyes glancing at the woman as she demanded.

“Play it.”

There was a moment of silence before the sound of static crackled through the speakers within the courtroom, and then Holloway's voice became clear as day as the recording began to play.

'Listen, this wasn't my idea! The CIA has been using HYDRA as a means to an end! We partnered with them back in the 60's...creating our own super soldier program in order to make the best agents to ensure national security!'

A cut, and then the audio continued as Holloway began to panic within his seat, his eyes wide and face paled, sweat running down his temple as his breathing quickened.

'HYDRA has always been using us as we have been using them. Stealing our information, sabotaging our efforts, the whole nine yards!'

Then, Natasha's voice echoed through the room.

'What do you know about Project Achilles?'

'Project Achilles...it was a last resort. We worked together with HYDRA to create the perfect agent...we slaved for years trying to replicate what Howard Stark had created. Robert had always been a brilliant mind, you see? While HYDRA and the CIA had the same idea of creating a perfect weapon, the CIA wanted to...to have the perfect agent that could protect our country! But HYDRA....HYDRA wanted to expand their influence...to control from within! Project Achilles was just a front!'

The silence within the room was loud once the recording ended. Nobody uttered a word, not even a single breath, and the revelation of what the CIA had done echoed through the room. The prosecutor frowned heavily, and she asked with a low voice.

"Earlier, Agent Hill, you mentioned something called Project Achilles. Can you explain to the court was this project was and what it entailed?"

Maria cleared her throat before explaining, folding her hands in front of her and leaning on her arms slightly.

"Project Achilles was a Winter Soldier program that was started in 1975, but is speculated to have begun since the 1940's after Project Rebirth. It was a joint effort between the CIA and HYDRA to create the ideal infiltration and combat soldier through physical and psychological conditioning. However, it was revealed to be a guise for human experimentation."

The prosecutor hummed, raising her brow slightly as she pressed.

"And it's to our understanding that there is a surviving subject to the project, correct?"

Steve became uncomfortable, frowning as the defense suddenly stood and exclaimed.

"Objection, your honor. Relevance?"

The judge gave the man an annoyed look, raising her greyed eyebrow as her unimpressed expression killed the defense attorney's confident expression.

"Counselor, I think you're gonna want to hear this. Overruled."

The prosecutor then continued after subtly rolling her eyes.

"Can you reveal to us who this subject is?"

Maria looked down at her notes for a moment before she glanced back at McDaniel.

"The subject is classified as Winter Soldier #08, Subject number #2018 under HYDRA and Project Achilles documentation. However, her real name is (Y/n) (L/n). She was born in 1952, and she was a scientist for the CIA before her documented death in 1979, in which she was turned into a Winter Soldier for both the CIA and HYDRA."

Maria paused, glancing at Steve, who simply nodded to her encouragingly.

"She is alive and currently under the protection and care of the Avengers."

Suddenly, the court broke out into gasps and uproars, cameras clicking nonstop and reporters immediately shouting questions. Holloway's face became completely pale, eyes wide, and it looked as though he might faint.

Jack, having not moved since the trial began, finally shifted and glanced up at Maria with a cold and calculating expression. The judge smacked her gavel down repeatedly, exclaiming with a hiss.

"Order! I will have order in the court or everyone in the room will be held in contempt of court!"

The murmurs in the room subsided, but just barely. The prosecutor nodded her head towards the Judge before giving Maria questioning glance.

"Is there anything else that you can tell us about Ms. (L/n)?"

Maria hesitated for a moment before she stated.

"(Y/n) was raised entirely within the Project Achilles initiative since her birth. When her mother attempted to escape with her on December 18th, 1979, she was killed. Ultimately, (Y/n) was taken and turned into a Winter Soldier before being subjected to years of trauma-based conditioning, psychological manipulation, brutal combat trainings, sexual assault and rape, among others."

Maria then paused before glancing at Steve.

"Until recently, when she was recovered by Steve Rogers."

The prosecutor nodded, and thanked her before the defense attorney stood. He was slow and methodical, fixing his suit as he walked up to the stand. He was quiet for a moment, glancing at Maria as if he was trying to put her on edge, but Maria simply raised her eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

"Agent Hill, based on your testimony, you are claiming that the CIA was involved with HYDRA knowingly, is that correct?"

Maria raised her brow again, tilting her head inquisitively.

"That's what Director Holloway's confession stated, so yes."

There were a few chuckles through the room that had the Judge's eyes squinting, and Natasha smirked to herself slightly. The attorney's brow furrowed, and he continued.

"You also stated that the discovery of the CIA and HYDRA working together occurred during an investigation. However, this was not led by the federal government or an oversight committee, but by you and the Avengers. Forgive me, Agent Hill, but this might seem as though this is biased-considering this was done by vigilantes with highly personal stakes."

Maria frowned then, responding firmly.

"We followed the evidence. We weren't the ones hiding it."

"Still, you admit that this investigation was done without sanctions, yes?"

Maria remained calm and collected, giving the man a cool stare as she shot back assertively.

"Unofficial does not mean unfounded."

The attorney spun around, wagging his finger in the air as he called with an almost 'a-ha!' tone to his voice.

"Ah, but since the investigation was unregulated, it seems this was manipulated and selective, would you not agree?"

Maria leaned forward a little, shooting back coolly.

"If we were admitting to manipulation, then Director Holloway's voice wouldn't be on that recording admitting to a federal conspiracy."

The defense turned around then, a strange gleam in his eyes as he pointed out as he suddenly moved on.

"Let's talk about the recording then, Agent Hill. You stated that Director Holloway was informed of being recording, correct?"

"Yes. Natasha Romanoff and I made it very clear that he was being recorded."

The attorney then turned, asking with a raised brow.

"And, you have this consent in writing?"

Maria shook her head, responding with a easy look upon her face as she raised her nose slightly at the man.

"No. Verbal consent is common in secure debriefings."

The attorney then raised his eyebrows completely, giving Maria a look as he out-right asked her once again.

"So, you don't have evidence that he explicitly consented?"

The prosecutor stood up again, frowning heavily.

"Objection, your honor-asked and answered."

The attorney seemed to become red in the face when the Judge gave the man a harsh look.

"Sustained. Mr. Leeds, move on."

Mr. Leeds huffed slightly before he moved back from the stand. He then crossed his arms, a hand to his chin as he began to think. Leeds then gestured, almost carelessly as he put on a care-free image.

"No further questions, your honor."

The judge then looked to the prosecutor, asking after giving the man a skeptical look.

"Redirect, Mrs. McDaniel?"

The prosecutor gave Maria a proud nod before stating to the judge.

"No further questions, your honor."

The judge nodded before looking at Maria, stating.

"You are excused, Agent Hill."

Maria gathered her files before standing down, giving a brief look to Director Holloway and Jack before sitting back down. Natasha leaned over and whispered.

"Way to make him tuck his dick."

Maria smirked, shrugging as she eyed Natasha from the side.

"You win some, you lose some."

Natasha smirked widely before glancing back to the prosecutor. McDaniel looked to the Judge then, requesting the woman with a confident look upon her face.

"Your honor, I would like to call my next witness, Captain Steven Rogers, to the stand."

Steve then stood, adjusting the cuffs to his suit before he walked down to the stand with a calm but confident gait to his step. Once he was sworn in and and sat down, McDaniel addressed him.

"Captain Rogers, for the record, please state your name and affiliation."

Steve nodded, introducing himself.

"Steven Grant Rogers. Former Captain of the United States Army, Former Commander for the Howling Commandos, and I now serve as a tactical consultant and field commander with the Avengers Initiative under special pardons granted by the United Nations and the United States Government."

McDaniel nodded before she asked Steve, crossing her arms as she looked at him with a neutral expression.

"Captain Rogers, you were involved with a recovery operation to an abandoned HYDRA facility several months ago, correct?"

Steve nodded, agreeing, and the woman continued.

"Can you tell the court who accompanied you on this mission?"

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and I led the mission together."

The prosecutor nodded, asking him as she leaned against the table.

"Can you walk us through this mission?"

Steve sat up a bit, beginning to explain as his natural militant persona began to shine through.

"We received credible intel of an old HYDRA facility that was stationed in Eastern Europe and off the books. Bucky and I infiltrated the facility and found that it was still operational despite being abandoned. That's when we found (Y/n) (L/n)."

A stir moved through the crowd, but Steve never moved his eyes from McDaniel as he continued to speak.

"She was in cryogenic stasis when she was found. There were logs that she was in and out of suspension for decades, training data, lab files. It was made apparent that there was long-term experimentation and programming."

"Was there any indication of her origins?"

Steve shook his head, explaining.

"Not initially, no. We discovered her origins later when we tracked down (Y/n)'s most-recent Handler, Jack Rollins, and Director Holloway after we discovered she was a scientist for the Directorate of Science and Technology within the CIA."

McDaniel nodded before she asked.

"What was (Y/n)'s role in Project Achilles?"

Steve's face became firm as he answered, his eyes flicking towards Rollins, who was giving the man a quiet sneer that had Steve's blood boiling.

"(Y/n) (L/n) was the successful test subject of the project. From what we have gathered, (Y/n)'s whole life was fabricated by HYDRA and the CIA: from her birth, her schooling, friends, even her job. They were grooming her to become the most-effective covert Winter Soldier."

McDaniel then asked further, tilting her head a little as the room erupted into tiny murmurs and whispers as pens began to furiously scribble into notepads.

"Were you aware of her ties to the CIA at the time?"

"No. We discovered the connection through a recorded memory (Y/n) had thanks to the advanced technology procured by Princess Shuri of Wakanda."

Feeling that this was enough, McDaniel looked at the Judge and nodded her head.

"No further questions, your honor."

Leeds stood up then as the judge addressed him, pursing her lips.

"Counsel, you made begin your cross-examination."

Leeds didn't hesitate, clearing his throat as Steve regarded him with a guarded expression.

"I'd like to clarify a few details to the court. Captain Rogers, you stated that you led this mission with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, correct?"

Steve nodded, squinting his eyes slightly as he looked at the man.

"Yes, that is correct."

Leeds then raised his brow, stating.

"And this is the same James Buchanan Barnes that was, for a period of time, known as the Winter Soldier-a HYDRA operative."

McDaniel immediately stated firmly, her stance almost aggressive.

"Objection. Relevance."

The Judge nodded before looking at Leeds with a pointed expression.

"Sustained. Mr. Leeds, rephrase your question or move on."

Leeds hummed, nodding.

"Of course. Captain Rogers, would you agree with Sergeant Barnes has a complex history involving HYDRA?"

Steve became guarded again, his expression steeling as he responded with an assertive tone to his voice as he tried to not become offended by what the defense attorney was beginning to imply.

"I would agree that Bucky was a victim of HYDRA. He, just like (Y/n), was captured, brainwashed, tortured, and used as a weapon by HYDRA. After rehabilitation in Wakanda and with the help of Princess Shuri's technology, he is no longer under their control. In fact, he was fully pardoned and cleared for operations under the Avengers Initiative on the basis that he attends court-mandated therapy sessions overseen by Dr. Christina Raynor."

The defense attorney then asked as he turned to look around the court room, his voice carrying through the room like a cloud of poisonous gas.

"To your knowledge, did Sergeant Barnes have any prior connection to the facility in which (Y/n) (L/n) was found?"

Steve paused for a moment before he swallowed thickly, stating suspiciously.

"No."

"But Sergeant Barnes had previously operated in similar HYDRA facilities, yes?"

Steve then spoke with an offended tone, stating firmly as he sat forward slightly in his seat as his muscles tensed; ready for a fight.

"Yes. Against his will while under the control of Alexander Pierce—and through enforcement by Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. That was established in his pardon proceedings."

The room erupted into whispers again, and the attorney frowned heavily. Jack snorted from within his seat, and Steve felt his body tense up even more. The defense attorney then turned again, his gaze steeled as he asked.

“And yet, as we are to understand it: following her recovery, Sergeant Barnes became deeply involved in her rehabilitation. Would you say that’s accurate?”

Steve nodded, his voice clipped as he replied while glancing over at Natasha and Maria, who were glaring at the attorney.

"Yes. He stepped in to help. Since Bucky has experience with her type of trauma, he elected to help her."

The attorney nodded before smiling politely at the Judge.

"No further questions, your honor."

The judge nodded before glancing at McDaniel, who rose from within her seat and raising a hand.

"Captain Rogers, just two questions."

Steve nodded, recomposing himself as he breathed deeply, and McDaniel asked him after giving him a moment.

"To your knowledge, did Sergeant Barnes have any control over his actions while under HYDRA’s influence?"

Steve immediately replied, his voice firm as he shook his head.

"No. He had absolutely no control whatsoever."

McDaniel nodded before asking further.

"To your knowledge, did (Y/n) (L/n) have any control over her actions while under HYDRA's influence?"

"No."

McDaniel glanced at the Judge before she nodded.

"No further questions, your honor."

The weight of Steve's answers filled the room, silence overcoming the crowd as the simple scratching of pens from the reporters filled the atmosphere, and Steve was excused to step down. When he returned to the table, Clint hissed out as the Judge called for a recess.

"That damn attorney is trying to do everything except talk about the actual ordeal at hand."

Steve let out an exasperated noise, not sure how to respond, and McDaniel leaned over to whisper.

"That's kind of his job. Don't worry, we're gonna be okay."

Steve nodded, and McDaniel further elaborated.

"We've got a last-minute witness that we are going to call before Shuri begins her testimony."

Wanda then frowned, finally speaking after simply staying quiet and observing the proceeding the whole time.

"Who are you going to call in?"

McDaniel smirked and winked.

"You'll see. For now, let's just take a breather and get ready for the next part of the proceeding."

Once court was back in session and the prosecution was composed and collected, McDaniel stood up, calling to the judge as the room immediately became quiet except for the cameras clicking once more.

"Your Honor, the government respectfully moves, pursuant to Federal Rule of Criminal Procedure 16(d)(2), to call Anthony Edward Stark as an additional witness for the limited purpose of authenticating the memory‑extraction files obtained from (Y/n) (L/n). We further move for their admission into evidence as Government Exhibit G."

Leeds immediately stood, his expression angry as he raised his voice as the court erupted into gasps. With the exception of McDaniel, the prosecution widened their eyes with shock while Natasha smirked and stifled a laugh. On the other side of the room, the defense immediately paled.

"Objection, Your Honor! Mr. Stark was not disclosed as a witness! We’ve had no opportunity to prepare or challenge his qualifications."

The judge gave Leeds a steely expression, pointing at him.

"Mr. Leeds, I advise you to correct your tone swiftly. Mrs. McDaniel, please explain yourself."

McDaniel nodded before she launched herself straight into the fire, stating confidently as the cameras furiously clicked.

"The files we obtained were de-classified and transferred to our office just before the court proceedings began. We notified the defense as soon as we received them. Mr. Stark's testimony will be confined to digital-forensic authentication to verify the chain of custody, cryptographic signatures, and checksum integrity of the evidence before Princess Shuri of Wakanda gives her testimony."

Leeds was glaring at McDaniel hotly while the judge became thoughtful, and after a moment of thinking, she sighed before stating.

"I’ll allow the motion, over objection, solely on the limited scope proffered by the prosecution. The defense may conduct voir dire immediately upon Mr. Stark’s appearance. You may proceed to call your witness."

McDaniel visibly relaxed with relief before Tony was called into the courtroom. Immediately the cameras began to flash and click, reporters calling out to him, but the judge was swift to yell while slamming her gavel down with a sneer.

"Order! One more time, folks! One more!"

She shook her head when the room quieted, rubbing her forehead in exasperation, and Tony was sworn in before being seated. McDaniel gave him a moment to get situated before she stood and addressed him.

"Mr. Stark, can you please state your name and affiliation for the record?"

Tony smirked slightly, his demeanor calm and relaxed as he stated almost cockily, eyeing the other side of the room with glee when Steve just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Anthony Edward Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and inventor of Stark Forensics cryptographic suite. Oh, did I mention I'm an Avenger as well?"

The judge immediately gave Tony a deadpan look, pointing at him.

"Stark, do not test me."

Tony huffed slightly, and McDaniel gave him an annoyed look before asking.

"Mr. Stark, you reviewed the digital files of the extracted memories of (Y/n) (L/n) that Princess Shuri of Wakanda obtained, is this correct?"

"Yes, in fact, I did."

McDaniel nodded before she asked.

"What steps were taken to ensure the absolute authenticity of these memories?"

Tony immediately sat up, a slight grin on his lips as he boasted.

"Listen up, you're gonna love this. First, I confirmed the SHA‑512 hash values matched those generated by Dr. Shuri’s extraction device. Then I ran end‑to‑end checksum comparisons after each data transfer—through Stark Forensics servers, to CIA evidence lockers, and finally to the court’s repository. All checksums were identical. I also verified the embedded Wakandan quantum‑seal certificate using our cross‑jurisdiction key exchange protocol. Pretty amazing, right?"

McDaniel gave Tony a hard look before continuing.

"In your expert opinion, has Exhibit G been tampered with or edited in any way since its initial extraction?"

Tony shook his head.

"Nope. Exhibit G is as authentic as it gets. I mean, they're direct recordings of these memories as they happened in real time."

McDaniel nodded before stating and moving back to sit down at the table.

"No further questions, your honor."

The judge nodded before regarding Leeds with a firm look.

"The defense may proceed to voir dire the witness."

Leeds wasted no time in standing up, giving Tony an annoyed look as he asked from his spot behind the table.

"Mr. Stark, you're not a neuroscientist nor a medical doctor, correct?"

Tony tilted his head, confirming with an intrigued look upon his face.

"Yes, that's right."

Mr. Leeds then smiled slightly, a haughty look upon his face that had Tony becoming annoyed.

"So you cannot guarantee the accuracy of how these memories were extracted-only the authentication that these recorded memories matched the digital files that were attached?"

Tony glanced to the side before looking at the man with an exasperated look.

"Considering my testimony is to ensure the authenticity, that would be correct."

Mr. Leeds gave Tony a dirty look before stating firmly.

"Nothing further, your honor."

"Then, the court will notion that Exhibit G is moved to admission for evidence."

Tony smirked and once he was excused, he practically skipped over to the prosecution table where he plopped down into a seat next to Steve. The Judge instantly looked at Tony, asking him.

"Mr. Stark, what the hell are you doing?"

Tony shrugged, gesturing with his hand wildly.

"Oh, this is a show that I don't want to miss, your honor. You understand, right?"

The judge instantly smacked her elbows onto the table, covering her face as she groaned and threw her hands up into the air.

"Whatever. Not a damn peep, Stark. Can we please move on? Mrs. McDaniel, your final witness if there are no further surprises?"

Steve gave Tony a firm look while Tony smirked at him and winked before looking back at McDaniel as she stood after sighing heavily for a moment as if she was regretting calling Tony as a witness.

"No more surprises, your honor. The prosecution would like to call Princess Shuri of Wakanda to the stand."

The room, although controlled, erupted into more murmurs and whispers as Shuri walked into the room. Her head was held high, a serious look upon her face as she walked in while adorned in her royal garbs. When the woman was sworn in and sat down, McDaniel greeted her.

"Princess Shuri, would you please state your name and affiliation to the court?"

Shuri couldn't help but to smirk slightly.

"Princess Shuri of Wakanda. I am the lead scientist of Wakanda."

McDaniel nodded before asking the woman respectfully, clasping her hands together as she spoke.

"Princess Shuri, you were the creator of the Wakandad technology that was used to isolate, delete, and repair the mind after the effects of mind-control and installed programming, such as the Winter Soldier programming, for Sergeant Barnes and later, (Y/n) (L/n). Moreover, the neural-interface extraction technology used to obtain the memories of (Y/n) (L/n), correct?"

Shuri nodded, elaborating while wincing slightly as she held a hand up.

"Yes, though, if I may correct you? The technology that I created specifically after managing to completely reverse Sergeant Barnes' Winter Soldier programming is an AI that is capable of identifying HYDRA's programming. Not only that, but as well as detect the intensity and depth that it runs. It gives possible solutions and suggestions on what to work on first...and tells me when something activates the program."

The room erupted with hums and small exclamations of awe, and Tony couldn't help but to nod proudly as she spoke. McDaniel's smiled kindly as she asked.

"Can you go into depth about the core principles of this technology that you created?"

Shuri's eyes lit up, and she clasped her hands together as she began to explain.

"Oh, absolutely. Our system uses a vibranium‑infused quantum synchronic scanner to non‑invasively map and record synaptic transmission patterns in the hippocampus and temporal lobe, which is responsible for memory. It captures any memories as they are encoded, then encrypts them with a multi‑factor quantum key, ensuring absolute chain‑of‑custody integrity."

Shuri was smiling, proud of her creation as she spoke, and McDaniel couldn't help but to grin back before asking with a spring within her step and a confident tone blooming within her voice.

"And how exactly do you identify the validity and accuracy of these memories that you are able to extract?"

Shuri launched into the explanation, gesturing all-the-while almost excitedly.

"My program, as well as Mr. Stark's own programs that were used in unison, are put through the AI system that is able to identify the difference between what may be a dream and an actual memory. We look at the synaptic transmissions and cross-reference them with current memories that are located within the hippocampus. After, they are put through a technical audit, overseen by Mr. Stark and his Forensics technology."

McDaniel then moved on, asking.

"Now, did these memories that you have extracted include memories of interactions of Jack Rollins?"

Shuri immediately smirked at Jack, who was glaring at her with a murderous look within his eyes as his jaw clenched.

"Without a doubt."

She then looked at McDaniel, her smile slowly falling as she further explained.

"These memories include many instances of Jack Rollins' supervision of (Y/n) (L/n). They contain traumatic sequences of rape, sexual assault, physical abuse, punitive training sessions, and other abuse tactics that are consistent with HYDRA's Winter Soldier regime."

McDaniel nodded before looking at the Judge with a determined expression.

"We would like to submit these clips to the court. Please let it be known: the following clips are incredibly disturbing, and viewer discretion is advised among the court."

The Judge nodded, her expression serious as she gave the go-ahead. Instantly, a white screen descended as the clips began to play. the first clip was of (Y/n) being held down on the ground, her legs kept spread as Rollins' face smirked menacingly at her.

There was blood covering her thighs and pooled beneath her body. She was trying to struggle, thrashing as he seemed to be shoving an unknown object inside of her. Her vagina was blurred, thankfully, but it was no secret what was happening within the clip.

The courtroom erupted into horrified gasps and gags, and Tony had to look away, becoming stone-cold as he listened to the room react. Beside him, Steve was frozen, his eyes unable to leave the screen from the shock and horror. Natasha and Maria were eerily quiet, and Clint made a noise of disgust. Wanda closed her eyes and covered her mouth, becoming emotional and beginning to cry.

The next clip was of (Y/n) standing in front of Rollins, his face angry as he held a baton within his hand, and though he was speaking, there was no audio. The next second, he violently brought the baton down, and (Y/n) was knocked to the ground, blood spitting from out of her mouth. She shakily sat up, her hands trembling as she unbuckled Rollins' belt and unzipped his pants. The clip ended abruptly, and the next one began almost immediately.

The next one was worse: Rollins was standing above her with a knife, sawing into her skin with a maniacal look on his face as a doctor stood by in the background. His face was covered in her blood, parts of her skin hanging by mere threads and others freshly sewed back. Although her vision blurred for a moment, there was a moment where her head fell to the side, and the court was able to clearly see her face.

(Y/n)'s lower-half of her face was completely covered in blood and open wounds, her eyes bloodshot and one completely red from a busted blood vessel in her eye. She was crying, wailing although no sound came out, all the while Rollins began to rape her, and the clip was turned off.

Tony had to close his eyes and begin breathing as deeply as he could. Steve was angry, his body trembling and the table beginning to break beneath his grip. Natasha stared with a stone-cold face as she watched, and Maria had to look away in disgust. Clint was slack-jawed, his eyes glazed over from the fury that had went through him, and Wanda continued to cry silently as she kept her face covered.

Steve slowly looked over at Rollins, and the only thing that stopped him from lunging at the man was Tony's harsh grip on his arm.

The man was smiling at him. Not a single ounce of remorse or guilt upon his face. Tony was giving Steve a harsh look, stating.

"He's done. He's done for, Cap."

There were angry tears in Steve's eyes, and the man almost felt ashamed for losing his cool for a moment. After a few more clips, the white screen was retracted, and the court was completely quiet. No cameras clicked, no pens scribbled. It was deathly still and quiet. Nobody dared to even breathe. Finally, McDaniel stated quietly.

"No further questions."

The Judge was quiet, her eyes glaring slightly at Rollins before she looked at Leeds.

"The court recognizes that these recordings are authenticated direct memory extractions, reviewed by two expert witnesses and voluntarily submitted. They will stand as evidence. Counselor, proceed carefully."

Mr. Leeds swallowed thickly, his gaze accusatory towards Rollins before he simply muttered, defeated and slumped within his seat.

"No questions, your honor."

The judge was quiet for a moment, quietly scrutinizing the man before stating.

"Counsel, having heard all the testimony and reviewed the admitted evidence, the court will now hear closing arguments. The government may proceed."

McDaniel then stood, her gait filled with solemn but determined fire as she began to address the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you've heard testimony from decorated agents, government officials, and technological experts. You've seen firsthand accounts authenticated by the most advanced technology known to man—memories, extracted directly from the mind of a survivor. And in those memories, you saw Jack Rollins.”

She began to pace in front of the jury, who was giving her their undivided attention as she continued to speak.

“You saw him inflict cruelty. You saw him carry out the most heinous torture, discipline, and manipulation. You've heard a recorded confession from the Director of the CIA, Dean Holloway, admitting to the CIA's involvement with Jack Rollins and HYDRA under the guise of national interest; effectively enabling these crimes.”

McDaniel then shook her head, her voice raising just the slightest as she raised her hand.

"This is not just about a shadow that is hidden within history. This is about men in power who made repeated decisions that cost lives; who destroyed a person's humanity and called it patriotism. Who destroyed a man who was once a war hero. And who continued these operations years after HYDRA was thought to be gone."

McDaniel then turned to look at Jack Rollins and Dean Holloway for a moment before spinning back to the jury.

“Jack Rollins committed the most atrocious crimes known to man, and Dean Holloway enabled them. And now, you hold the power to deliver justice—to say, unequivocally, that what happened was not just wrong—it was criminal. The government asks you to return a verdict of guilty on all counts for all parties involved.”

McDaniel regarded Leeds with a haughty expression, the man stewing within his seat, and the second that McDaniel sat down, Leeds stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He walked to stand in front of the jury, who all seemed almost disinterested in what the man had to say.

“You’ve just heard a powerful argument. You’ve seen painful images. You’ve listened to compelling witnesses. And I don’t doubt for a second that you are angry. That you want someone to blame, but in a court of law, emotion and sympathy is not enough. In our government, we deal in facts, admissible evidence, and the burden of proof."

He cleared his throat before he began to speak, becoming a bit frazzled as he watched one of the reporters roll their eyes at him.

"M...My client, Mr. Rollins, has been accused of crimes based on memories extracted by experimental technology. Technology that—even if groundbreaking—still raises concerns about accuracy, interpretation, and consent. Furthermore, Director Holloway’s statements were recorded under questionable circumstances—without legal counsel, and without assurance that what he said wasn’t coerced or misunderstood.”

The defense attorney gestured widely with his hands, pleading.

“I ask you not to ignore the pain you've seen—but to remember your oath. That you would base your decision not on outrage, but on evidence beyond a reasonable doubt. And when you do that, you will see that this case, no matter how sensational, is riddled with shadows. Shadows that cast doubt—and doubt, ladies and gentlemen, demands acquittal.”

Once Leeds sat down, dabbing more sweat from his brow, the Judge then instructed the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will now receive instructions on the law before retiring to deliberate."

The judge then began to give her instructions, and once the court was called into a recess for the jury to deliberate and she left the room, Mr. Leeds began to quietly berate Rollins, who didn't seem to be listening to a single word that he was saying.

In contrast, the prosecution was deathly quiet, nobody daring to utter a single word, save for Clint, who was comforting Wanda carefully and gently. Tony simply muttered to Steve after a moment.

"I told you. I told you they were fucking horrible."

Steve's jaw clenched as he eyed Tony, and Tony glanced at Steve. Steve was almost surprised at Tony's teary eyes, and Steve looked away. He couldn't even speak, unable to properly word his thoughts, and Tony took a deep breath.

"I say after this, we all get drunk and take (Y/n) on a vacation."

"Wakanda is her vacation, Tony."

Natasha stated numbly, and Tony rolled his eyes. When the Judge entered the room again, the atmosphere immediately changed. Instantly, everyone shifted within their seats, and hearts began to race in anticipation.

"Will the jury foreperson please rise?"

A woman stood then, seeming to be in her 50's and a strange look upon her face as she looked at the judge. She was holding onto a small piece of paper, her lips pursed as she glanced around the room, looking almost nervous as she began to read from the paper.

"In the matter of the United States versus Jack Rollins, on the counts of all charges brought against Jack Rollins—we find the defendant: guilty."

A murmur moved through the crowd, and Steve and Tony both took a relieved breath. Natasha and Maria subtly fist-bumped, and Clint, Wanda, and Shuri remained quiet and stoic. The woman then took another breath, reading from her paper once more.

"In the matter of the United States versus Director Dean Holloway—on the charge of obstruction of justice, conspiracy, and aiding and abetting war crimes—we find the defendant: guilty on all counts.”

The judge nodded and the crowd began to buzz with anticipation as the woman spoke.

"Thank you, members of the jury. Your service in this difficult, historic, and timeless case is noted and praised by this court and your country. Sentencing will be scheduled for a future date. Court is adjourned."

Her gavel smacked down with finality, and the courtroom immediately went wild. Cameras began to flash, reporters shooting up from their seats as they tried to get both the prosecution and the defense to answer their questions. However, security was adamant about keeping a path cleared for the parties to exit the courthouse.

Once everyone was outside, it became worse. Steve, Tony, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Shuri were all completely surrounded by reporters, spectators, and protesters yelling and screaming. Steve was immediately overwhelmed, and Tony took off his sunglasses as a reporter shoved a microphone in his face.

"Mr. Stark! Given how long she was with HYDRA, do you think (Y/n) (L/n) is even capable of being a real victim—or is she just another trained killer playing the sympathy card?"

Tony blinked as the crowd suddenly became for half of a beat; tension immediately rolling through the air, and Tony's jaw clenched. He leaned forward into the mic before stating firmly.

"You know what I think?"

A beat, and then.

"Fuck this guy."

Tony immediately shoved the reporters out of the way, and the rest of the prosecution followed. Once everyone climbed into Tony's limo and the vehicle drove away, everyone finally took a breath and relaxed. Steve's head fell back against the seat, and Clint stated softly.

"We did it, guys. At least we did it."

Natasha sighed before stating, shaking her head as she pointed out.

"The fight isn't over yet. HYDRA is still out there, and now that they know that the world knows...finding them is about to be a lot harder. Ten bucks that they are already trying to clear out."

Shuri hummed, her fingers drumming against her thigh as she replied with a firm gaze.

"Not if we can help it. We will root out every HYDRA agent until there are none left to poison this world with their disgusting presence. I can assure you of that. You have Wakanda's full support...unless my brother says no."

A small chuckle went through the group, and Tony stayed staring out the window with an angry expression on his face. Steve glanced over at Tony, asking carefully.

"Are you alright?"

"Besides never being able to unsee those clips? I'm just peachy, Cap, thanks for asking."

Steve felt almost bad for asking, and after a moment, he was surprised by Tony's voice asking him softly.

"And you?"

Steve pressed his lips into a firm line, closing his eyes and becoming instantly haunted by the images of the clips. Shooting his eyes open, Steve just sighed.

"Angry."

Tony nodded before he simply stated as the world began to feel a lot heavier.

"Good. Remember that for later."

Steve wasn't exactly sure what Tony meant, but Steve decided not to dwell on it. Instead, he watched the world go by as he silently wondered if Bucky had been watching the whole time.

-

STORY NOTES: please don't make me summarize this a;lskdjf;alsj THE MANS IS GUILTY

TRANSLATIONS:

None, thank god

TAGLIST: @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Fire We Make.

endeavor x blackfem!reader

✩ a miniseries based off my one shot the assistant. this will be a multi part series and i will always link the previous one for you guys.

✩ this is not canon endeavor, he’s not abusive at all. hes actually very loving, just a little dick at times. also the reader is black (we all cheered). also thank you for 1k followers, yall all some freaks <3.

✩ warnings & tags: i switch perspectives a lot in this, there’s no nsfw yet. established crush.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding.

there’s no way, absolutely no fucking way, especially not on your first day.

you were currently in the arms of a big sasquatch, who tormented a bunch of civilians as they ran for their lives. you should’ve turned on another block, but you just had to take a main road. and to make matters worse you were going to be late for your new job.

you cursed yourself and everyone who prayed on your downfall the past couple of years, blaming them for the situation you were in. but, as your mind was preoccupied a series of flames were being thrown at the big hairy man; making him lose grip on your body.

‘great. now im going to fall to my death’

you closed your eyes and said a prayer, hoping someone would hear it. and it felt like someone did because you were engulfed in a set of big muscular arms. looking up at your savior, you were shocked to see the number two hero holding you.

endeavor, placed you down and continued to throw flames at the villain; causing him to stop drop and roll. and while that happened, a reinforcement team captured the sasquatch, sending him to jail.

you smoothed out your black and white striped skirt, grabbing your fallen brief case—before you were suddenly ridiculed by the man who judged you.

“you’re lucky i was already in this area. hopefully you’ll stay out of harm’s way” his voice deep and stern, causing you to roll yours eyes. you were going to give him a piece of your mind, but your watched ticked and you remembered where you had to be.

“fuck! im so g’na get fired.” he turned to look at you and with an eye roll he picked you up. “where do you have to go?”

“The Endeavor Agen—oh,” you realized that you were now in the arms of your boss and you hoped that he wasn’t going to fire you. he rolled his eyes once more and continued into the direction of his agency.

it didn’t take long for the two of you to arrive, and when you did, he led the way to his floor; where his office resided. while the two of you waited for the elevator, he decided to ease the awkwardness by talking, saving you from biting your fingers off.

“what position are you here for?”

“im here to be your assistant. please don’t let what just happened to steer you away from me. im good at what i do, check my credentials.” you pulled a folder out of your black leather briefcase, your heels clicking while you walked into the elevator.

he said nothing as he read your file, making you even more nervous. so, you decided to keep talking. “i hear your going to be appointed the number one hero and I think it’s best to have a press conference before. it would ease the minds of the civilians, it would let them know that their in good hands. you should make this about them, but also mention allmight. how you know it’s big shoes to fill, but you thank home for every he’s done.”

his deep dark red eyebrows rose as he listened to you talk, his bright eyes still on your a-list resume. everything checked out, you had tons of recommendations from other hero’s and celebrities. maybe you were a good fit for this job.

you paused, wondering what did he have to say about your suggestion as the elevator doors opened up to the penthouse floor. the office was huge, a bunch of desks neatly placed on the floors; each decorated with the employees most favorite things. the windows were huge, sky rise, giving off a perfect view of the city.

he finally motioned for you to continue, still leading the way to his office, “I also feel like you should switch out your hero suit and go with a nice business suit. navy blue’s your favorite color, but i feel like a nice cool gray armani suit would make you look more trusting. i believe there should already be a selection of suits in your office already.”

he was amazed at how you moved, how you already planned ahead, despite what caused you to have a delay. he opened the door to his office, the smell of fresh oak and cinnamon hit your nostrils, making you feel warm inside. and just like you predicted, a stand with suits hanging from it was in his office, waiting for him.

“Alright, I won’t fire you. But, you also have to attend this conference with me. Hope you have an extra outfit for you to wear,” you sighed, knowing you were here to stay; warmed you.

“ill have a darker gray pantsuit on the way for me. our colors will compliment each other, sending a message that you stand as a unit. I’ll let you get dressed and I’ll call the car for us when you’re ready to go.” She smiled and he couldn’t help the one that grew on his. She was perfect already.

On their way to the conference hall, she decided to go over a few things with her boss; to prepare him for what’s to come. “Sir, you might get some questions that might upset you and are triggering, but I want you to leave those to me. Let me answer those questions. You wouldn’t want them to think negative of you, okay?” She advised and the pro-hero nodded. He admired her preparation and was glad to have her on his team.

Soon, the company car stopped and they were outside of the hall. Paparazzi stood outside waiting to snap a picture of the flame hero and he mentally cringed. “Media will have a field day with any negative picture of you, let’s just ignore them.” She led the way inside, ignoring the camera people’s questions.

The conference came and went, it was successful. All though there was a question from a reporter about Endeavor’s youngest son.

“How do you feel about your youngest becoming a pro-hero in the making and having to fight your battles?” y/n took over the mic and answered the question for him.

“He’s not fighting his father’s battles, he’s learning. As any UA student it’s common that you’re going to get a lesson where you’d might fight a villain or two, stronger than you. You will have to persevere and understand your strengths and the opponents weaknesses. It’s apart of the journey of getting stronger and becoming a hero.”

the way you were able to answer the question and leave the reporter satisfied, with no further questions; was amazing. He could see why you have so many recommendations already. Endeavor grabbed that microphone and thanked everyone for their time, before the two of you departed and hopped back into the company car.

the sky turned a shade of dark amber as the sun began to set, signifying that it was getting late. as the two exited the tinted black car and it drove away, they stood outside the building for a second; looking at each other before Endeavor spoke.

“Would you care to join me for dinner, I usually order take-out and eat it here; before tying up some things at the office.” you smiled and nodded your head, this would be a good opportunity for you to get to know you boss a little bit better.

on the elevator ride up, found a place to order from; putting in your order and his. and it didn’t take long for the food to get there either, as soon as you walked off; a delivery hero was there waiting with your food. after tipping the hero and grabbing the food, you followed him inside his huge office. he sat in his leather rolling chair and you took the liberty of sitting on his desk.

while the two of you ate, you quickly got to know each other. you talked about a variety of things and you learned he was actually very funny. soon, the sky was now a dark blue, adorned with an array of white stars, and the two of you had finished eating. but, you weren’t ready for the day to end just yet.

a question you were dying to ask popped into your head and flew right out of your mouth, “How’s your wife?” you wanted to scrape your skin off, trying to avoid his gaze as he his face changed from a variety of expressions.

“She’s good…why’d you ask?” his answer was not the one you were hoping for and you wished you could just retract your statement. “Nothing. I just wanted to know.”

His icy stare pierced the side of your face and you couldn’t ignore it, it was like he was melting you from the outside. Like he could see what you were thinking. “My marriage…is complicated.” Endeavor admitted, running a hand through his spiky red hair.

You held your hands up and shook it, “you don’t have to explain your marriage to me. forget that i asked! Hey, it’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow” before he could even respond, you grabbed your food and headed out the door. Too embarrassed to turn around.

Endeavor watched you walk out the door, a twinge of confusion and disappointment came over him. He wanted to call you back over, but he resisted the urge and let you walk right out the door. “Yeah, see you tomorrow…”

The next day rolled around rather quickly, it was more dull than the day before. That’s because you were doing your best to avoid him. You kept to yourself, organizing your files, scheduling meetings and replying to emails. The only time you spoke to him was for little things and you kept it professional, and short. You were so embarrassed from yesterday.

You had a crush on Endeavor before you started to work for him and the day he saved you, increased the attraction you felt for him. So, when you found out he was still married; even with their problems, you were disappointed. You couldn’t compete with that.

Soon, the amber gaze fell over the sky once again and the employees soon left the building one by one—only leaving the two of you. Endeavor was waiting for everyone to leave, that way he could finally talk to you; without extra ears. his six foot five frame towered over you and yours desk, making you look up from the paperwork you had neatly stacked on your desk.

“I wanted to know if you’re okay? you seemed very distant.” his voice was softer than usual and his cool blue eyes stared at your softer ones.

“Im okay, why?” your words had came off a little bit aggressive than you hoped. “just wanted to let you know, if you need to talk….im here.” he gave you a small smile and walked back into his office.

you sighed, slamming your pen down onto the stack of paper, before putting your hands onto your melanated face. you sat there, thoughts running rampant, before you got up and entered his office with a knock. “Sir?”

“yes, y/n?” his expression was neutral, watching you as you walked closer to his desk.

“i want to apologize. i was really rude to you and yesterday was not something i should be asking my boss.”

“don’t worry about it, besides i didn’t take offense to it” his smile made you relax, feeling like you got a a chip off your shoulder. you sat on the edge of his desk, as a mental reminder went off in your head. “hey, i see there’s an annual hero charity event happening this saturday. are you going to attend?”

“charity events are my kind of thing…ill pass” you pouted and got even more comfortable on his desk, eyes pleading with him. “It’ll be a good look for you and the agency, plus I’ll be attending. what do you say?”

he took a nice long pause, formulating what he was about to say next, “Alright. Alright, I’ll see you Saturday. Don’t expect me to be happy about it though.” you smiled and clapped your hands, reaching over to hug your boss, allowing him to take in your scent. the smell of your strawberries and creme perfume was intoxicating to him. the two of you sat there, longer than expected before you pulled away.

“See you saturday and goodnight” he watched you get up from his desk and strutted out his office door. your long legs jiggled each time you moved, hypnotizing him, until he couldn’t see them anymore. ‘Damn’ he whispered to himself and brushed his hair back.

he couldn’t wait to see you again.

[scoonsaliciousupdates]

3.2 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex, Bucky's past, people judging Bucky based on said past.

Word Count: 1.2k

Previously On...: Lily and Bucky went out to brunch, and she made her feelings about you known.

A/N: Eh, another part. Why not?

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You dragged yourself into the WarZone’s flagship storefront in Midtown a few hours later than normal for a Saturday, but you’d wanted to get a couple of extra hours of sleep after Bucky had left this morning. You honestly couldn’t believe you had been up all night having mind blowing sex with a man you had just met. 

Your first thought upon waking up that morning was that he had left in the early pre-dawn hours, but those fears were cast aside as soon as you registered the weight of his arm around your midsection, tucking you against him. Then, you were hit with the concern that he was going to think you were just an easy lay and decide he never wanted to see you again, but to your immense surprise, he’d asked you to have dinner with him that same night. You’d have to be a fucking idiot to have said no.

“Uh oh, someone’s tardy,” said your office assistant, Zadie, as you finally made your way into work. “You’re lucky the boss isn’t here to see you show up late, Major.” She grinned at you, and you stuck your tongue out at her. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Zade,” you said, picking up the pile of mail that had been placed on your desk and beginning to sort through it. “Good thing the boss and I are tight; I think she’ll let it slide.”

“Oh, look who decided to finally show up,” came the voice of the location’s manager, Rand, as he came out of one of the rage rooms. He turned to Zadie. “Either you or I had the audacity to come in three hours late, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend and longtime employee. “Yeah, well, come back at me when it’s your name signing the paychecks, okay, Rand?”

“Relax,” he said, “we’re just giving you shit for the fun of it. So what’s the deal? You have a hot date last night or something?”

“I thought you said you were going out to get drinks with Natasha?” Zadie asked.

You slid down into your desk chair, wiggling your mouse to wake up your computer. “I did,” you told her. “Wait,” said Rand, coming over to sit on the edge of your desk. “Like, Natasha Romanoff, our hottest customer? That Natasha?”

“That would be her,” you said, not really paying him much attention as you navigated to your work emails and took a sip of the coffee you’d brought with you to keep yourself awake.

“Oh. My. God,” Rand said, beaming at you. “Major, did you hook up with an Avenger last night?!”

You choked on the sip you’d just taken. “How in the hell did you figure that out, Rand?!” you asked, astonished.

“You had sex with the Black Widow?!” Zadie exclaimed. “Major, that is amazing! How was she? Oh my god, I bet she was fantastic!” Your friend sighed. “She looks like she knows what to do with her tongue.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to get a word in edgewise. “I did not have sex with Natasha,” you clarified when the two finally let you talk. They looked at you expectantly. “I had sex with Bucky Barnes,” you confessed, hiding your face in your hands to hide your grin and your blush.

Zadie and Rand stared at you silently, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. “What?” you asked them, 

after the silence had stretched on a little too long.

“You fucked the Winter Soldier?” Rand asked eventually in a monotone. “Do you have a death wish, or are you fucking insane?”

“Major, did you not follow his trial?” Zadie asked you. “It was all over the news, like, four and a half years ago.”

You swallowed and shook your head. You most certainly had not followed his trial; you’d been a little preoccupied getting divorced and hadn’t been in a frame of mind to be paying much attention to the media.

“He was convicted for, like, a bunch of murders and crimes against humanity and shit,” Zadie said. 

You felt your heart plunge into your stomach. Of course, the first guy you really connected with since your divorce, who had blown your mind with his bedroom skills, was a convicted murderer. Of fucking course.

But then a thought hit you– “If he was convicted for all that,” you said, thinking it over, “how is he not in prison? I mean, he’s a friend of Nat’s; fuck, he’s best buddies with Captain Freaking America; and Steve Rogers doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to just casually chill with serial killers.”

“He got a Presidential pardon,” Rand explained. “There were supposedly extenuating circumstances. But, I mean, it was just sex. It’s not like you’re gonna start dating the man or anything, right?”

You stayed silent, avoiding looking Rand in the eye.

“Right, Major?” he asked you pointedly. “Just say ‘Of course I would not date the convicted felon, Rand. I value the preservation of my life’.”

“You said there were extenuating circumstances,” you responded. “What were they?”

“What, is his dick, like, magic or something?” Zadie asked, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“Among other things,” you answered sheepishly.

Rand threw his hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake,” he shouted. “It’s like she wants to be a Dateline episode!”

“I just don’t want to pass judgment without knowing all the facts,” you told him. “Or giving him a chance to explain himself.” They both looked at you skeptically. “Guys, he just… He just doesn’t seem like that kind of person! He’s an Avenger, for crying out loud! Tasked with saving the world! Do you really think they’d let him join them if he was a dangerous criminal? Seriously?”

Zadie and Rand exchanged a glance, as if silently communicating that you’d lost your mind.

“You know what?” you asked, exasperated. “It’s my life. If I want to go out with him, I’m gonna go out with him, and you guys just have to accept that.”

“We’re just tryna look out for you, boss,” Zadie said softly. “It worries us.”

You felt your annoyance with them dampen somewhat. “I appreciate that, guys. But I’m a grown ass adult with combat training. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but he’s–” Rand began, but you interrupted him. “I’m done talking about it, Rand,” you said pointedly. “Now, Zadie, I need you to contact the Queens branch and tell them to add the name ‘Peter Parker’ to our VIP list, no charge.”

Zadie nodded and moved to pick up the phone.

“And Rand,” you said, turning back to face him, “if I do decide that I want to start dating Bucky, that’ll mean you might see him around here. You don’t have to go out of your way to be friends with him, or even be around him, but if your paths do cross, I ask that you remain civil, please.”

Rand nodded. “If you can guarantee he won’t murder me,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head dismissively. You were going to have to dig in to Bucky’s history to find out exactly what he’d been convicted for, and what, exactly, these “mitigating circumstances” had been.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[albinokittens300]

!Spoilers Under The Cut!

A/N: SO...been a minute since I wrote fic but. Made sense since I have ideas floating around might as well write and share them. Please note not only am I rusty writing in general, this is my first attempt at these characters. Be gentle on me please XD. I do hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think, and maybe I'll try and get another one out maybe before Act 2 drops this weekend. All this ended up being was a little drabble of a possible reunion between Ekko and Jinx because I need some Timebomb goodness. Isha making an appearance is a bonus! Fair warning I make some wild leaps about what goes on during Act 2, so beware this is based some of my speculation.

He lets it go on for a few turns into different allies before finally stopping.

Ekko knows his little shadow is nothing more than a child, judging by the sound of the sets on the stone and the occasional clang of metal being kicked or tripped on. He usually wouldn't be worried- but with no one chasing after and taking her back to where she belonged, he took it as the sign it was. To follow him so far means she is all alone. Having just gotten back across the bridge, helping an orphan wasn't something on the list of deep concerns. At least, not until it needed to be.

"As quiet as you are, I have to say it'd be easier to get around if you weren't hiding." He says softly. Light brown eyes peek around the corner, playing at being undercover without actually doing so. She is hard to make out in low and greeish light, but he manages. "You can come out. Not gonna hurt you. All safe, I promise."

His hair raises, though, when her gaze flicks back to where he can't see. By all appearances, she is getting permission. So the girl isn't alone. When she takes a few steps out, he tries to remain unsuspicious.

"Whose behind there?" He asks as he kneels while she approaches.

"Definitely not who you're expecting." A darker, familiar voice speaks.

Jinx hasn't even revealed herself before the instinct takes over, and Ekko grabs the little girl and puts her behind him.

Attempting to pull her away from the known danger sets off another problem, though- the little girl reacts as if she has been burned. Letting out a cry, she wiggles away from him quickly before running back and wrapping herself around Jinx. While she removes the hood of her cloak, revealing a far too proud smirk, another arm wraps around the kid's shoulder. His eyes quickly scan her other side. A few bombs are latched there, but no pistol or any of her bigger toys. It was not a situation he loved, but it was preferable to facing down a minigun.

When Ekko's eyes return to the child, he doesn't think someone so small has ever looked at him so frightened. Something screams this isn't right as he watches for a few seconds.

"Relax, this one, I'll admit, has a reason to be a bit jumpy." She says, directing the words at the girl. Then, leveling a look at him. "What was it Vi said you had to say when the two of ya caught up? About looking good for a dead person?"

"That makes three of us, then." He says back. "Wanna explain what is going on down here, seeing as you are my welcoming party."

"Ah, nothing much. War, revolution, infighting, and unifying! All of that. If you are looking for the Firelights, they aren't at the tree. Or what's left of it." She says with a wave of her hand and a shrug. The blood runs like ice at the words and he rounds on her.

"What did you-"

"Woah, woah, I didn't do anything. Those wackos from Noxus? They are the ones who tracked the tree. My only part was helping everyone out." She hisses back. When his face changes, so does hers—relaxing just the slightest bit. Helped them out? Months trapped away should mean nothing surprise him. But it does.

He sees her arms crossed, watching and almost waiting for him to decide how this will go. Deciding to match her lack of hostility, just this once, he looks around to the eerily empty and quiet lanes.

"Guess I got a lot to catch up on."

That brings a less taunting smirk to her face. "Just a bit."

[1nkwe4ver]

So in my theory, severance is kinda a literal and metaphorical method of compartmentalizing the things you have the hardest time dealing with. im seeing that in Dylan George now

Cause like. Okay. A large part of the fandom, myself included, thinks Dylan has untreated ADHD. That makes it difficult for him to hold a job so he turns to Lumon and severance. Some people judge him for this , via the shows literal sci-fi interpretations of Dylan having created an Innie to do the work for him rather than dealing with his problems.

For one, I still don’t buy into that working. I consider innies and outies one person. So even if the intentions Outies go into it with aren’t the best, like with rich people, I don’t think they truly make another person and escape the torture. They are tortured, they just don’t remember it at home and I don’t believe that’s the same thing. I believe Marks reintegration is really gonna bring that point back up.

But how can severance be looked at as compartmentalization of Dylan’s problems? After all, his Outie’s problems seem to have stayed with his Outie.

Personally, it reminds me a lot of why I wasn’t diagnosed till 26, and why I think Dylan is undiagnosed/untreated himself.

One of the major things that gets you identified and tested when you are young is how well you do/how well you cope with school. It’s also a part of what youre questioned about an adult. Because there’s this expectation that, with ADHD being a lifelong condition, a child having it would surely struggle with school.

Personally, I did well in school. I got myself up on time to catch the bus 99 percent of the time. A few of the times I missed it, I actually think it came early without warning. I didn’t get a B until university. I didn’t start struggling/getting poor grades and struggling to meet responsibilities till senior year.

This definitely isn’t to brag. In a way, looking back, I wish I hadn’t been able to pull this off. Why? Because it took every fucking bit of self management I had. I was a “gifted” kid. I was expected to “go places.” Get an impressive job. I was “too smart” to make bad decisions and struggle like my parents did.

Except- this was all based on my having straight As and never/extremely rarely getting into trouble.

But, if someone talked about how awful/excruciating these things were, I’d agree in a heartbeat. They’d act like I was talking down to them, because obviously, I couldn’t know what they were talking about. I was successfully functioning! I was waking up on time and getting myself to school! I was getting the schoolwork done on time and making As!

The thing was, I had, in my little kid brain, been raised somehow to the conclusion that the future all wrapped around school/work. Therefore, school was my first priority. The non-negotiable.

I didn’t realize it, but before I knew anything about the spoon theory, this is where all my spoons went. All of my energy. At base, I thought I was fine, because school was getting done and done well, and that seemed true because it pleased my parents.

But then- my parents didn’t enforce chores on me. There was a period of time where I gave them to myself, giving myself a few tasks to do when I got home to try to help out, but I couldn’t keep that up forever. I had some bigger projects that lit up my brain for so long I kept up with them on top of school or during summer for a while- writing, or when I first lost weight before school. But I gained the weight back and more. I was given a “reality check” that I couldn’t aim to become a writer, and I haven’t been able to build a consistent practice since.

Otherwise- no chores. Occasionally guilted or gotten on to at length for not intuitively realizing I should clean the house or at least my room, but no matter how many times I asked for it, no solid chore list.

I also began to realize my understanding of hygiene was lacking. I still don’t know if I’ve made up the difference there.

I brushed my hair every day, or after a while combed it. It only seemed to get matted. My parents didn’t understand my hair type, so they didn’t teach me the processes it would have taken to take care of my hair at a young age, cause they didn’t get it themselves. They would accuse me of not brushing or combing when it got bad, and then finally accepted they just didn’t understand my hair and would take me to get it relaxed every few months. In that way, a lot of spoons that would have gone to proper hair care never got accounted for.

I had no allowance and rarely got any money as a kid so when I got some, I wasn’t judged for getting myself something fun with it.

I switched my major halfway through university, and couldn’t have handled the internship it would have taken to actually get a job in that field. I’m not sure I would have faired in either job.

At first, when I got some money from student loan disbursements in college, I was strict. My use of money deteriorated over time, as food became a comfort of choice, occasionally drinking. My parents encouraged a getting myself something I wanted, once or twice. A year later, I was buried in impulse purchases and having to go find a bathroom on campus that had toilet paper cause I couldn’t buy my own.

So, shit at cleaning and rarely do it, shit at impulses related to food, alcohol, and money. Below average hygiene. I hate the energy it takes to do my hair with a passion and never keep up with it long term, so it becomes a matted mess that I’m ashamed to bring to a hair stylist. I’m not afraid of it being cut short- in fact, I want it short. I’m just afraid of being told how shitty I am and being accused of not even combing it- which I do, and I feel stupid that I somehow must do even that wrong. I keep track of things but I procrastinate. Awful time management, executive function. The whole shebang. Come my final year of college, i was deteriorating, I could hardly listen to a lecture, and had to reread single pages of my textbooks several times to understand anything.

So why on earth would nobody suspect something was up? I was doing my best. I would share my strategies to get better in all of these areas, and try to articulate what was so hard. It frustrated me to no end that I would drag myself to clean the bathroom when I’d promised to and then my roommate would do it after me, claiming I hadn’t done it. Not even angry or passive aggressive, she was never mean, and that made me feel worse. I don’t know if she understood, she occasionally brought it to me to try to get my help, and I tried to explain that I tried. I did my best, tried to see if the tub looked clean, and to me it did, and apparently it did not. “If your hair is matted like this, you must never comb it/brush it.” No, I do every day. I do it every day. Is there a certain way I’m supposed to do it? How am I so stupid I’m doing it wrong?

“I need to teach you how to clean.”

A phrase that haunts me. As an adult, I learned it’s just a pissy way to tell me to clean. As a teen I was like “when? When will you? Please tell me what I am missing.”

And then past that- I have so little energy to do anything I’m passionate about, pursue dreams, have fun. I get stuck down a rabbit hole of something that catches my attention, spend too much money, and pivot away to the next thing that seems like it could make my life actually work while I try to take care of the people I live with and revisit the ways I know I’m failing in basic functions like cleaning and self care.

So that was a long tangent: to bring all this back to severance and Dylan George.

Dylan George feels like me in a lot of ways. I mean, superficially he’s different, but in how I think we deal with ADHD. Because if we agree Dylan George seems to have untreated ADHD, then he’s doing essentially what I do- he puts all his spoons together to drag himself out of bed, to make it to work on time, and to get himself through his 9-5. He uses all of his energy he has to force himself in one place, into a structure, to put himself through work to provide for his family because that’s crucial. When he’s fired, he’s immediately out looking for any kind of work, no matter how boring, because having work is crucial. Contributing is crucial. First.

But when you do that- when you go home there’s nothing left. You’re running on fumes. I don’t have kids, but I have adult family I’m caretakers for, and it’s rough. I often feel like things I should be doing for them are falling through the cracks. Even medicated, I’m not suddenly doing great at balancing everything. They get annoyed you’ve forgotten to do something for the 10th evening in a row. You feel like shit when the next thing you’re excited about just gets a dead stare from your family.

And you’re miserable. You’re still failing at basic functions because you just have no energy.

I don’t think Dylan wanted to make an innie to put his misery on. I think Dylan just was signing up for any job he could get, like when we saw him trying to become a worker at the door company. And I think even not remembering being Innie Dylan, being Innie Dylan, functioning so well and excelling at his work in that structure, keeping that focus all day- that drains the hell out of him. He doesn’t remember what he did all day, but that doesn’t change the fact that he used all his spoons getting to work and then basically let Innie Dylan use them. The he goes home and takes his turn caring for the kids, basically while running on fumes.

[themonochromaticcat]

Graag, Graag, Graag!

(part I)

>Joost x suicidal!reader

>genre- angst / fluff (ending)

>warnings- mentions of SH and suicide, attempted suicide.

A/N This is written from the 2nd point of view, it’ll be specified otherwise. :P Please let me know if I missed anything, uhm, this is based off of my failed attempt :,( (I’m better now tho- ish) Just enjoy!

Suicide hotline (116 123)

It had been an averagely difficult day in the Netherlands, first it was the weather, then the colleagues, then timings. Overall, it was just a plain day that tipped yourself over the edge just a tad bit more, just how it had been doing for the past couple of months: years even. At this point you couldn’t really remember when you felt normal when not in your loving boyfriend’s; Joost, Joost Klein’s embrace.

He had known you longer than you could even remember, you were childhood friends, best friends even; that blossomed into the most picturesque couple people thought of. In social media, in real life and behind closed doors, Joost was perfect; supposedly you were too, but you most definitely didn’t feel like it. You felt more… disappointed in yourself, it felt like you didn’t put any effort into your relationship with Joost. Well, Joost felt the opposite way, and he always reassured you of it, yet the feeling was still there.

What could it be? The fact that he was practically an a-list celebrity now that he got unfairly disqualified from Eurovision and having ‘the best’, song in Eurovision, though it was probably just a fan-favourite instead. Nevertheless, you always felt weird next to him, like you didn’t belong with him any longer.

Overtaken your consciousness was what your thoughts were doing to you, it had gotten to the point where your half an hour journey from your job to the little apartment (that you shared with Joost) had gone by in the brink of an eye. You waltzed into the apartment, the soft, soothing, sensational scent of the candle you had bought Joost engulfed your senses, making you realise that you were home.

Without any noise, you made your way into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers from the day before. And, before you knew it; there he was, muttering a soft string of praises into your ear, constantly switching between Dutch and English. It took you a good minute to turn around and thank him due to the strong hold he had on you, not letting you do much. Though, once you had gently pried his hands off of you, you lazily ran your hands through his long, healthy hair; pulling him in so that you could murmur and he could clearly hear you. And so, you did just that; in a weak, sickly voice, you murmured into his ear.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Joost. I want this to end, now.”

You two drowned into a sickly disease; silence, it could mean nothing and everything. It left you thinking, overthinking yet all of these thoughts that consumed your mind, you knew they weren’t true. He would never do anything like that, he hadn’t done anything of that, bad, nature for the whole time you had been together. Instead of judging your bad habits, he tried helping you prevent them, from the moment he figured out, he sat next to you. In that dingy bathroom, cleaning them up, wrapping them tightly in paper towels before grabbing actual bandages.

“Lieverd, alsjeblieft.” (Darling, please.)

A excruciatingly large sigh left your lips as you slowly rested your head onto Joost’s shoulder, using him as a pillar to remain up on your own two feet. You felt a salty liquid drip from your eyes, travelling from your waterline, to your pink; swollen cheeks to your neck then onto your clothes.

“I love you Joost, I really do, you know?”

Idk what I think about this 😓😓😓

Suicide hotline (116 123)

Part II

[lacontroller1991]

I See You (Ernest Lawrence x F!Reader)

Main Master List || MISC Master List

Requested by @mariaarlert : I really love your work, so if it's possible, could you please write a ff for Ernest in which the reader is as talented in physics as Oppie, but really enjoys reading and painting? And also struggles with depression.

Discloser: This is based on Josh Hartnett's EOL. If you're not a fan, please continue on with your day :)

Warnings: Mentions of depression

Word Count: 1.5k

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He sees you. He knows that he probably shouldn’t, but from the moment he met you, he was enraptured. He remembers the first time he met you months ago. You had walked into his lab at Oppenheimer’s side, eyes wide and beauty that rivals Hollywood’s famous movie stars. Lawrence couldn’t deny that he was jealous when he saw a gorgeous woman like you with Oppenheimer, who is still talking to his flavor of the month, but his jealousy quickly subsided when he found out that you were to be Oppie’s TA. 

Since that day, Lawrence would watch you from the sides and even from the shadows as you work day and night, correcting Oppenheimer’s work and grading his students’ work. Judging by how he always manages to see you at random times throughout the day and night, Lawrence assumes that you have no life outside of school. And he was right for the most part. It wasn’t until he decided to ask you out that he found out that you do have a life. After a couple months of dating, he found out that you have a passion for art and reading. He would often come over to your apartment after a long day in the lab only to find you cuddled by a fireplace, book in your lap. Or some days he would find you lost in your paintings. Needless to say, he never would’ve thought that those were your hobbies based on your knowledge in quantum physics. 

The rain patters against the windows of the library as Lawrence leans back in his chair. He doesn’t typically come to the library, especially when he has his own office and lab, yet something about sitting in a library reminds him of his undergrad days. The clock beside him reads well past 11:30 and he’s probably the only one in the library at that time. Deciding enough was enough, he grabs his books filled with notes for the next week of lectures and turns off the light, encasing him in darkness. Just as he reaches for the door a light humming sound catches his attention. Looking around the library he doesn’t spot another person, especially because he was the last one to come in, but still, something is making a sound and he wants to know what it is. 

Deciding to investigate, Ernest cautiously walks down the halls of Bancroft Library until he spots a room tucked away in the corner with the light on. Picking up his pace, he pokes his head through the door and is taken aback seeing you in the room, humming to yourself and painting. 

“(Y/N)?” His voice causes you to jump in your seat and quickly turn around, rubbing a hand across your puffy red eyes.

“Ernest? What are you doing here? I didn’t think anyone else was in here except me,” you sniffle, trying to dry your eyes and put on a smile but Ernest can see right through it. Shuffling into the room, he sets his briefcase down on the table and pulls out a seat, wanting to comfort you but not knowing how. “Sorry for my appearance, I wasn’t expecting anybody to be here.”

“No, it’s okay. Are you okay? Why are you crying?” You turn away from him and continue with your painting, the colors clashing against each other to make out a shape that Ernest can’t decipher. The painting isn’t like your normal paintings. Normally your paintings consist of your environments, like Berkeley’s campus or San Francisco, but this? It’s a storm of colors and Ernest wonders why this painting is so different from your typical ones.

“I’m fine.” It’s a short sentence but he knows you’re not fine. If there’s one thing that Ernest hates above all else, it’s lying, especially when it’s obvious. 

“Don’t lie. You can talk to me, you know?” He watches as you seem to think for a moment before setting down your brush and turning back to him, clutching onto your body while the rain continues to pour on the outside. 

“I’m just tired of not being seen.” The words take Ernest aback. “I’m tired of not being seen for myself. I’m tired of no one taking notice of the things I like. Anytime I try to introduce myself or make friends, they automatically guard themselves around me and try to impress me so they can get in with Dr. Oppenheimer, but they don’t see me. I know I’m smart. I’m extremely smart. I just wish I was normal. I’m tired of just being “Dr. Oppenheimer’s pet”.” Ernest sits in silence for a minute as he processes your words. He never would’ve guessed that you’re so unhappy. How could you seriously think this way? Is it something he did? Did he mess up? Sure, he spends a lot of time in the lab, but he thought that you understood why. Even if he is part of the issue, you never confronted him and he doubts that you would just brush it off. 

Leaning back in his seat, he runs a hand across his face before it falls back to his lap. “Have you talked to Robert about this?”

“He just pats me on the back and says ‘you’ll be fine’, news flash, I’m far from fine. I want to go back home and I wish I never came here.” The words hurt Ernest deep as your tears start flowing again and you place your head in your hands, your body shaking from the sobs that escape your mouth. Reaching out to you, Ernest easily drags you from your seat and places you in his lap, holding you close as you quiet down. “I’m just tired of this. I want to be seen for something other than my brain.” 

His hand slowly pets your hair as he thinks of something to say. Had he picked up on this a while ago, he would’ve confronted you about it and maybe the feelings you’re feeling now wouldn’t be as strong. Ernest can’t help but to beat himself up about it. He should’ve noticed that you’re struggling. “I see you, you know?” His soft words cause you to lift your face and gaze up at him. “I see you as more than ‘Oppie’s pet’. I see you as (Y/N) (Y/L/N). A brilliant scientist in the making. A gorgeous, caring, funny, and beyond talented woman that I can see myself with for the rest of my life.” He can tell that his admission stuns you and he knows that it’s probably too early into a relationship to be making those claims, but when you know you know, even if it’s only been 5 months. 

“Ernest?” You get off his lap and stare at him and he can’t read past your stonewall. Letting out a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair, disrupting his perfectly parted hair to where a few strands fall in front of his face. 

“It’s true. I know we’ve only been dating for less than half a year and I know that I’m always working and you’re always working, but every time I see you, my heart skips a beat. I can’t go a single minute without thinking about you. That’s why I’m always in the lab. I can’t get any work done because you’re always on my mind. I see you, (Y/N). I have always seen you,” he takes a stride forward and gently cusps your face in his hands, staring down at you through his glasses. “I will always see you.” Ernest leans forward and places a feather soft kiss to your forehead and it’s all you need before you’re surging into his arms, clutching onto his suit jacket and breaking down. Wrapping his arms around you, Ernest gently guides you down to the floor while he lets you cry it out. 

After a few minutes, your tears start to subside and hiccups replace them while Ernest gently pats your back. It’s almost midnight now and he can’t deny that he’s emotionally and physically tired but he wouldn’t dare comment about it. “I’m sorry that you had to see me like this,” your words are quiet, but he heard them nonetheless. 

“I hope you know that I meant what I said. When I said I see myself with you for the rest of my life I meant it. I want everything about you. Tears and all,” he lightly pokes your side causing you to laugh softly. 

“It’s still silly.” Ernest reaches for your face and uses his thumb to wipe away your tears before helping you up.

“I don’t think so,” he replies, taking off his suit jacket and placing it around your shoulders, “you’re entitled to feel things and I can’t imagine the stress you’re under.” You shoot him a glare as if asking ‘are you serious��� but he doesn’t care. “Ok so maybe I do, but it doesn’t take away from your feelings.” He watches as you pack up your art supplies, tossing them haphazardly into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder before taking the canvas and tossing it in the trash. “Why are yo-”

“I throw them away when I no longer need them.” 

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Author's Note: I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! Sorry its so much shorter than others

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Hopeless: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You and your lawyer try to fight your unlawful arrest but it's not looking good. The entire team feels your loss and tries to concentrate on the case at hand. None of them can predict the outcome.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

The talk with your lawyer has taken up almost an hour but you're not getting anywhere you thought you'd get. You see all the evidence piled up against you such as the weapons that came from your home. All the murders happened when you weren't out of state with the team, so you can't use that to back up where you've been. Whoever did this must have been watching you for a long time to know when you were home and when you weren't. Even when you were without Spencer. You're completely alone in this. No one is going to help you.

"I'm going to say this again. I didn't do this. I am an FBI agent who swore to protect people. I put everyone before me. I am an empathic psychic. I am surrounded by death every day. I see things no one should see. I use my gift to help others and to bring justice to those who deserve it. Why would I go out of my way to take lives when I promised to protect them? Why would I put the man I love through that pain?"

"I hear you. Based on what you're telling me, it sounds like you didn't do it. However, a jury isn't going to go off your word. They're going to go off the evidence. The evidence all points to you. I don't want you to panic. I'm very good at my job. All we have to do is find inconsistencies with the evidence to sway the jury into looking in the opposite direction."

"How likely is it to be declared innocent?"

"I'll do whatever I can to make that one hundred."

"What's the best case scenario? I need to know all my options." Steven looks a bit apprehensive so you try to convince him. "Please, Steven. I have to know."

"The best case scenario is you get to go back to work, and they try to figure out who did this. This becomes an active investigation, one which I believe they'd ask the FBI for help. A less fun option would be you're proven innocent, but you lose your job in the process." 

Your bottom lip trembles at the thought of losing your job for something you never did.

"What's the worst case?" you whisper.

"The worst case is you go to prison for a very long time."

You put your head down on the table and just sob. Meanwhile, there is another murder so the team heads over there to check it out. There are more victims in a public place this time instead of in someone's home. These unsubs don't care about anything or anything. They will slaughter anyone they want and ruin everything in the process.

"Did anybody see anything?" Hotch asks the detective.

"It's in the middle of the damn parking lot. The security camera only shows the door."

"Who's the lady over there?" Derek asks.

There is an older woman talking to an officer about what she witnessed or found.

"A manager. She discovered the bodies when she came by to open up for the breakfast crowd."

"I'll go talk to her," JJ says and leaves.

"Any idea who the victims are?"

"Judging by the driver's license, one of them's a waitress here. It says Jessica Miller, and the other one's probably Doug Taylor."

"You can't tell for sure?" Derek asks the detective.

"Honestly, you can't make an ID by looking at them."

"They're definitely getting bolder. These kills were in public. If this is supposed to be about symbolism, it's not anymore. This is a blue-collar restaurant and the victim is a waitress. There's no ideology behind this. It's about violence and power."

"They actually sat here and drank beer after the murder," the detective says in disgust.

"They're telling us that they don't care. They're like those outlaws that ride into town and let you know the only way to stop them Is by killing them," Spencer says.

"If that's what they want, I know plenty of cops who'd be happy to oblige."

"Detective, we need to keep our heads," Hotch sighs.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that this level of nihilism, this randomness, it can have a mirror impact."

"Are you warning me not to go after some kind of revenge?"

"All I'm saying is this level of brutality is almost like a challenge from the unsubs and trying to drag everyone down to their level. It's a natural reaction."

"I'm just doing my job."

"Let's head back. We've got our profile."

The team and the detective head back to the BAU so that the team can give the profile. Penelope greets them as soon as they step out of the elevator but her eyes are drawn to Spencer in the back. His eyes are cast down and he looks so sad. He hobbles past her and she looks at Derek and Emily with concern.

"How is he doing?"

"Not good."

"You have company, Derek."

There is a woman off to the side looking at Derek eagerly. He breaks off from the group to talk to her while the rest enter the bullpen to give the profile out.

"These men are completely disenfranchised. They feel like they have nothing to live for, and they're looking for anyone or anything to blame. There's a lot of anger out there. Times are tough, but even so, these men will stand out. They'll look to provoke confrontation. They don't steal from their victims. They don't sexually assault the women. This is about violence for violence's sake," Hotch begins.

"It's almost contagious. It's twisted, but it's got its own momentum. What we need to do is figure out how these men came together. We feel certain that they have some connection to Southeast D.C. They go unnoticed and don't seem out of place. We have no prints from the crime scenes, so we believe the unsubs wear gloves. DNA testing could take weeks, and we don't have that kind of time."

"The majority of the population of Southeast D.C. is black, but if the unsubs work in this area, they could be any race. Because of the physical nature of the murder and the amount of control these unsubs exert over their victims, we believe that these unsubs are large or at least extremely physically fit. They have a pack mentality. Canvass the local bars and restaurants and see if there's a group of men who fit this description," Rossi says.

"These men will be obsessed with the media coverage for any chance to relive their crimes. So, stake out the past crime scenes. There's a good chance that they'll revisit them. They most likely come from troubled backgrounds like broken homes, or youth detention centers. They probably bonded over their anger, and now it's like they've become one person. It's their whole identity."

"See, these guys, they think of themselves as some type of gangsters, like society's rules don't apply to them. They equate violence with power and respect, and that goes for self-respect as well," Emily says.

"What could they possibly get out of killing innocent people for no reason?" a female officer asks Emily.

"People like this, they're not like you and me. They don't feel empathy. In a way, they only feel alive when they're creating fear and chaos."

"Thank you," Hotch concludes the profile. He ushers the detective to the side to speak to him privately. "Detective. I just wanted to say that at the crime scene, it was not my intention to accuse you of being unprofessional."

"Yeah?"

"It's just that I know what it's like to work a case that makes you question humanity, and it's not the worst thing to remind yourself to rise above it a little, or we lose ourselves."

"I appreciate you giving my team the profile."

Things aren't going as smoothly as Hotch had hoped, and things aren't going smooth for you either. Once you and Steve were finished talking, two officers came in to talk to you with Steve present. You're trying really hard not to show signs of anxiety, so you sit on your hands to prevent them from tapping the desk, and you cross your legs so you don't bounce your legs. Steve is here to prevent you from answering certain questions that can incriminate you or make you look bad, so he'll jump in when he needs to.

"Where were you on the night of September 2nd?" Officer Sparks asks.

"At home."

"Can anyone confirm your whereabouts for that night?"

"No, I was home alone. My boyfriend was out with his best friend, Derek Morgan."

"Where were you on the night of September 4th?"

They keep asking you where you were on each night of all seven murders, and the only answer you have is that you were alone for all of them. Some nights you were at home, some nights you were taking a drive, and one night you were at the gas station. You paid cash, so there is no receipt showing your card number or anything.

"So, you're telling me that you were alone for all seven murders with no one to back up your whereabouts, and we found your DNA on all seven victims. Your hair and prints were found not only on the victims but on the murder weapons as well. You're sticking with the story that you don't know who these men are?" Officer Arnolds asks.

"The murder weapons are items that she owns. Of course, there will be prints on them. Are you not ruling out that someone could have stolen those items from her place of residence?" Steve jumps in.

"Oh, we're keeping all our options on the table. I'm just confused as to why Chase Williams has her hair on him when she claims she never met him. Do you think the wind just blew her hair from her hairbrush to his body?"

You can't say anything about that.

"Don't you think it's convenient that the murders took place when she wasn't out being an FBI agent?"

"The murders and her whereabouts are a coincidence."

"A coincidence? That's the story you're sticking with?"

"It's not a story," you blurt. "It's the truth. I didn't kill these men."

This isn't going well, and you're not sure if these officers are going to listen to reason. It seems to you that they have everything they need to make this a closed case. A closed case with a potential suspect is better than an open investigation with no suspects. It's hard on the team since Penelope can't look into your case. She has all the details on her computer which is just a click away, but she hesitates to open the files. Hotch's words come back to haunt her so she turns away from your file and focuses on what he asked her to do. Once she has the information, she leaves her office to go to his.

"Sir, I've got something. I've been monitoring social networking sites to see if the unsubs communicate electronically. There's a text that's blowing up. I sent it to your phone. There are over a thousand hits already. It's a plan to vandalize cars and restaurants around Dupont Circle."

"When does the text say this is supposed to happen?"

"Tonight at nine."

"Dupont circle's not in the unsubs' usual comfort zone," Rossi says.

"It's not like these unsubs to share control," Hotch calls the detective to warn him of the attack. "Detective Andrews, this is Agent Hotchner. I just sent you a text to which we've been alerted. ... Right. Absolutely. ... We're on our way."

The riot happened at nine as the text predicted, but it's not the cause or the works of the unsubs. Police were out tackling people and arresting those left and right for participating in the riot. A lot of fights happened between local police and the rioters. Detective Andrews at officers at every entry point who were filling their wagons faster than they could bring them to the holding cells. When the people started resisting the law, Andrews ordered his officers t start making arrests.

A lot of people got away from that riot but more ended up in jail. The events bleed into the next day where the officers are still in the midst of going through the families and processing the rioters.

"Did Garcia come up with anything?" Hotch asks.

"Yeah, she was able to isolate the first two cell phones in the chain."

"Detective, we don't think our unsubs are in there, but we'd still like to interrogate the possible ringleaders."

"I don't think so."

"We need to eliminate them as suspects."

"We can handle it on our own."

"We're not saying you can't--"

"Is there a problem?" Hotch cuts off Rossi.

"You guys had my men out there canvassing bars looking for adults when I could have been doing gang sweeps and going through juvenile records."

"That would have been a waste of your time."

"In case you hadn't noticed, those are kids out there. We don't believe last night's riot Is connected to the murders."

"How could it not be?" Andrews asks Emily.

"Because the unsubs we're looking for are older. They operate entirely out of Southeast D.C. They exercise extreme control over their victims, and violence is up close and personal. None of what happened here last night fits the profile."

"Enough with the profile. I got probably a million dollars worth of damage. I got two cops injured."

"Which was probably made worse by police overreaction."

"Meaning what?"

"I warned you. With cases like this, people get too emotional."

Andrews steps closer to Hotch but the younger man doesn't back down.

"You're here as a guest of my department. If you're so sure none of those kids are the killers, why bother interrogating them at all?"

"Because we need to be certain. If we're right, if this is just some sort of teenage dare, I guarantee you that the unsubs are going to respond very quickly."

"I appreciate your insight, but we'd like to take things from here on our own. Thank you for everything you've done."

If local police kick the FBI out, then they have to leave. Hotch doesn't like it but he doesn't start something he knows he can finish.

"You're gonna want to start with these two names," Emily says and hands him a piece of paper.

x

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[thechaotictheoryy]

Unravel | 14. I Don't Miss You

summary: What if you had chains around your heart but you were the one who put them there? If you took a look at Parker’s heart, you would see a nice beating heart but Parker felt there were heavy metal chains wrapped it. After years of a disconnected relationship with her parents and a hard break up with her boyfriend of four years, Parker Williams made her heart mentally chained. Declaring to never fall in love again but what happens when she meets a witty musician who is all about seeking love?

pairing: main character x hongjoong ft. ex! Yeosang

genre: (18+ minors dni), romance, fluff, lots of angst, coming to age, college au, smut, strangers to lovers, self discovery

word count: 3,801

chapter warnings: No hard warnings this chapter just some slight anxiousness and conversation with Yeosang, a bit of crying

song rec for chapter: Used To Be by Lucky Daye

Present Time. 

Wednesday March 23rd, 2022. 

5:45pm

All you could hear were conversations happening all up and down the hallway. The hallway was filled with almost everyone who had class today and some who just stopped by. The final six were being posted today and I was super nervous. I know I did my best and polished that damn sculpture four times but was it enough? I kept biting my nails because I was super anxious. People always thought I would make it because my work was so great in everyone’s eyes but I have been rejected plenty of times before. I may have been good in the past two years, this year it was different judges. I heard they were putting the order of the final six based on the score they gave us. 

“Stop biting Parker,” Sarah slapped my hand from my mouth. 

“I can’t help it,” I rubbed my hands together. 

Finally Mr. Harrison walked out of his office, he was our department chairman. Everyone got really quiet when they saw him walk to the board. 

“I have the list of the final six, please do not knock me down after I put this up,” he said. 

He pinned the paper up and stepped back to the front door of his office. Everyone quickly ran up to the paper. Sarah and I were going to wait until the crowd disbanded a little bit. I saw a lot of disappointed faces from people I knew who were in the top fifteen. It made me worry a bit, I saw two people get excited which means they were two painters from another class. The crowd started to look a little less empty, Sarah grabbed my hand and walked us up to the front. I took a deep breath and looked at the paper, my eyes widened. 

I was at the bottom.

The last name on that white thin paper. 

“Fuck,” I felt my knees get weak and I squatted down. 

“Congratulations!” Sarah said, excitedly. 

I was the last one at the bottom. 

That means my sculpture almost made me not place. 

My sculpture this time was of a woman half naked. She was crying tears of blood, I colored the tears on her face so it was noticeable. The place where her heart had a hole in it. It took me three fucking days to get that shit right, that hole was the hardest part to make. 

“Shit,” I finally stood up. 

“You look upset. Why?”

“I was so close to not placing which means it wasn’t as good as I thought” 

“But you made it Parker and that is all that matters. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s your first time sculpting and I have been sculpting since I was 13. As for you, you have been doing it for almost a year. The pace of how fast you have been picking up on skills are impressive as fuck”

“You think so?” I looked at her. 

“Yes, now dinner is on me tonight. Chinese while we work on end of the year paintings?”

I nodded and smiled. I had to call Joong and tell him about this. 

I walked back to the classroom and sat down at my station. I grabbed my phone and hit Joong’s name. Hopefully, he wasn’t all distracted in the music studio that was on campus. 

“Hello?” I heard his voice. 

“Well Mr. Kim, I have made into the top six” 

“Hell yeah! I knew you could do it”

“They did it based on placing on score this year and I was the last name” 

“I know you got in your head about it” 

“You know me so well” 

“As long as your ass makes it in that top three, I know you’ll make something more amazing”

I heard him breathing kind of heavy. Was he walking somewhere?

“You good?”

“Yeah my bag is just filled with textbooks and I’m with a friend so we have been talking nonstop, shall I stop by to see you?” 

“I don’t mind”

“Okay I’ll be there in 15, is it okay for him to come in too?”

“Oh yeah of course” 

As soon as I hung up the phone, Sarah walked in with food. I danced a little and she laughed at me, handing me my bag. The smell of Orange Chicken hit my nose and my mouth started to water, not literally though. Sarah was one of my safe spaces, I knew I could trust her and I think us being the same classes for the past three years has really been something I needed. I had Jessica and my roommates but to have someone into the same things I’m into, she made it more fun. She even told me I was a safe space for her too which made the little coldness around my heart go away a little. I was someone dear to her as she was dear to me. 

We heard the door open and I saw Joong walk in with someone behind him. Me and Sarah’s eyes widened like deer seeing headlights. 

“Hey guys, this is–”

“Yeosang,” Sarah said 

Yeosang's eyes were just as big as mine and Sarah’s. I haven’t seen him since that day in the courtyard and I haven’t spoken to him since that same day to where he called my phone. 

I felt my blood boiling.

“Get out,” I put my food down and started walking towards them. 

“Parker what–” I pulled Lyric behind me. 

“Get out Yeosang, now” 

“Is that anyway to greet me?” 

“I have nothing to say to you and you know that”

He rolled his eyes at me, shaking his head and looked at Joong. 

“I’m going to head back to my apartment, we can study tomorrow night if you want,” He said, turning around. 

“Yeosang,” Joong tried to grab him but I blocked him. 

Yeosang opened the door then turned his head, looking at me. My face probably looked the most angry I've ever been. He shook his head again and left out, closing the door behind him. I sighed and turned to Lyric, she looked so mad at me. 

“Parker what the fuck” 

“Stay away from him,” I walked to the window. I saw Yeosang walking to the gates of the school, I let out some air I was holding in my lungs. 

“He’s my classmate and we have a project together, why did you get in his face like that?”

I was quiet.

“Parker tell me what–”

“He’s my ex,” I said quietly. 

“H-Huh?” He sounded taken back a little

“I’m going to go take a smoke Parker,” I heard Sarah say then I heard the door closed. 

“Yeosang is your ex-boyfriend?” He asked, he sounded like he was looking for reassurance and thought I was playing tricks on him. 

I looked at him and nodded. I guess this would be the right time to tell him about how Yesung And I came to be and how we broke up. It was still a sensitive topic for me but I had so much rage in me right now, tears won’t even fall. I walked over to her and we both sat down. 

“I don’t even know where to start” I laughed a little, weakly. 

“From the beginning so I can understand” He grabbed my hand and rubbed my palm with his thumb. He was trying to calm me down. 

I looked into his eyes and let everything spill out like water. He never tried to interrupt, he was listening and trying to process everything. When I got to the parts about the break up, his face showed concern but most of all, sadness. He looked like he wanted to shed some tears but held back for my sake. 

“And today was the first time I saw him since last semester. He’s been trying his best to apologize for what happen but I just rather not have any kind of communication with him”

“Parker” He hugged me and rubbed my back. I hugged her back, rubbing my head into his chest softly and sighing.

“I’m sorry for bringing him here”

“Hey, don’t apologize. You didn’t know we knew each other” 

“It’s going to be kind of awkward working with him now”

“Don’t let what we had mess up your grade. I know I said stay away but you need him for the group work, just don’t get close to him” 

“Okay, what if he asks about us?”

“Mm, he probably thinks we're just friends. If  you want to let him know we are kind of seeing each other, go for it” 

“Okay,” He smiled. 

I smiled at him and pecked his lips. 

“Ew, get a room.” I heard Sarah say, walking back into the room. 

“We need to get you somebody Sarah” 

“I have my boy toy, I don’t need your help.” She smirks at me. 

She holds her hand out in front of Hongjoong. 

“I’m Sarah, Parker’s classmate and also her friend who gets in her ass when she overly criticizes herself” 

“I’m Hongjoong,” He laughs and shakes her hand. 

“Mm, you look familiar” 

Sarah. 

“You look like this painting Parker made” 

Shut up Sarah. 

“Painting?” Joong looked at me. 

“She’s delusional” 

“I’m sure the only one who is delusional is you” 

I saw Sarah start to walk to the closet and my eyes widened, she was going to show him the painting. I would chase her if only I wasn’t so comfortable in his arms. I honestly didn’t want him to move either. She pulled out a bunch of canvas until she finally got to mine. She walked back over, showing the painting. Joong let me go and admired the painting. I’m pretty sure I was blushing hard as fuck but you could hardly tell from my chocolate skin tone. 

“It’s so beautiful” He touched the canvas lightly. 

“I tried my best, I only was able to base off looking at you once”

He looked at me and already had the smile that made my heart melt on his face. 

“You must have a clean eye if you were able to get these details,” He wrapped his arms back around me, pulling me back into his chest.

“Well I have 20/20 vision”

“Hush,” He lightly slapped the back of my neck. 

I lowered my eyes at her and he smirked back to me, raising his eyebrow.

“Alright folks, get the hell out. There will be no sex in this studio” 

We both laughed and Sarah just crossed her arms. I think this is the longest I have gone without having sex. I was a little surprised and shocked at myself, I think Hongjoong was just different from others I've been with. I wanted to take things slow with him and learn about him more before we even got to that stage. I had no doubt that we both were thinking about it but it isn’t our main focus at the moment. When it happens, it’ll just happen naturally. 

After clowning with Sarah for another thirty minutes, she ended up having to go meet this mysterious boy toy that I would question her about later. Joong was just watching me paint, he was quiet. He had put on some music for me so I would paint better, to set the mood. He was into KPOP also which was awesome because none of my friends listened to it. As soon as he turned in Leehi’s Only, I knew I couldn’t leave him alone now. 

“What made you want to be a painter?” He asked. 

“I was always drawing on things as a kid, my favorite class was art in grade school. I just found the beauty in it and I like how I was able to express myself without speaking” 

“I know you probably won contest a lot” 

“Mm, no not really. I usually got 3rd, I think I started winning some once I hit high school. My skills were improving”

“You’re self-taught, right?”

“Yeah my parents were brainwashed with making me into a lawyer, they never put me in like after school art programs or anything”

“I wish your parents appreciated what you loved to do” 

“They’re trying to now but I been declining their calls and haven’t texted them back since January” 

“Parker” 

“I know but I’ll hit them when I’m ready” 

“..Okay” 

I looked at him and smiled. 

“I will” 

“I believe you” 

He just continued to watch me paint and I admired that he didn’t mind sitting with me for hours, just watching. I hope I’ll get to see him write or she reads me something to make. He was a man of beautiful words so I knew his lyrics were just as beautiful.

Two days later…

“I’ll meet you in the cafe, I just have to grab something this book I left in the last class” I told Joong on the phone. 

“Hurry, I’m hungry”

“Well hang up and I can” I laughed a little. I heard the call end and I laughed even louder. He was such a petty person when he was hungry.

I walked back in the history department building and opened the door to the classroom where my World History class had taken place. I saw Yeosang sitting there with my book. I rolled my eyes and walked to the desk, I grabbed the book and he grabbed my wrist. 

“You have two seconds to let me go” 

“Parker, can we please just talk?” 

“We have nothing to talk about, it’s been two years” I snatched my wrist away and my book. 

I started to make my way to the door and I heard him sigh. 

“How can you call someone your everything then act like they don’t exist?” His words made me stop in my tracks. Was he really going to try to guilt trip me?

“How can someone act so in love but cheat for a year?” I turned to him. 

“I did love you Parker, I always loved–”

“So why?! Huh?!” I slammed the book on a desk. 

“Parker, calm down please” 

How was I supposed to not be angry when I see him?

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” I glared at him. 

“I..you were just always so busy and consumed into art, I felt like the intimacy was lacking in our relationship”

I got quiet and just looked at him. 

“I loved you, I still love you Parker so much. You don’t know how much it hurt to know what I did to you. You were someone who showed how to love myself when I hated myself, you got me into writing again, you got me to try so many things that I didn’t know were possible but you being a year older and really focusing on art made me so jealous”

“Jealous of my career path?” I raised my eyebrow. 

“No, I was jealous because your classmates got to see you more than I did. You were always with them, talking about art or just having painting sessions together. Yeah, we went on dates and they were fun but I felt we were losing what we had the first year of our relationship” 

“Did you forget you cheated on me before the situation that happened?” 

Yeosang had cheated before but it wasn’t sex, he had just simply made out with some random girl from another high school my senior year at a party we were at. 

“I apologized so many times for that” 

“But you knew our relationship probably wouldn’t be the same because I was lacking trust” 

“Why did you stay with me then?” 

“I was in love with you” 

“You fell out of love with me?” I saw tears well up in his eyes. Those tears that haunted me the day I told him to leave the hospital room. 

“I don’t think I ever can because you were my first love but it’s not strong like it was. I can move on without you” 

“You don’t miss me?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Parker” 

“I don’t miss you Yeosang.. I miss some moments but I don’t miss you as a person” 

I guess that hit a nerve because he started to cry. I was upset with my heart for making my body move on its own because before I knew it, I was hugging him. He hugged me back and squeezed me tightly. I knew I was over him because this had no effect on me. The hug didn’t bring me butterflies, it didn’t make me want to his again. I simply just wanted to make sure he was okay, I didn’t like people crying over me even though I have broken a few hearts because he broke mine. 

“Did you meet someone else?” he looked at me and sniffled. 

I hesitated a little but I nodded. 

“Is it Hongjoong?” 

I nodded again. 

“What does he have that I don’t?” 

“I don’t think this discussion is necessary,” I pulled away from him and stood up. 

“Well it must be something if you’ve been able to move on”

I made my way to the door again, not forgetting my textbook. 

“Parker” 

I turned to look at him and looked down, smiling a little. 

“He makes my rainy days sunny and makes the hairs on my neck stand while setting my skin on fire when he touches me” 

He was quiet. 

“He listens to me,” I looked at Yeosang. “He doesn’t interrupt when I’m explaining something and tries her best to understand me. His smiles make my heart warm and ache from how perfect it is. He catches my tears instead of being the cause of why they fall. He’s okay with my crazy obsession with art because he loves when I paint in front of him” 

“Parker,” Those tears welled up in his eyes again. 

“I find him lovely. In my dreams and even when he’s right in front of my face.” I laughed at myself. “I even made a painting of him before even knowing his name, I just saw his face once and knew it would be in my head for the rest of the time I’m existing” 

I opened the door and took one more look at Yeosang. 

“He makes it easy for me to fall for him” 

With that, I closed the door behind me on my way out. I walked out of the building and jogged to the cafe. I knew Joong would be pissed but I knew she would be waiting. Once I got to the cafe, I searched for him. My eyes caught sight of him, sitting with Jessica, Emmett, and Sarah. I walked over there and he must have felt my presence because he looked up and glared at me slightly. 

“Parker, you got me fucked up,” He said. 

I sat my stuff down on the table and sat down next to him. 

“Do you he–”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his lips on mine. I felt his body relax and her arm wrapped around my waist, kissing me back. I smiled in the kiss and pulled away slowly. 

“Yuck,” I heard Jessica tease. 

“You were saying?” I rubbed the back of Joong’s head. 

“U-Um, what would you like to eat?” 

“I could go for a sub”

“Okay.. be right back” 

He grabbed his wallet and started walking to Subway. He already knew what I wanted because I get the same thing everytime. I looked at my friends and they were smiling at me. 

“What? You weirdos” 

“I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” Emmett said. 

“I was the pissed honestly but seeing him made me calm down” 

“What happened? Who ass I got to beat?” Jessica is always the first person ready to fight someone. 

“Yeosang was in the classroom with my book” 

They all groaned at the same time and I laughed. It’s like whenever I said her name, their reaction was just so filled with disgust. It was the funniest shit ever. 

“What did that bitch want?” Jess groaned even louder. 

I explained everything to them and after I got finished, they just busted out laughing. I can’t tell these people nothing about Yeosang without it being a joke somewhere in their head. I appreciated it though, it always made the situation better to face than when I had to do it alone. 

“I’m glad you told him straight, hopefully this is his sign to leave you the hell alone” Sarah said, taking a bit of her food. 

“Yeah hopefully, he gives me crazy vibes” Emmett spoke, putting the emphasis on crazy. 

He was trying to keep contacting me for two years so maybe. I also had another issue that resurfacing that I haven’t told anyone, not even to Hongjoong. I just thought the best decision was to ignore it but it has gotten a little worse. 

“Do you guys remember Danielle?” 

“The cheerleader,” Jess and Emmett said in unison. 

I nodded. 

“Definitely don’t miss being friends with that bitch” Sarah rolled her eyes. 

“She’s been hitting my phone nonstop and she showed up to my door last night, banging loud as shit. I thought I was going to get noise complaint”

“You and these crazy women, don’t make me have to knock someone’s child out Parker. What did she want?” Jess rolled her eyes. 

“I eventually opened the door and she just came in trying to attack me. Just yelling about how could I fuck her and not talk to her. Then saying she wants to be with me and stop playing games with her” 

“You must have been doing her good for her to do all that” Sarah said, shocked. 

“She even threatened me too” I heard Hongjoong say and put the bag in front of me. 

“Huh?” I looked up at him. 

“I guess she saw us together and was waiting for me after one of my classes the other day, threatening that I needed to stay away from you” He sat down beside me and started taking his food out of the bag. He seemed so calm. 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn’t take it seriously. If she thinks she can take you from me, I just want to see her try” he bit into his sandwich and looked at me. 

The three fucking musketeers started hyping it and I glared at them playfully. I looked back at Joong and she pushed his sub in my face. I took a bite and gave him a thumbs up for how good it was. He did a little dance and kept eating. 

Gosh, he was so adorable. 

How did I get so lucky for him to be in my life? 

Taglist: @hwaslayer

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[weirdducky17]

Content Warning

Of

ʜɪɢʜ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ

South Park: High School Blues is an AU that tackles mature subjects fit for a 16+ Audience, especially since this is a show based on the show South Park by Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The following AU may contain these topics:

Addiction

• Certain characters exhibit certain addictions: Alcoholism and Substance Abuse are the most notable ones. Mentions and details about them will be kept to a minimum.

Abuse

• Some characters live within an abusive household or went through experiences of abuse of any form (Physical, Mental, Emotional, etc.)

Violence, Gore and Death

• It's South Park after all, there will be guaranteed these warnings for any AU of South Park. I can write pretty graphic stuff so I'd like this to be noted if you are uncomfy reading some parts.

Suggestive Themes

• Only 16+ content so there are going to be some of these since teenagers go through a lot of hormonal stuff and mentions of sexual content but no actual NSFW will be written for this AU!

• 16 below and Ageless Blogs DNI! Please keep scrolling.

LGBTQ+ Content

• Just a heads up! Tweek and Craig are canon in this fic!

• This blog is a safe space for the LGBTQ+ Community and will be used to support content as such, especially since I'm part of it myself.

• If harassment is shown then you will get blocked.

Shipped Pairings and Headcanons

• OC x Canon and Canon x Canon ships are inside this fic, please do not judge me for what ships I choose to add in this AU. Do not force your ships on me or insist on me adding a certain ship, it's not fun for me. You can write them yourself, please and thank you.

• Headcanons for the characters come from my own ideas, opinions and from what I gather and liked out of fanon headcanons that already exist. They will be mentioned in the headcanons posts of the groups.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

I will add more onto the list if need be but please please read this if you are uncomfortable with any of these topics. This is your only warning.

‼️ Please read at your own discretion ‼️