#without actually having to move to europe

[probayern]

damn i missed you guys this has to be the first time in weeks that i've posted more than like 5 things in a day. i can't waaait for actual bayern tomorrow

[wings-of-angels]

Thinking about how sad i'll be when doing my masters and all my uni friends will be off in other cities and countries :((

[dailymanners]

I am about going to gripe about something that's been really annoying me lately.

First let me start with a disclaimer that I am speaking generally here. Of course both the U.S. and Europe are both massive and diverse places containing hundreds of millions of people, and a lot of regional differences. Neither the U.S. or Europe are a monolith (although a lot of people on the internet speak of both places as a monolith, which I wish people would stop doing, since neither are).

I could be wrong about this, since I don't live in the U.S., and haven't visited everywhere in Europe. But between where I have visited in the U.S., and where I have visited / lived in Europe, and from what I know from my friends in the U.S. and friends in other European countries, I get the feeling that overall the U.S. has stricter disability access laws than a lot of places in Europe do, especially in regard to building codes.

Of course there are exceptions, I know New York city is abhorrently hostile in its design towards anyone elderly and/or disabled. Although when I visited New York city it really just felt on par with a lot of major European cities with how abhorrently inaccessible it was.

One example of this is that recently I saw a Reddit discussion where a USAmerican vacationing in France was surprised at how many staircases didn't have handrails, because according to this man handrails are required by law in the U.S.

The comments were all Europeans having an absolute field day with this. Pretty much all of the comments were some variation of "I can't believe Americans are too stupid and lazy to use the stairs without a handrail 🤣🤣🤣 what's wrong with you fat lazy stupid Americans that you can't even use stairs without a handrail 🤣🤣🤣 thank GOD I was born in Europe where I was just taught how to walk up and down the stairs on my own and don't need a handrail like a lazy fat stupid American 🤣🤣🤣"

A few people tried to gently point out that this was about accessibility for elderly and disabled people, and it's not cool to laugh at building codes that are about accessibility, but those commenters were usually shut down with some variation of "yeah well in MY European country if someone is disabled or becomes elderly we either move to a more accessible building or we modify our home to be more accessible, we don't sit around whining like a bunch of Americans that our building isn't already accessible 🙄"

Which is, such a cruel way to talk about accessibility. Why wouldn't disabled and elderly people deserve the same access to a building as anyone else? Are elderly and disabled people not allowed to visit friends and family? Anyone could get hit by a car today, and after that struggle with going up and down stairs without the use of a handrail for the next several months, years, possibly the rest of your life. It's so easy to feel smug when you can easily trot up and down the stairs without a handrail, but so cruel to be unwilling to consider anyone who struggles with stairs should maybe be allowed access to the same places as you.

Honestly when I go on vacation abroad with my elderly + disabled mother, it's often easier to go to the U.S. with her than other places in Europe, because the U.S. does tend to be more accessible (in my experience, and except for New York city ofc) making going around to different public places with my mom generally a lot easier than somewhere like France or the Netherlands.

Out of all the things you could clown on the U.S. about, why you gotta go for accessibility of all things? It's disgustingly ableist and ageist, and I have to wonder if these people actually just hate disabled people / accessible design, and are using the U.S. as an excuse to hate on disabled people and accessible design.

[pprodsuga]

tides of regret | heeseung

summary: in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong.

notes: aaand she's here! this is 24.4K words worth of my heart and soul. consider this a token of my appreciation for welcoming me on enhablr. i sincerely hope you enjoy it. <3

deep cuts: #1

warnings: angst/internal self doubt, playful banter, dirty talking, praise, slight degradation, oral (m and f receiving), dry humping, fingering, mentions of exhibitionism and face sitting, nipple sucking, spit, brief moment of anal (tongue only), condom removal, unprotected sex, creampie.

For @enha-stars – may this story rip you apart and stitch you back together.

masterlist

Incheon feels lonely at three in the morning. 

The overhead lights being turned off because of the lack of travelers at this hour makes the airport feel bigger than it actually is. It’s too quiet without the familiar sounds of luggage wheels on the linoleum or overhead speakers announcing flight changes every ten minutes. You don’t think you’ve ever been to an airport so early in your life. 

It’s quiet enough to leave you alone with your bothersome thoughts. In the years you’ve been away from home as you studied abroad, you can’t help but feel a gravitational pull towards life in Seoul and the people in it. The familiarity of your home outweighs the adventure you once yearned for in your youth, and now you’re left with the exciting notion that, this time, you’ll know when you’ll be coming back.

The terminal has an abundance of seating. Your backpack rests on the seat beside you as Jay double checks the gate number while the rest of your friends find a spot on the seats next to you, attempting to find an ounce of comfort in the dimly lit area.

“I know leaving early saved us hundreds of dollars, but I need sleep,” Sunghoon says from beside you. His usually well kept hair falls in all sorts of places like he woke up without a second thought and hailed a taxi the minute he opened his eyes. 

“You’ll thank me later,” Jay says. “We can sleep on the plane.”

“Our flight doesn’t leave for another two hours,” Jake whines from beside him as he yawns. “How am I supposed to sleep on these god forsakes chairs?” 

“Quit whining and try,” Jay retorts. He looks behind him to see the rest of your friend group approach before glancing over to you. “Doing okay?” 

“How come Y/N gets preferential treatment?” Jake beckons. 

“Because she isn’t a nuisance like you,” Jay immediately fires back before diverting his attention towards you again. 

“I’m alright,” you say, stifling a yawn behind your hand. “Just cold and sleepy.” 

“Hopefully they turn off the damn AC,” Sunghoon says as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. “I feel like my veins are being injected with ice.”

“It’ll warm up when more people come,” Jay reasons. “I wish there was a coffee stand that was open. I need a cup.” 

“I could go for one,” you agree. “I’m trying to stay awake for the next couple of hours so I can sleep on the plane.” 

The rest of your friend group appear behind Jay and you look down to check your phone for any notifications when Heeseung catches your eye. It takes you by surprise and you abruptly look back at your screen and busy yourself by aimlessly scrolling through social media as he attempts to occupy the empty seat beside you, but Jake beats him to it.

“I’m gonna freeze to death and then all of you are gonna have to deal with my frozen body.” Jake dramatically slouches down onto the seat until his head finds your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek as if trying to find comfort in you. “Jesus, Y/N, you’re so warm.”

You laugh. “I wore layers.” 

“You’re gonna regret that when we get on the plane,” Jake mumbles. 

Heeseung, from the corner of your eyes, opts to move to the seats in front of you. You try not to pay him any mind.

You snort. “Yeah, well I can take these layers off while you freeze until you become an icicle.” Jake hums when you let your head fall onto his. 

“You know I’m not built for the cold. Australia’s my home.”

“And yet you moved to Korea,” Sunghoon provokes. 

Jungwon and Riki are rummaging through the bag of snacks you’d brought for an early breakfast until the restaurants and coffee stands around you open up. Jake’s right, it’s far too cold to stop shivering, but you suppose you’re grateful that the discomfort distracts you from sleeping too early. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally going on this trip,” Sunoo says from above you. With your head still on Jake’s, you turn to look at the boy speaking. “I’m really excited for you to show us where you’ve been for the past four years.”

A tiny smile graces your lips. “I’m excited to show you around London and Paris. The latter is a two hour train ride. My friends and I would go every few weekends or so to explore the city. Pictures and videos don’t do them justice.” You sigh as you reminisce. “I really did think that I’d end up living there when I graduated.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Missed home too much, I guess.” You shrug. “Though, I can’t believe Riki went through a growth spurt in the last two years that I was gone.”

“You went back to Okayama before Y/N came back for holiday break, right?” Jungwon asks, looking between the both of you.

“That’s right,” Riki says. “I was sad that I couldn’t see you before you went back to school.”

“Now he’s twice my height.” You gesture at the younger boy. He’s too shy with the sudden affection and chooses to bury his head in Jungwon’s shoulder. “You were so little.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. 

“I can’t believe you’re fluent in English now.” Jungwon pushes Riki off of his arm. “You, Jake, and Jay are kind of scary when you speak English.”

“It was a little hard at first. I used to watch a lot of American cinema so I could understand it better than I could speak it. But I can’t lie, it’s fun being able to talk to them in English.”

“You were so cute trying to string phrases together during your first summer back,” Jay coos. “Texting her in English was funny because she couldn’t understand the difference between spelling.”

“Poor Jake.” You pull your head from his and look down at him. “You probably had aneurysms looking at my grammar.” 

You lift your head to see that the aforementioned has fallen asleep amongst the conversation with his mouth slightly ajar and soft snores echoing past your ear. You don’t move when Jay asks if you want Jake off of your shoulder, but you shake your head.

Conversation falls flat when the group unanimously decides that sleepiness is overtaking the need to socialize. Jay keeps checking his watch to look out for the time while your eyes try to look anywhere but at Heeseung. 

It’s odd, the way two people can lose a friendship overnight. The heartbreak that came with romantic rejection wasn’t nearly as bad as realizing texts and phone calls were far fewer in between the moment you had arrived back in Europe to finish your studies. It hurt to know that neither one of you felt comfortable enough to see each other when you were back in your hometown unless the two of you were invited to hang out with mutual friends. 

Still, seeing Heeseung after he had rejected your confession felt like a punch to the gut. 

Long gone were the days of being able to send him unimportant updates about your life abroad or what you were doing at any given summer day back home. You couldn’t ask him to go to the restaurants you used to frequent near his house or yours. You certainly couldn’t call him at random hours because you were bored and missed his voice. 

It wasn’t for the lack of trying. It felt like things might've gone back to normal after a short period of not talking, but your texts going unanswered and your calls going to voicemail was all you needed to know. 

Perhaps it’s why you’re comfortable spearheading this vacation with Jay, who had made it a point to visit you in London when you’d chosen to stay behind instead of going home for the holiday break. The two of you had never spent time alone prior to then, but it touched you that he’d go out of his way to dedicate an entire day to visit you when he was there for a family vacation. 

Coming back to Korea the summer after graduating felt like you were making the right choice, even if your head was telling you to find a home in Europe. Still fresh from your unresolved rejection, stepping off of the plane and knowing you wouldn’t be returning back to your university’s town made the uncomfortable reality of coming face-to-face with Heeseung sink in. You’d have to live with the consequences. 

But it’s been eight months since you returned, six months since Jay’s dad was gracious enough to offer you a position on his marketing team, and five months since he encouraged your entire friend group to take a trip to your old stomping grounds. 

The proposition felt too sudden, especially with how little experience you had working with his team, but you’d spend an evening with the Park family for him to consider you an honorary member. Though, you’re sure Jay might’ve told him something happened between you and Heeseung, especially after telling everyone you wouldn’t be coming home for the holidays. 

To this day, you haven’t uttered a single word to your friends about what happened the night Heeseung rejected your love confession. If you know him as well as you think you do, you don’t think he's told anyone either. 

“Cafes are opening up,” Jay notes. Sunghoon’s ears perk up. “Three of us should go get food and drinks while the rest save our seats.” 

The airport overhead lights must’ve turned on while you were deep in thought. Jay’s right, the coffee stands have opened and it’s likely due to the new influx of travelers who’ve arrived at the airport. Foot traffic is still light and you know Jay wants to get ahead of the crowd. 

Jake has woken up because of the growing murmur around him and lifts himself off of your head to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He yawns once more but tries his best not to fall asleep again.

“How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take,” Sunghoon answers.

“Sorry for sleeping on you,” Jake apologizes. 

“It’s okay. You needed it.” He scrunches his face, not used to the new lighting. “Jay, I’ll come with you to get coffee. I need to stretch my legs.” 

“I’ll help as well.” Heeseung speaks for the first time in a while and his voice nearly catches you off guard. 

“Sure.” Jay gathers everybody’s orders before the two of you follow him around the terminal. 

The line isn’t unbearably long, but with Heeseung towering behind you, it feels like you’ve been standing for hours. You shift from one foot to the other in order to find a happy medium to no avail. Jay orders for the group and you pay attention to him more than you care to when you realize Heeseung is now standing beside you to make room for more people to wait in line. He’s considerate like that and you hate it. 

When the baristas are finished with your order, you reach for the bag of sandwiches in your haste to escape Heeseung. But your fingers touch the steam and you drop the bag into the counter with a hiss.

“Careful,” Heeseung says. “Don’t get hurt, please.” 

Your clumsy nature was always something he teased you for. Heeseung sounds so sincere about his worry that you think you’d rather him pour all of the hot coffee on you instead. 

“Thanks.” You grab the bag with so much as a single moment of eye contact before realizing Jay has started walking back. 

Breakfast is eaten in silence. Everyone is too tired to speak, save for Jake whose twenty minute nap has rendered him a little more awake than the rest of you. You and Sunghoon share your egg sandwich and chocolate croissant respectively without a word spoken between the two of you. 

Meanwhile, Heeseung is staring at the way your thighs are close to Sunghoon’s. He had shifted his body closer to yours in order to form a makeshift table so that sharing pastries wouldn’t result in crumbs on the floor. You can feel Heeseung's gaze on your kneecap and it makes your face flush. 

Sunoo and Jake offer to throw everybody’s trash away when you’re all done eating. The airport is in full swing by now and everyone has said their graces and apologized to Jay for giving him a hard time with how early they arrived. 

It seems that sleep has threatened to overtake you. You’re waiting in line to scan your plane ticket and board the aircraft, but the sudden warmth of the airport has caused you to yawn a few too many times. Riki’s standing in front of you and his height makes for a perfect makeshift wall to lean on. Or, that’s what your tired brain is telling you, because you slouch forward and let your cheek rest against his back as you close your eyes. 

“Sleepy girl,” you hear him chuckle. You merely nod in acknowledgement. 

Your comfort is short lived when he softly nudges you because the line has moved. Soon, you scan your ticket and give the airline agent a smile as thanks before waiting to set foot on the aircraft. 

Sunghoon notices your dropped shoulders and wordlessly takes your backpack off of you. 

“You don’t need to do that,” you say with a frown when you see Sunghoon carrying your belongings with him. 

“Let me hold it,” says Sunghoon. “You look like you’re about to fall over with the extra weight.” 

“If you insist.”

“Let us take care of you, yeah?” Jay interrupts, bumps his shoulder with yours. “You’ve been running all over Europe these past four years and we’ve only seen you a handful of times. You deserve to relax on this trip.” 

“I can’t believe you guys are being so sweet on me. I know that’s ending the second we get back to Korea.” 

The two boys laugh. “Well, it’s only fair, I guess. You’re like, the mom friend.”

“Jay is the mom friend.” The aforementioned doesn’t argue. 

The squeeze of the aircraft is tight and you’re desperately trying to look for your seat. It seems that Sunghoon is sitting in your row, which excites you, but you’ve come to realize that you’ve obtained the ungodly middle seat. You make peace with it for a brief moment before Heeseung clears his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s switch seats,” he says from behind you. His ticket shows the window seat right next to yours. “I know you hate middle seats.” 

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you.” 

“You’re not asking.” He says it with a smile and it makes you cower into yourself. “You should move to your new seat so we don’t hold up the line.” 

Heeseung suggests it in a way that is reminiscent of the days where he’d give up his sweet treats because you wanted a taste. It tugs at your heartstrings but you don’t have time to think about that when you notice how the plane is starting to fill up. 

Reluctantly, you slide into the window seat while Heeseung and Sunghoon follow suit. Your seat belts are buckled and in no time, the aircraft takes flight. 

For the next hour, Heeseung looks like he wants to say something to you. The headphones you've brought do well to cancel out the noise, for the most part. You can see from the corner of your eye that he glances at you from time to time, but you ignore it and choose to get comfortable for the long haul. 

When you notice the flight attendants come with the beverage cart, you take it as a cue to get comfortable and try to get some sleep for the next few hours. Likely due to the lack of sleep from the night prior, you fall asleep as soon as your head rests against the plane.

You don’t hear Heeseung requesting an extra bottle of water for you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

When you come to, you’re barely able to register that it’s time to eat the first meal on the flight. You take your headphones off and put it in your backpack as you blink the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Chicken or beef?” 

Heeseung looks at you, expecting an answer.

“Hm?”

He laughs softly. “Chicken or beef?” 

Your eyes dart between him and the flight attendants when you realize they’re about to approach.

“I heard them asking people which meal they want,” Heeseung explains. “So, chicken or beef?”

“Beef.” You clear your throat. 

“Beef it is.”

Sunghoon requests chicken when the flight attendant arrives. Heeseung orders beef for the both of you before you get the chance. If he notices you looking at him strangely, he doesn’t comment on it. 

The food comes quicker than expected and the meal tastes decent, though you’re trying your best not to elbow Heeseung as you cut away at your portion. He seems engrossed in the movie in front of him while you peek at what he’s watching—Iron Man, to no one’s shock. 

You soften a bit at the nostalgia that comes with Heeseung and Marvel, namely the rainy days in your youth spent marathoning the superhero movies. There had been one year in high school when he’d dressed up as Tony Stark and you as Pepper Potts despite a few girls your age whispering behind your back at the matching costumes out of jealousy. You don’t think you can think of the franchise without thinking of Heeseung. 

The memories almost bring a smile to your face. Heeseung seems to notice you glancing at his screen in between bites. You avoid eye contact when you realize he caught you staring and focus on cutting your meal, praying that Heeseung will stop looking at you and watch the movie instead. 

But he takes one earbud out and holds it to you. 

“Do you want to watch it with me?” He’s halfway through. You tell him such but he doesn’t care. 

“I don’t want to jump in halfway through.” 

“Come on, it’s not like you haven’t done that before.” 

Heeseung says it with such nonchalance that it makes your stomach drop. He sees the way your eyes falter for a moment and the way you glance between his hand and the screen. You try to come up with excuses to refuse his offer, but you’ve got eight more hours until you land.

“Sure,” you settle. Heeseung gives you one headphone and resumes watching.

Between the meals being picked up and tray tables being put away, you manage to fall asleep in your seat. Sunoo sits in front of you and upon coming back from a quick bathroom trip, sees your head resting on Heeseung’s shoulder with his cheek propped on your head. The two of you are fast asleep despite the credits rolling and he can’t help but snap a quick photo. 

You wake up some hours later when Sunghoon says your name. The cabin lights turning on temporarily blinds your vision as you wake up when you realize you’d managed to push yourself back enough to rest yourself against Heeseung’s arm. 

“Oh God,” you say in shock, pulling yourself and the seat upright. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, like he means it. “Sleeping on planes is uncomfortable. But I know you know that.” 

You nod. “Yeah. It's too hard to get comfortable.”

“I can’t believe we’re spending two weeks in Europe. I’ve never been outside of Korea and Japan before. You’ll have to help me with my English.”

“Jay or Jake can also help with that.” You say it with a yawn and Heeseung’s eyes cast to the floor for a brief moment. You barely notice, gathering your own belongings as the flight descends. 

“Yeah, I guess they can.” 

When you land, the familiar disorientation of the time difference truly wakes you up. It’s eleven in the morning when the plane door finally opens and Jay’s moving a step ahead of you as he occupies space in the aisle way to grab his belongings. You follow suit and wait for your turn to exit amongst your friends and other travel goers.

Stepping out of the plane and into the familiar terrain of the Heathrow Airport reignites your attentiveness and you smile at the fond memories of being greeted by your university friends upon arriving. The familiar atmosphere of English travelers milling around the gate warms your chest with nostalgia. 

You wait for the boys to emerge before signaling Jay, who follows beside you as you walk towards the baggage claim area. You lead him with little trouble down the escalator as the rest of your friends follow suit, yawning in an attempt to wake themselves up. 

“It’s weird seeing you in your element,” Jay comments as he stands beside you, periodically checking the turnstile for his luggage. “A good kind of weird.” 

“This airport might as well be my second home,” you tell him. “It feels routine to wait for my luggage at this point.”

“I’m tempted to sleep when we get to the hotel but I don’t want to mess up my sleep schedule more than it already is.” Jay pulls his luggage. 

“Yeah, that’s smart. I think we should take an hour to freshen up and find a place to eat before we go exploring.”

“I can already hear Jake whining about it.” 

The two of you share a laugh. “He’ll just have to get used to it. We can have an early night and rest up before we explore tomorrow.” 

“He slept on the plane, for the most part,” Jay informs. “Surprisingly, he didn’t snore as loudly as he usually does.” He spots your luggage and takes it off of the belt for you. 

On the other side of the carousel, Heeseung and Sunoo are standing together to find their own luggages. 

“You guys looked pretty cozy,” Sunoo comments. “It was nice seeing you two like that again.”

“It felt nice,” he mutters. “I really missed her.” 

Heeseung doesn’t have to tell Sunoo what happened between the two of you for him to know that you two aren’t as close as you used to be. The older boy feels nearly ashamed that his own friends have caught up on his awkward demeanor.

“Well, she’s back for good and we’re here on vacation. Try not to dwell on whatever it is that’s making you think too hard.”

Heeeung laughs. “I’ll try, Sunoo. It’s just hard when we’re not as close. How can I compete when we’re in her college town and how will I talk to her in Paris?”

“Well, you never know,” Sunoo says as he picks up his luggage. “Anything can happen in the City of Love.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The hotel itself is modest in size. Quaint, old cobblestone surrounding the entryway like you remember it. The people are busy walking in and out of the meeting rooms in the lobby as you walk to the concierge to sort out the rooming situation. Jay stands beside to help distribute the keys and the employee behind the desk bids you a good stay. 

The view from the fifth floor is spectacular already. You catch glimpses of the streets of London below you, street lights decorating the sidewalk and flowers surrounding the city. This feels like the London you remember and it adds a slight pep in your step. 

“Alright, it’s decided that three of you are gonna share,” you say as you reach the first room. “The other four will be split into two rooms and I’ll get a room for myself.”

“That’s not fair,” Jake huffs. 

“I refuse to share a room with any of you.” You pocket the key to the single bedroom. “Plus, Jay’s mom helped me make the arrangements when we planned the trip.”

“Favoritism,” Jake coughs. You nudge his side.

“To make it fair, everyone will pick up a key card without knowing the room number and flip it. That’ll determine who you room with.”

“Alright,” Jungwon says. “Fair enough.”

One by one, your friends pick their key cards and discover their roommates. Jake, Sunoo, and Riki are the unlucky three who will be rooming together for the duration of the week. Jay and Sunghoon are in the room directly across from theirs while Heeseung and Jungwon share a room. 

“Let’s meet at the lobby in an hour,” Jay suggests. “We can get some lunch and do some exploring before deciding on dinner.”

“We can take it easy and sleep early tonight,” you add in. “I know that flying internationally is always a bitch and I try to time my sleep when I need to.”

The eight of you part ways. Your suite has a beautiful view of the sky and the room itself makes you feel like the main character of a romance film. The bed is just to your liking with pillows stacked to the nines. It feels nice to have a moment to yourself. With your friend Yunjin backing out of the trip at the last minute due to family conflicts, you hadn’t had time to think about anything other than arriving at the hotel safely. 

You busy yourself with a shower and freshen up, pulling out options for you to wear for the rest of the night. You settle with something stylish yet comfortable and put enough makeup on your face until you’re satisfied with the person staring back at you in the bathroom mirror. 

True to your word, you enter the lobby when you said you would. Jay and Sunghoon are already downstairs by the seats. Sunghoon stands to offer you the loveseat but you decline politely and sift through your phone until the rest of the guys arrive. 

When they do, it’s like all eight of you collectively agree that hunger has overtaken you. You know of a nearby cafe that serves sandwiches from your days in university. You lead them to the quaint restaurant that has your friends staring at the art on the walls as you greet the cashier and order. 

It’s a slow moment for the eight of you as you all eat in relative silence, the sound of quiet slurping audible from the coffees everyone has chosen to drink. 

“Did you spend a lot of time here?” Jungwon asks. 

“Around the area, yeah,” you say, looking around. The outdoor seating area is just towards the edge of the street with the weather being a cool, cloudy day. “I loved coming to cafe’s like these with my friends after class. We’d study until they kicked us out and then go for a drink or two.” 

“We should go to a pub while we’re here,” Jake suggests. “I’ve always wanted to see an English pub. We have a few back in Australia.” 

“I know just the place! My friend’s brother owns it and they know I’ll be in town for the next week. It would be nice to catch up with them.” 

“Hopefully your friends here kept you out of trouble,” Sunghoon teases. You flick him with your fingers. 

“I’m the most responsible one out of you seven and don’t you forget that.” 

“Do you miss being here now that you’re back?” Riki asks in between sandwich bites. “God, I love London already.” 

“You’re going to choke if you don’t slow down.” He apologies and takes a single bite. “Well, I think I miss my friends a lot. I don’t necessarily miss being in university, but I miss the freedoms that come with it.”

“I still can’t believe you spent four years of your life here,” Sunghoon says. “That’s insane when you think about how you cried when your aunt took you to Tokyo for a week when you were in middle school.”

The boys laugh and you frown. “I was twelve, okay? You wound me. But yeah, I think I grew out of my shell in high school and had this urge to travel but didn’t know how to do it. I was surprised when my parents encouraged me to apply to King’s College, even more so when I got accepted.”

“You’ve always been too good to stay in one place for too long,” Jake says. “We got close until halfway through our first year of high school, I think. I always got the sense that you wanted more than what our hometown could offer.” 

“I always wanted to move to the heart of Seoul eventually. But I think I needed to come here in order to figure that out.”

“Would you really have stayed in London if you had the chance?” 

You avoid looking at Heeseung, whose attention averted from his phone to you. 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But what I do know is that I’m happy to be back in Korea and I’m happy to be traveling to Europe.” 

“You always did have that sense of adventure,” Heeseung says. “I remember you were the one who always got us in trouble when we explored a little too far.” 

“Your mom was pissed that time I walked a little too far down the shoreline when we went to Jeju.” The memory feels warm despite your discomfort at having Heeseung’s eyes on you. “I didn’t know who she wanted to kill more, me or you.”

“Definitely me. You could do no wrong in her eyes.”

“What happened?” Sunoo asks. 

“My family and Heeseung’s took a trip to Jeju Island when we were around seven, if I remember correctly. I’d taken swimming lessons and thought I could show off my new skills at the beach we were at, but there was a wave that was a bit too much for me to handle.”

“She was nearly swallowed by the ocean.” Heeseung hits his knee with his palm as he recalls the memory. “I mean, I was seven and it seemed like the wave was gigantic but to my mom, it must’ve been just tall enough that she could see over it.”

“She yelled at him for the rest of the night because she had to pull me out from under the water,” you add. “I was fine. My parents laughed it off but his mom was so pissed at him for not telling me to come back to the shore.”

Echoes of laughter fill the space. It feels nice to be able to laugh like this with Heeseung, temporarily forgetting why you were so awkward around him in the first place. 

When the check is paid, you lead the group around the area. Sunghoon takes out his camera and captures everything that inspires him while Sunoo and Riki are off to explore the shops around. It brings warmth to your chest to see your friends enthusiastically exploring the space you once called home. It had been a dream of yours since Jay came to visit and let you drag him around town for the day. Having them with you feels like you’re healing a part of yourself. 

You duck into the quiet bookstore you used to frequent while you were a student. Filled with novels and trinkets from floor to ceiling, it feels familiar to you. 

You get lost in thought when you glance at the books in front of you and you don’t notice Heeseung approaching. 

“Still love books?” 

“Jesus,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Seems like you still scare easily.” You hate that he knows you so well. Clearing your throat, you put the book back. 

“Yes, to both. I used to come to this bookstore a lot when I had free time.” 

He looks around. “It looks like a nice place.”

“They have a reading nook in the back. The owner is this sweet older woman who was the first person to help me with my English when I first moved. I think she let me read books for free because I used to bring her sweets.”

“That sounds like something you’d do.” You cast your eyes to the floor. “It’s crazy that there’s parts of you that I don’t know.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble solemnly. Heeseung’s eyes bore into the side of your face as you pretend to look at the titles of the books. 

“Do you talk to your college friends often?” 

“All the time. My closest friends live all over the place. Two of them are from the area, one went to live in the States, and a few live in Busan.”

“I’ll bet it was nice to have some Korean friends when you moved. I remember you used call me to tell me about your first semester here.” 

You can’t help but think about the first few months after you moved when you would call Heeseung for a bit of comfort when things felt too overwhelming. With Korea being nine hours ahead, you always felt a little too bothersome phoning when it was the middle of the night for him, not used to the time difference. But he always answered you or called back when he had the chance. 

You’d spend hours on the phone, talking to him about how difficult it was to learn English and how making friends was not as easy as you thought it would be. Navigating the city felt lonely and isolating because you’d barely made friends in your classes in the first few weeks. Heeseung was there through all of it, reminding you that being eighteen years old in a new country made you brave despite feeling like you were a failure for not grasping a hold on life like you thought you would. 

Falling asleep on the phone with him became a routine, too. Whether it was you who fell asleep after a long day or Heeseung, who had stayed up listening to your worries, the sound of his breathing made it feel like you were back home in Korea instead of exploring a grand new world. 

Soon enough, you could talk your way around and piece together conversations with your classmates until you’d found friends who shared similar interests. Heeseung was the first person you told and the first person to tell you how proud he was that you extended your roots to learn about yourself away from home. You always thrived off of his praise as if making him proud was something you never sought out to do, but appreciated when it happened.

But that was four years ago. Whatever friendship you had with him then is not the one you have with him now. 

“It was nice,” you settle. “I miss my college friends. You might get to meet some later in the week.” 

“Nice,” he mutters to himself when you walk past him. “That’s really nice.” 

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The rest of the week is spent in your old stomping grounds, from touring your campus, to shopping, to sightseeing. The eight of you split up more often than not to explore different areas based on mutual interest. You find that Heeseung tends to gravitate towards you and you aren’t sure if it’s because he feels guilty for rejecting you or because he genuinely wants to explore what you want to do. 

Still though, at least one other person joins you. It feels nice to have a buffer to avoid any awkward conversation or moments, especially when Heeseung trips over his words trying to talk to you. 

The week goes by too quickly for your liking. Spending time in London has felt like coming back home, in a way. You’ll always have your memories here and this city will remain the same when you return in the future. Now, it no longer feels like the place you escape too because things got too hard back home. 

Even with Heeseung next to you more often than not, you’ve found a happy medium The awkwardness dissipates when you set aside your indifference to show everybody your favorite places, watching them explore the city for themselves. 

As expected, Riki and Jake have spent a little too much on clothing with the hopes that they can fit it into their luggage on the way back. It fits miraculously. 

Your friend Leo, the one whose brother owns the pub you used to frequent, tells you he’s excited to see you after all these months. It’s a Friday night when you arrive, seeing it well populated. But it’s rather early in the evening before the rush hour, so you enjoy the relative quietness before people rush in. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, has been in a stupor for the latter half of the week. It began when he managed to talk to you in the bookstore, but blossomed when he watched you navigate your way around the city. You barely looked at your phone for directions and had no problem switching to English when you greeted shop owners. Hearing you speak fluently in a language you once struggled with in your childhood made him feel somewhat removed from your life. The two of you used to joke that he was always better with English. Now, the tables have turned. 

The fear that you’d told your school friends about what transpired between the two of you plants itself in the back of Heeseung’s mind. He worries that your friends won’t like him and that you’ve scorned his name, but he chides himself just as much as he worries because he knows you and how deeply you care about people. 

Heeseung wishes he could go back in time to change what happened. He wishes that he’d admit his mistake and confess to you before you left. It had taken him a long time to confront his own feelings, but seeing you back in Korea made him realize he didn’t care if the relationship was long distance or not. He didn’t care as long as you were in his life. 

The months spent apart without phone calls or texts were agony. He loathed hearing what you were up to from your mutual friends or when he accidentally watched your Instagram stories. Seeing you happy without him made his heart lurch, not out of possessiveness, but because he wished you were comfortable enough to share those moments with him. 

To boil it down, Heeseung hopes this trip can undo a year’s worth of his ignorance. 

But before he can think about that, your exclamation pulls him towards a strange man before you. 

“Leo!” 

The sheer volume of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung, who eyes the bloke the second you make a dash for him. His heart winces when your arms wrap around the stranger’s neck and as he spins you around, squeezing you for good measure. He isn’t pleased when Leo settles to let his arm rest around your waist instead of letting you go. He’s even less so when you don’t attempt to separate yourself from him. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” Leo says with a boyish grin, accent making Heeseung nearly roll his eyes. 

“This is Leo.” You let your head rest on his shoulder for a brief moment. “He’s one of my friends from university. I think we met in, what, second year?” 

“Second year, auditing class with Professor Donahue on Mondays and Wednesdays,” he says. “God, that class was so boring.” 

“He’s the friend whose brother owns the bar,” you explain to them. You introduce Leo to each friend respectively. “Jay and Jake are my friends who are fluent in English.” 

“You can speak it and understand it as well, right?” Leo asks as he shakes Heeseung’s hand.

He nods while giving him a tight smile. “Just a little. I’m practicing.” 

“Nah, you sound perfect already.”

Heeseung feels indifferent to see you in your element with people from your past. The bartender, who is Leo’s brother, tells you the first two rounds are on the house after he checks IDs. Riki and Jungwon are excited to have their first pub experience after you make them promise to take it slow and drink lots of water in between. 

“It’s a bit weird seeing her be like that,” Leo says to Jay with a laugh. “When we first got to know each other, it was me who had to tell her to watch how much she drank.”

“Y/N, drinking?” Jake asks. “No way. Back in Korea, she got drunk maybe twice a year.” 

“She and a mutual friend, Elizabeth, were as thick as thieves. They were like a package deal before we all graduated and until she moved to the States. They’d always go a little too hard after exam season was over or if people invited them out on a Saturday night.”

“Y/N’s always been the responsible one out of the bunch,” Jay adds. “In high school, there was one time she got so drunk that she nearly scaled the roof of my friend’s house. Heeseung nearly fell off trying to get her down. After that, she swore off alcohol.” 

Heeseung makes a few comments in the conversation as he watches you catch up with Leo’s brother and as you facilitate conversation between the rest of the guys. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realizes there’s a lot he doesn’t know about you. 

The two of you talked less as you became more comfortable in your environment. At first, Heeseung took it to heart and made the assumption that you’d chosen your friends in England over him, but a stern conversation with his mother made him realize he was being juvenile. He could only comfort you so much when he was oceans away. It was probably a good thing that you were talking to him less because that must’ve meant you were as overwhelmed or scared like you were when you first moved to England. 

You’d still call him a few times a week before bed–when Heeseung was getting ready for the day–to update him on everything that happened in the past week. You two texted more frequently than you conversed, sending him pictures of new places you’d discovered or him sending photos of your mutual friends with sad faces at the notion of you not being able to be there with them. 

Heeseung had always felt a bit jealous of your time abroad. He loved Korea, but he yearned for the same sense of adventure you once had. Only, he hadn’t figured it out until halfway through university when it was too late to transfer or apply for a semester abroad. When Jay had proposed this trip and that his father would expense half of it, he jumped at the opportunity to go. 

Although, he didn’t know it would hurt him this much.

Hearing you talk about your life here made him feel like it was his fault that he barely knew your life in England. It was so easy when the two of you lived a few blocks from each other; he’d run into you with your other friends on the street or know exactly where you were likely to be at any given moment. He knew you felt the same way about him too, as you always knew where to find him if you really needed him. 

But it feels like this is the first time he’s seeing you for who you are as an adult, not the child that he grew up with. 

Surely, Heeseung always knew you had a good head on your shoulders. You were always the more outspoken one who stood up for what you believed in, no matter how big or small. You never backed down if someone was giving you a hard time and it was one of the reasons why Heeseung had struck up a conversation with you as you two played in the sandbox after a few kids had stolen the toys he was playing with. That sense of responsibility and gratuity followed you into your adolescent and teenage years, too. Not once had Heeseung heard anyone say a bad word about your character. He’d like to think he had something to do with it, but deep down, Heeseung knows it was all you. 

When you confessed nearly a year ago, Heeseung felt like his heart might’ve ceased to function properly. Truth be told, he’s never taken his daydreams about being your boyfriend too seriously. He always wondered if it was normal to develop small crushes on your girl-friends at a young age and wondered if those butterflies in his stomach was because of how often his other friends at school would playfully tease him until they stopped. Jake and Sunghoon had been people who teased him for having a girl as his best friend until they befriended you too, and Heeseung was satisfied when they stopped with their comments. They, too, could understand why Heeseung was so keen on keeping you around. 

But the butterflies never quite left him. Your smile was too bright. Your voice was too angelic. Everything about you and how you fit into his life felt a little too perfect; Heeseung hated cliches in his youth and this felt like one big cliche joke. He knew his mother didn’t approve of the girls she’d see him with, even in college when he got into his first serious relationship. She wasn’t as enthusiastic about her as she was with you. At the time, the frustration seemed too biased until it ended in a way that made Heeseung realize his mother truly knew what was best for him.

Heeseung never considered the possibility of dating you until you confessed your feelings for him. 

As much as he plays off being the spontaneous, go-with-the-flow type of person, Heeseung gets scared when things go unplanned. He backs away from courage and from moments that make or break his character. He likes to play it safe unless he can make a calculated risk in his favor, choosing to let others fall flat on their face and learn from their mistakes. Heeseung had never considered the possibility of you having feelings for him either. That fateful summer night is one he will always remember, especially in the way the light in your eyes dimmed when he told you he didn’t feel the same. 

He remembers your quick apologies and the way you backed away too quickly for his liking. He had tried to reach for your hand to tell you it was okay and that he didn’t feel awkward about it, but you’d shook your head and merely told him you’d see him later. Heeseung had never seen you leave so abruptly. But he figured you’d get over it, as you typically do when things don’t go your way. You’re resilient like that.

Heeseung assumed you needed time to heal from the awkward encounter and hadn’t reached out to you for a week. He didn’t think much of it at the time and hadn’t made plans with you until he realized you’d be leaving for Europe the week following. By then, it had been too late, because he stopped by your house the morning after you left. 

Getting together with Seulgi after you left felt too easy. He knew she’d always had a thing for him but brushed her off for reasons he couldn’t fathom until he bumped into her a few weeks after you’d left without so much as a text or a voicemail. Feeling a bit irritated at your wordless departure, Heeseung took Seulgi out on a few days to take his mind off of you.

Except, it didn’t work. Heeseung found himself fantasizing about what it would be like to go out to dinner with you when she was sitting in front of him. When she’d texted him to thank him for his time, Heeseung imagined the kind of things you would say after your first date. When he kissed her for the first time underneath the twinkling lights of a local fair, Heeseung pictured you as he closed his eyes. The fantasy was ruined when Seulgi’s perfume touched his olfactory senses, pulling him back into reality. The guilt of kissing somebody who wasn’t you ate at his chest the moment he saw Seulgi smile at him from where he stood. 

He tried his best with her but broke it off when the unrest overtook his mental wellbeing. It was amicable, for the most part. All Heeseung knows is that his parents (along with all of his friends) were happy that he hadn’t continued with that relationship.

“Y/N used to talk a lot about you, Heeseung,” Leo says, bringing the aforementioned out of his thoughts. “We’d be out at dinner or something and she’d always run outside to answer your calls.”

“Really?” Heeseung says out of surprise. He didn’t know you did that. 

“You bet,” Leo replies. “She talked a lot about Korea when we’d hang out with our friends but she seemed to talk about you the most.” 

Heeseung wonders if you told him about what happened between the two of you the summer before you left. 

“I’m flattered.” Heeseung honestly doesn’t know what else to say. He chooses to tell the truth. “I missed her a lot. I grew up with her living a few blocks away. It felt weird not to be with her when I went to college.” 

“Y/N said the same thing. Every time she’d be homesick, she’d tell us she needed to call you.” Leo’s words bring a warm flush to Heeseung’s face but he chooses to blame it on the alcohol. 

“I heard my name,” you say as you walk to where they’re sitting. “Not talking shit about me, my dear Leo?”

“Never,” he teases. “Although, I’m sure I still have some pretty photos of you and Elizabeth at this very pub.”

“Oh God, please don’t.” You push his shoulder when he moves to reach his phone. “Those do not need to see the light of day and you definitely need to delete them.”

“How else am I going to blackmail you?” 

“You’re the worst.” You look cute when your nose is a bit red from drinking. You always did suffer from redness to the face when you drank. “I can’t believe Elizabeth and I let you into our friend group.”

“Hey! I was the one who introduced you to her in the first place.”

“I’ll bet if I texted her right now, I’d have it in writing that she’d choose me over you.”

“Okay, you don’t need to do that because she definitely would.” 

The group laughs and conversations flow nicely as a few other friends from your university days join you later in the evening. It feels like a reunion, of sorts. It feels especially wonderful to have most of your favorite people under one roof despite the slight language barrier. But everyone seems to get along well enough, especially Riki, who has taken a liking to your Japanese friend you met on your first day of orientation. 

When the room gets too hot, you make your way outside where you’re fenced in by a metal barricade. It’s cold outside, but the alcohol running through your veins keeps you warm enough that you decide not to go back to ask for a jacket. Heeseung wants to follow you but stays still in his seat when he sees Sunghoon exit the door after you leave. 

The wine in your hands is still halfway full. You’ve decided that you’ve taken the lead far too many times this week and that Jay can handle getting everyone home. It’s your fourth drink of the night, just enough to keep you buzzed for the duration of your time at the pub. 

You register the door sliding open and make room for Sunghoon when you spot him over your shoulder. 

“Your friends are really nice,” he comments, leaning on the railing next to you. 

“They’re the best,” you say with a fond smile. “I owe them a lot. I only started enjoying my time here when we became friends.” 

“You know, I was a little worried that you wouldn’t be happy when you moved to London for the first time.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“I think a lot of people would describe you as brave and as someone who will dive in head first to things that scare you, which is true for the most part. But I think people rarely pay attention to the vulnerable side of people like you because it looks like you have it all together.”

“I was a total wreck when I first moved,” you said. “I don’t know if you remember the few times I called you when Heeseung wasn’t able to pick up.”

“Oh, I remember. That was the first time you cried to me and now you have no issue getting your snot on my sweaters.” You swat his arm at the joke but he dodges you just in time. “I remember Yeji getting worried about you too. She was so young and always said she wanted to be brave like you.”

“Sweet girl,” you say. 

“The two of you are similar. I watch out for her a lot, you know? Our relatives always think she puts on a brave face and don’t think twice when she talks about her fears. They always tell her she’ll be fine, but it’s hard to actualize that when you don’t believe it.”

“I thought about coming home a few times when things got really hard,” you confess. “I was out of my depth because I couldn’t speak English very well. I could only speak fragments and getting my way around campus was so hard.” 

“I don’t know how you did it, if I’m being honest. But I’m glad that you stuck around long enough to see what your life would be like.”

“Me too. I’d really love to think I’ve become a better person now that I’ve gotten the chance to know myself beyond the comfort of my home, you know? I love you guys and I love my family, but sometimes being back in Korea felt like I was listening to what was expected of me instead of what I wanted.”

Sunghoon laughs. “Yeji said the same thing a few weeks before we left for London. Part of me thinks she’s considering studying abroad. I found a few college brochures in her room.”

“Don’t you know better than to snoop inside your sister’s bedroom?”

“Yah,” he says. “Yeji steals too many of my sweaters and she said I could get them back.”

“You’re just too easy to make fun of, Hoonie.” 

A comfortable silence passes over the both of you. The audible sound of people talking amongst themselves and the beautiful lights of the city illuminate what makes London so beautiful. It isn’t until Sunghoon speaks that you pull yourself out of your daydreams.

“I heard you that night,” Sunghoon confesses. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The night of the bonfire.I know you told Heeseung you liked him.”

You turn your head to him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured you’d tell me whenever you felt ready,” he says with a shrug. “You went back to London a couple of weeks later and I wanted to spend time with my friend. There never seemed to be a right time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and balances from one leg to another. “You looked really sad, Y/N. I’ve never seen you look that way before.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Sunghoon listens as you sigh and you push yourself from the railing. Your back touches the cold metal as you look beside yourself to see him. 

“I deluded myself into thinking Heeseung might’ve felt something for me too,” you admit. “It’s not that girls and boys can’t be friends, but towards the end of our friendship, it was like something shifted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d…touch me longer. Hugs, pulling me by my waist at parties, lingering near me at Riki’s bonfires, that kind of thing. He started playing with my fingers a lot more. Heeseung never used to touch me like that. He’d interrupt conversation with guys to pull me away. I always knew what he was doing but I liked him so much that I didn’t care if he interrupted a good thing between me and someone else.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and watches as you look ahead at the glass doors to see your friends laughing. “I noticed that too.”

“When we were alone, it felt like he was one sentence away from telling me he loved me more than a friend. Not that platonic crap that the eight of us tell each other, but the deep shit where that kind of love comes from kindred souls.” 

“Heeseung’s too stupid to see what’s good for him anyway.” Sunghoon pulls a laugh out of you and he’s glad to hear it. 

“But then I confessed to him the night of that bonfire.” You bite your lip at the memory, willing yourself not to tear up. “I mean, you heard him. He told me he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to ruin our friendship because it was perfect as it was.”

“And then you heard he’d gotten together with Seulgi.”

“Yeah.” You nod once and look down at your drink. 

“They weren’t together long,” Sunghoon says. “She wanted more but he didn’t want to give that to her. The boys were confused because he seemed to be really happy with her until he broke it off so sudden. I always thought it was because he felt too guilty after rejecting you.”

“What did the guys think?”

“Riki hated her. I have a feeling it was because she wasn’t you, though. I think Sunoo, Jungwon, and Jake were surprised when he’d gotten together with Seulgi after you left and were trying to be nice about it. Jay was indifferent, but then again, you two weren’t as close as you were with the rest of them until he visited you while you were away.”

“Did his opinion change?” 

“Definitely. Heeseung had a period of time in the new year where he went on a couple of dates with her, telling us he might’ve made a mistake by breaking things off too soon.” Sunghoon shakes his head as he tells the story. “Jay was unbelievably pissed.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how he gets when he’s angry. He’s quiet and doesn’t talk until he’s calm. But it was like a volcano erupted, or something. Jay came back mid January to find out Heeseung had been seeing Seulgi for a couple of weeks and completely lost it on him. He said things about not knowing a good thing if it spat in his face and how he ruined every chance of happiness because of his own doing.” 

“Wow…I didn’t know Jay said that.”

“It was scary. Heeseung tried to fight back and say it was his life and that Jay didn’t have a right to say what he could and couldn’t do, but the poor guy never stood a chance. Jay asked him if he would be happy if you came back to see him dating Seulgi and that shut him up real quick.”

“What do I have to do with it?” you ask. “He rejected me before I left.” 

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon says truthfully. “I always thought that Heeseung was trying to redeem himself through Seulgi. But I guess we’ll never truly know.” 

“It’s been almost a year,” you reminisce. “You’d think I would’ve gotten over him by now after spending time in Europe with, well, other boys.”

“He’s not just any guy who rejected you,” Sunghoon says. He looks out at the street, finding the words to say. “You two had been best friends since before me or the guys got to know either of you. There’s a special kind of bond between people who grew up together, you know?

“I think a large part of you misses being friends with him. Sure, rejection always stings, but it’s knowing that you don’t have your best friend that hurts you more.”

“Jeez,” you chide. “You always know how I feel.”

Sunghoon laughs. “I’m just observant. I know that it’s hard to be on this trip because Heeseung’s trying to be that friend you once knew. He probably feels guilty for giving you the cold shoulder during your first few weeks back in Seoul.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well he’s not doing a great job showing it. Life would be easier if he left me alone.”

“But do you want that?” 

You cast your eyes to the floor. “No, I don’t.” 

Satisfied with your answer, Sunghoon nods. 

“You know, I knew Heeseung had feelings for you the night we played spin the bottle just before we graduated high school.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hoon. He never liked me.” 

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Do you remember what happened that night?” 

“Vaguely. I remember that being my first time trying alcohol and Jake having to cut me off when I couldn’t walk straight.”

He nods. “When you were sober enough to string a few sentences together, some girl suggested playing spin the bottle. When it was your turn to spin, it landed on me.” 

You make a face. “Ah. I do remember kissing you.” 

“Well you don’t have to look grossed out,” Sunghoon teases. “Everyone knew it was awkward because we’d been friends for like, five years at that point. We were both so flustered that the kiss lasted for maybe two seconds before everyone cheered.

“Heeseung was pissed. I saw him looking at me like I’d killed his family, or something. I swore I could see steam coming out of his ears. He wouldn’t talk to me for a week because I’d been your first kiss.”

“Seriously?” 

“Dead serious.” Sunghoon laughs at the memory. “He wouldn’t answer my texts. In the group chat we were in, he’d acknowledge everyone but me. It wasn’t until a week later when we were all hanging out that I told him there was nothing between us and it was awkward to kiss you in front of our friends.” 

You stand there, dumbfounded. “Huh.”

“I’ve never told anyone that,” he confesses. “I doubt anyone remembers us kissing except for him. I assumed this would be a story I’d tell you and the guys when you both eventually got together.” 

He murmurs an apology. “It’s okay, Hoon. I’m glad you told me. I guess I’m just…confused. Why did he reject me if he allegedly liked me?” 

“I wish I knew. He was miserable when you left and refused to talk about you moving back to Europe for your final year abroad. Heeseung was really sad when he found out you weren’t coming home for Christmas break.” 

“I couldn’t bear to see him. I was so heartbroken and the friends here tonight were consoling me in the way they knew how. I knew I’d be a depressed wreck if I came back home.”

“That makes sense,” Sunghoon affirms for you. “I’m glad you met up with Jay while he was here, though. You got some kind of Christmas gift from home.” 

“Me too. I feel like Jay and I got closer because of it. I knew he could tell something was off but he didn’t say anything about it. Something tells me he knows more than he cares to say.” 

“You know Jay.” You both nod. “More observant and caring than the rest of us. Part of me thinks Heeseung’s jealous of your new friendship with him since the two of you basically planned this whole trip on your own.” 

“Well, Jay has more international travel experience and his dad knows the right people,” you say with a shrug. “I spent four years of my life here. It makes sense.”

“To us, yes. To Heeseung? I think his feelings cloud his judgment.” 

“He never used to confuse me,” you admit. “We used to talk about how much we hated when people made us guess how they felt or what they were thinking. We always said it was unfair if you make people you love, make you guess their intentions. But he’s doing that to me and it’s been driving me insane.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I watched him date girls in high school. I watched him with what I thought would be his first serious girlfriend during our first year of college before he went through that short hookup phase. God, that hurt me so bad and I couldn’t say anything because it wasn’t my life.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think it was brave of you to confess to him,” Sunghoon tells you. “I don’t say that as a cheap cop out to make you feel better either. You know me, I’m really sentimental about things even if I don’t come off that way. To confess your feelings to someone who you love…one can only hope to hear that someday.” 

You nudge your shoulder with his. “You say that like you didn’t have girls begging for a date.” 

Sunghoon laughs and you know what he means. 

“You’ve always been the bravest of all of us,” he continues. “I think the reason why I wanted to be friends with you when we were kids is because you didn’t take bullshit from people. I was too shy to stand up for myself between my career as a figure skater while trying to be a normal kid. You and Heeseung offered that kind of normalcy. I could see you two in the bleachers at my competitions and then we’d go out for ice cream like it was any other day.” 

“Well, now you’re going to make me cry.” 

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re a great friend and a great person. I hope Heeseung hasn’t fucked things up too bad that you leave his life for good.” 

You shiver. “Me too.” 

“Talk to him,” Sunghoon advises. “Do it before we leave. You’re removed from your life back home.” You open your mouth to refute but he beats you to the chase. “If it doesn’t work out, then you’ll know your answer when you go home and you can resume your life without Heeseung in it.” 

Sunghoon leaves you alone with your thoughts but makes you promise that you’ll join the group soon.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

When you walk back into the pub, Jake clouds your personal space before you can even think about ordering another drink.

“Jesus, Hoon. Couldn’t you have offered Y/N your jacket if you guys were gonna be out that long? Poor girl looks like she’s about to freeze to death.

Jake’s affinity for the dramatic never ceases. Your friends look at your goosebumps and the way you’re acclimating to the warmer temperature inside while Sunghoon merely rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you say. “We only came in because I started to get cold.”

“Let me get my jacket for you,” Heeseung says as he rises from his seat. 

“No.” You’re sure you say it too abruptly, but you can’t bear the thought of wearing his clothes after the conversation you just had. “I’m fine, honestly.” 

“Stop being stubborn and wear a damn jacket,” Leo chides, wrapping his coat around your shoulders. “You have this habit of never bringing one when you need it and it drives me crazy.” 

“But that’s what I have you for, don’t I?” 

As you tug the material closer to your body, Sunghoon watches as Heeseung stares at Leo with a hard expression. 

“Not when you’re back in Seoul, you goof.” Leo takes your empty glass. “I’m glad you have these guys back at home. They seem really good for you.” 

“I love them a lot.” You say it so tenderly with your head tilted as you look at the boys you’d call family, only for them to coo at your clearly vulnerable, inebriated state.

“My mother, my older sister, and best friend,” Riki says with a hiccup as he engulfs you in a hug. “Seriously, I would be dead in a ditch without you.” 

“I don’t know a better person,” Sunoo chimes in from where he’s seated. 

“There was one time where Y/N had this lemon phase where she couldn’t stop drinking lemonade or eating lemon candy,” Jake tells the group. “Now I think of her every time I see something yellow.” 

“That’s kind of fitting though, isn’t it?” Leo asks. “Yellow for sunshine.” 

Everybody agrees and it makes your cheeks and neck warm up. You hide yourself in Leo’s jacket, but God, Heeseung wishes he could hide you in his arms instead. 

Still, he can’t help but agree with Leo. If there’s any truth to his words, it’s that you are made of pure, unfiltered sunshine.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, all eight of you board the train for a two-hour ride to Paris. For the next five days, you’ll be acting as a tourist rather than tour guide, for the most part. Jay volunteers to take the lead since you did most of the heavy lifting in London. You do, however, chime in to give him a few recommendations from your prior visits to the city. 

Sunghoon’s advice plagues your thoughts, so much so that Jungwon has had to guide you out of the hotel and into the cab before arriving at the train station. Both he and Sunoo look a bit worried about you, but you wave them off and tell them you had one too many to drink. You know they don’t believe you but you’re grateful they don’t press on. 

Paris is much more beautiful than you remember it, and it’s likely due to the fact that you’re here on vacation, not because you wanted a weekend getaway to escape the stress of midterms and exams. The people are just as indifferent as ever. You’re able to practice some of your basic French to order coffee and pastries for everyone. It’s a feat that leaves Heeseung impressed and you try not to acknowledge him when you see his jaw drop. 

The hotel itself is more beautiful than the last. You have the room with the balcony and double doors leading to a breathtaking view of the buildings and streets below. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, even if the streets are littered with trash and the people are a bit too loud. It still feels charming. 

The rooming situation is the same as London, with you in the single room and the rest of the boys to fend for themselves. This time, Jungwon, Jay, and Sunghoon are sharing the three bedroom with Heeseung and Jake sharing another, and Sunoo and Riki in the other double. The hotel must’ve miscalculated the rooming situation and put your single room at the end of the hallway away from the others, but you aren’t complaining. 

The first few days are filled with happiness and dread, namely when you see Heeseung as you begin your day. He has a knack for making you laugh until you come to the notion that you really shouldn’t be finding his jokes very funny because he doesn’t deserve that kind of reaction from you. 

In fact, he doesn’t deserve your attention after ignoring you for as long as he has. Seeing Leo again brought up memories of crying in his flat with Elizabeth and drinking too much wine to forget the pain temporarily. Your friends invited you to a night spent in the pub after Leo begged his brother to close it for the night so that you could have a free space to drink and talk about Heeseung until your voice gave out. 

Your irritation carries over and Heeseung can tell when you move away from him when he tries to stand next to you. He’s hurt but he tries to understand that you have a right to be, even if he knows in his heart the reasons why he acted the way he did. He just needs to find time to talk to you, even if the conversation doesn’t end the way he hopes it will. 

With two days left on the trip, you’ve eaten your way through the streets of Paris and have done your fair share of shopping. Each of the boys had bought you a small token of their appreciation (Heeseung paid for your latte, Jay purchased a small wallet from Prada, Jake gifted you new sunglasses, Sunghoon a charm for your bracelet, Sunoo a bowl of pasta for lunch, Jungwon a pair of earrings, and Riki a new jacket that looks similar to his from back home). It warms your heart to know you have people who care about you enough to show and tell you. 

The Eiffel Tower calls your name one late afternoon and by the time you all manage to walk up, the sun is setting below the horizon. There are couples around Heeseung who are taking photos left and right, one of which asks him to take a few pictures for them. He can’t help but wish he was in their place, asking a stranger to take a photo of the two of you as he kisses the apple of your cheek. Heeseung snaps a few good ones before the couple thanks him. 

It doesn’t help that you look like a walking goddess. Truth be told, Heeseung wanted to buy you more than just coffee when the boys agreed to each give you something as a token of their gratitude. Heeseung had come up with a list of ideas he wanted advice for, but it was Sunghoon who’d told him to keep it simple for your sake. He was right, as always, because you thanked him with a pleasant smile instead of ignoring him like you had in the days prior. Heeseung gets the feeling that you wouldn’t appreciate a grand gesture from him right now.

He hates that he can’t read you like he used to. He hates that the other friends know you better than he does, and he hates that he’s in the City of Love and he can’t call you his girlfriend. 

Riki and Jungwon are more perceptive than they let on. Heeseung sees the way their eyes dart between the two of you and how they’ve been trying their best to navigate the new dynamic. Riki, especially, hadn’t been receptive of Seulgi the first time Heeseung invited her to a bonfire. Heeseung had overheard the younger boy telling Jungwon it wasn’t the same without you there and that he’d rather go home than spend another minute getting to know someone who wasn’t you. 

At the time, Heeseung was beyond irritated and refused to speak to Riki for the rest of the night. Now, however, he understands why Riki acted the way he did. 

You look so beautiful underneath a Parisian sunset. Heeseung knows he’s staring. He’s grateful that you’re too preoccupied with Sunghoon taking photos of you. But God, he wishes you’d laugh at him like that. 

“You should talk to her,” Jake says from beside him. Heeseung jumps at his sudden appearance. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“I want to.” Heeseung says it out loud for the first time. He wants to work it out with you and get his best friend back in whatever way you’ll allow. “I miss her, Jake. I miss being her friend and I fucked up when I rejected her.” 

Heeseung doesn’t notice Jake’s eyes widen at the sudden admission. Jake had his fair share of theories and considered Heeseung to be his best friend, but even he knew there was a limit about what he was willing to share and what he kept to himself. Heeseung’s friendship with you was something he stopped trying to learn a few years after he got to know you; Heeseung had a soft spot for you and had no problem letting people know that. It wasn’t until you mentioned to Jake that you hadn’t spoken to Heeseung in months that he knew something was up. 

“She clearly cares about you,” Jake says. “She wouldn’t be on this trip if she didn’t.”

“But she’s been ignoring me the past three days. And before you say it, yes, I know that she has a valid reason to, but I’m hurt and I want to make things better.”

“You have to let her take the reins and let her talk to you when she wants to,” Jake advises. “You know how she is. Y/N’s headstrong and she might not know how she feels right now, but she always knows what’s best for her. You’re good for her, Heeseung. Let her come to that conclusion on her own.”

Heeseung relinquishes his breath. “You’re right. I just…miss her. A lot. Things will never go back to the way they used to but I don’t think I want them to. I used to pray every night that I could somehow make everything like it was before that night but now I want more than that. She deserves better and I want to be better for her, not that coward who was too scared to try something new with the person he loves.” 

His friend’s words bring a smile to Jake’s lips. “Well I, for one, believe in you. I think the rest of the guys do too.” 

“I know,” Heeseung says softly with his eyes on you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

You can’t believe you leave Europe in two days as you sip your wine. Jay’s father was gracious enough to reach out to his friend at the hotel’s restaurant to negotiate having this meal compensated. It’s a gesture you hold onto and make a mental note to write a thoughtful note when you settle back in Korea. Jay sits next to you and partakes in the wine activities with you, namely picking out two different bottles to share with the table. Talking to Jay like this makes you feel otherworldly, like you’ve gotten more experience out of life since you chose to study abroad. You feel lucky, in a sense, that your life has given you more than you expected it too. 

The younger boys head upstairs after dessert and bid you all a goodnight in case they don’t see you before falling asleep. For the next thirty minutes or so, it’s the five of you laughing away at the hotel bar like old times, reminiscing about embarrassing moments from high school or how difficult it was to hear Jake’s Korean when he first moved. 

The Australian leaves as soon as he yawns. Sunghoon, a little too tipsy upon standing from the bar table, presses a gentle kiss to your head when he says goodnight to the rest of you. Jay gives your arm a reassuring squeeze and you understand for the first time that he always knew you better than he let on. He says goodnight and tells the bartender to charge his room whenever you two close the tab. 

Now, you and Heeseung are sitting together, mere inches apart as the Parisian sky twinkles with stars above the two of you. 

Neither of you know what to say. You fidget with the glass and contemplate on whether you should head up as well. Heeseung can sense your awkwardness and wish he hadn’t messed things up so badly that you can’t stand to be alone with him without thinking of an escape plan. He misses when the two of you could sit in complete silence and still feel comfortable around one another. 

“Thank you for showing us around,” he speaks up before you can make the decision to leave. “I remember you talking about all of the places you showed us when you first moved here. I’ve always wanted to visit.” 

“Really?” 

Heeseung nods. “I used to be so jealous that you got the opportunity to travel abroad every time you talked about it. But I think I like it better this way, with you as the tour guide.” 

That brings a laugh out of you and Heeseung can’t help but smile. He doesn’t care if it’s the alcohol allowing your walls to come down. He’s grateful for the chance. 

“I used to write down places I wanted to show you,” you confess. “There were so many places that reminded me of where we’d used to hang out as kids. It always felt like there was a part of you with me.” 

His heart melts. “I wish I could’ve visited you while you were here. Your friends seem pretty cool.” 

“They are.” Heeseung watches you smile. “They’ve been with me through a lot and helped me get over this fear of failing in a different country. My friend Suki, who now lives in Tokyo, was the first person to really get me out of my shell and convinced me to go out. Awkward Y/N? Going to clubs?” 

“You know how to dance, though. I bet you killed it.” 

“A little too much, perhaps. I didn’t date or hook up much, but there were a few times that I did.” Heeseung’s heart begins to sink as does his hope. This is not where he wanted to lead the conversation but his ears perk up at your next point. “But I wasn’t happy doing that so I stopped making out with random guys on the dance floor.”

“If only thirteen-year-old you could see you then,” he teases. You bump his shoulders with yours and he feels electricity running down his arm. 

“I think I did a good job adjusting and learning. There were times where I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing with my life because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to stay in London or go back to Seoul. That burden felt too much.” 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back home.” 

Your head whips to look at Heeseung, who can only sit and watch as your eyes begin to water. 

“Why didn’t you say anything when I texted and called you?” you ask meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you see me when I came back?” 

“I know.” He gulps. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry.” 

You sniffle and Heeseung wants to cry too. “Everyone came to pick me up at the airport. I kept looking for you but you weren’t there. Jake had to pull me away from baggage claim because he said you weren’t coming but I didn’t listen. I told him he was wrong. You always come.” 

Heeseung’s soul breaks with every crack in your voice and with the way your lips quiver. He sees your mascara beginning to smudge and resists the urge to wipe it away so that your eyes may look fresh and dry. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I have no excuse.” 

“I wanted my best friend but you never showed up for me. You didn’t call or text me when you knew I was home and I had to wait until Riki’s bonfire to see you.”

“I was an idiot and stupid,” is the only answer Heeseung can come up with. “I used to be so scared of change. You left the country and I had to start thinking about what I wanted to do with my life but it was so hard without you in it.”

“Then why did you leave me?” 

His heart shatters. 

You’ve turned away from him in an attempt to walk back to your hotel room. However, Heeseung has learned his lesson. He doesn’t let you stray too far and gently tugs your wrist to pull you into his chest and is surprised when you don’t fight him off of you.

He doesn't care that your tears have stained his shirt or that you’re hiccupping into his clothes. All Heeseung wants to do is let you know he’s here for you now, despite his past mistakes and clouded judgment. Heeseung loves you for your bravery and vulnerability. He can only hope you understand that. 

“Let’s go to your room, yeah? I can help you take your makeup off.”

Whether from the alcohol or your need to be near Heeseung, you let him guide you to the elevator. He digs in your purse for your room key and coaxes you to sit in the bathroom while he locks the door. This routine feels a bit familiar; in his youth, he learned how you like to take your makeup off and get ready for bed after a particularly rough night drinking. He could never understand why he hadn’t minded taking the extra step and to keep himself sober when you were in the vicinity, but he understands it now. 

Heeseung meets you in the bathroom and washes his hands before putting your hair in a ponytail. He bites his lips when he sees your fresh tears and mutters another apology, forcing himself not to wipe away the tears with his fingers. Instead, he lets you blot them with a tissue before gathering makeup remover in his hands and gently smears it all over your skin. 

“I didn’t like change,” he says after a quiet beat. “I was too cowardly to take what I wanted, even if the person I wanted said they wanted me too. I don’t know why I didn’t chase after you that night or why I thought you needed space before you left. I don’t have an explanation for any of it except to say that I was a coward who never wanted anything to change between us.” 

Heeseung warms a wet cloth and wipes the balm away until he’s satisfied and moves on with your favorite cleanser, rubbing it between his hands until it foams. 

“I think, deep down, I’ve always loved you more than I led on. I can’t think of any moment in my life where you weren’t there or times that I didn’t want you around. Even when we were in elementary school and everyone kept saying we would get cooties from each other, I wanted you with me.” 

He lets you wash your face and applies the rest of your products on as you once taught him. 

“I’ve always had this sense of pride when it came to being your friend. Everyone always talked about how cool you were because you always knew what to say and when to say it. I love that about you, you know. You have a way of making people feel like they’re really special. I don’t know why I was so afraid of that.

“I love who you are and what you believe in. You make the world a better place for everyone around you. How you treated me was a small fraction of why I love you. I love your passions and that you aren’t afraid to chase after them. I love that you stick with the same boba order even though you tell yourself you’ll try something new. I love that you hate the beach but go with us every time we ask. I love when you get a little drunk because you don’t fight me when I want to take care of you.”

Heeseung swallows. “But mostly, I just really love you.”

You open your eyes for the first time. Heeseung can only stare. 

“You really hurt me.” 

He glances down. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“What hurt the most was knowing you weren’t going to be there as my best friend, Heeseung. I could handle your rejection. I could find a way to get over you. But I could never get over losing our friendship. I never wanted you out of my life because it’s better with you in it.” 

“Please don’t get over me,” Heeseung croaks. His own eyes begin to swell and he forces a choked sob down his throat, aggressively wiping his eyes to rid himself of tears. He presses his forehead against yours. “I don’t want you to get over me.” 

You don’t say anything for a few moments. Heeseung swears he feels the blood rushing to his ears as he anticipates your response and he’s sure that even if what you say isn’t what he wants to hear, he’s happy to wear his feelings on his sleeve for once in his life.

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.” 

Heeseung’s heart stops beating. He doesn’t kiss you even though he wants to. He doesn’t take your hand and pull you into him like his heart tells him to. Instead, he whispers a quiet thanks and is surprised when he hears you laugh. 

“I can’t apologize enough. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do or say anything.” 

“I know,” you whisper. Heeseung's hands are dangling awkwardly by his side. He feels like pushing his forehead against yours was too much. But your hands reach for him and you give him a squeeze.  

Heeseung throws caution out of the window and envelopes you in a hug. He feels your body melt against his and can’t help but look at the way you’ve folded into his chest in the bathroom mirror, with your head in his neck and his cheek on the crown of your head. Heeseung missed holding you like this–with your bodies intertwined as if you were two soulmates who were forced apart upon creation. 

He stroked your back with his hand and kept the other secured around your waist. Your soft breaths touch his skin and it feels like he’s got electricity running through his veins. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung whispers again. “I will keep apologizing until you know the depth of my regret.” 

The boy feels like he’s floating when you press a soft kiss to his exposed chest, mentally thanking Jake for forcing him to let loose and unbutton a few. 

“You could start by staying with me until I fall asleep,” you say. “Like old times.” 

He tries not to punch the air. “I can do that.” 

Heeseung waits in the bathroom until you’ve changed into comfortable clothing. He isn’t surprised when he sees you in shorts and an oversized shirt. It’s reminiscent of what you used to wear when you’d sleep in the guest bedroom in his house or vice versa, but now that he’s acknowledged his feelings for you, he can’t help but coo at how cute and sleepy you look. 

You tuck yourself in bed with the blankets to your chin and he completely melts to the floor. You pat the spot next to him and he sits on top of the blankets. 

“Under the covers, silly.” 

“I don’t want to rush it,” Heeseung says in a panic. 

“We aren’t rushing. We’re two best friends who got each other back.” 

Heeseung has never been more relieved. Though, he knows you’re a stickler for outside clothes in bed, so he makes the decision to take your key card and change.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says when he notices you rise from your spot on the bed. He holds two key cards to prove it and leans over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to change and then I’ll be right back. I promise.” 

He comes back ten minutes later. It warms your heart at the sight of him and you feel the comfort in your body when he slides underneath the covers. 

You surprise yourself when you move to lay your head on his chest with your arm around his body. Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind, though, and he pulls you closer to him like you’ve done it a million times before. The two of you have wanted this for too long to make it feel awkward. 

“What did Jake say when you came into the room?” you ask.

“He was half asleep until I turned the light on but he asked me if we resolved things. I told him yes and then he asked if I was staying the night with you when he saw me leaving.”

“Am I right to assume he was more excited about having the room to himself?”

Heeseung laughs. “That you are.”

“Deep down, I think Jake knew we’d find our way. I think they all did.” 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung whispers once more. You quiet him with a kiss to his cheek. 

“I know, Hee. We can talk more tomorrow. For now, let’s sleep.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, Heeseung wakes up before you do and frowns when your body’s all the way on the other side of the bed. He leans over your sleeping frame and brushes strands of hair from your face, admiring how serene you look in your sleep. For a moment, Heeseung ponders if it’s too soon to wake you up the way he’d like to, but if last night was any indication about how you felt, he’d be willing to take the chance. 

He leans down to kiss your forehead and both of your cheeks repeatedly until your eyes flutter open. Heeseung thinks he could listen to your laugh every morning with the way you wince at the sunlight and how his lips touch your skin. Still, your gaze finds its way to Heeseung’s and you can’t help but smile. 

There was a brief moment before you fell asleep that you’d wondered if you’d been too quick to forgive him. But for as hurtful as the past year was, you can’t help but acknowledge the steps he took during the trip in an attempt to undo all of the contempt you had built for him. You owe it to yourself to be happy with Heeseung. 

“Good morning, pretty girl,” Heeseung says with his morning voice that sounds a little too good for seven in the A.M. “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept like a baby. I feel like one too.”

“That’s because you are a baby,” Heeseung teases, kissing your cheeks and then the tip of your nose. “My baby.” 

“I really want breakfast but I’m too lazy to get up from the bed.”

“We could always order in. I’ll pay.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be too tempted to stay in bed and it’s our last full day in Paris. Let’s just get ready and have breakfast at the hotel restaurant?” 

The both of you are halfway done eating breakfast when the rest of your friends trickle in, joining your table and the ones next to you. It takes them a while to wake up, but it’s Sunghoon who speaks up first. 

“I’m assuming you two talked?” 

“And made up,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

“That’s my girl,” Sunghoon says proudly, sipping on his coffee. 

“I’ll let that slide since we’re all friends,” Heeseung jokes. You laugh and, for the first time in a while, you don’t feel guilty about it. 

“I had the whole room to myself, too. I woke up and didn’t have to fight anyone for the bathroom,” says Jake. 

Riki nearly spits his juice out. “You guys slept together?” 

“Not like that!” you’re quick to exclaim. “He just slept over. Slept. As in, we closed our eyes and actually slept.” 

“Both of us knew we needed our beauty sleep before dealing with the six of you asking us questions,” Heeseung adds. “But for your information, we made up. We still have things to figure out, but we’re back to being friends.” 

“Hopefully more than that,” Jungwon coughs behind his coffee. He merely smiles when Heeseung looks in his direction.

“I think you two should spend the rest of the day by yourselves,” Jay suggests. “We can either meet up for dinner or whenever we have to check out.” 

“I second that,” Sunoo agrees. “You two clearly need to talk.” 

“I wanted to go shopping with Y/N again,” Riki says with a frown. Jake presumably knocks his shin with Riki’s, who clears his throat. “But you two should totally hang out without us.” 

“I think we might,” Heeseung says, holding his hand out for you to take. He stands from his seat and encourages you to stand as well, leading you away from the table. “Thanks for the breakfast, Jay!” 

“I’m choosing to be the bigger person because Y/N’s been through enough,” Jay mutters when Heeseung is out of hearshot, making the table laugh.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

“You know, I think the reason why I had such a hard time reaching out was because we’d never gotten into something that serious before,” Heeseung admits. The gelato in your hand isn’t as good as you remember it, but it does the job to cool you down on a particularly warm afternoon. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you remember when we were kids and how hard it was for me to talk to you about anything that was action movies or superheroes?” 

“God, you and your Superman cape from fourth grade,” you snort. “You wore that thing to school everyday. Your dad had to wash it every night otherwise you’d refuse to go to sleep.” Heeseung shuts his eyes at the memory. 

“You were the only person I felt comfortable pouring my heart out to, you know. You were always the first person I called when I needed someone to talk to, but then I was the reason why you got hurt…I think part of me didn’t know if I was allowed to reach out to you.

“It’s a stupid excuse, I know. But when I heard you were coming back to Seoul a few weeks before you did, I couldn’t help but think about how many times I could’ve texted you.”

“Yeah, you could’ve.” Heeseung merely nods at your agreement. “We’ve been through a lot over the years, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“I just wish I had come to this conclusion when it happened. I was so caught up in graduating and focusing on how I felt that I didn’t consider how you must’ve been dealing with all of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so selfish in my life.” 

“I think the time you refused to let me be friends with Jake because you said you needed friends aside from me was your second most selfish moment.” 

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Quit it. I was thirteen, okay?” 

Neither of you particularly care to do any sightseeing today. It feels nice to walk side-by-side without the company of your other friends. The juxtaposition of how you felt towards the beginning of this trip compared to how relaxed you feel surprises you a tenfold, but you suppose that comes with genuine apologies and forgiveness. 

You’re willing to admit Heeseung looks criminally good in black jeans and a striped button down. He wears his clothes so effortlessly yet still looks like he could’ve taken his wardrobe from a magazine. You’ve always found it a bit unfair that Heeseung always manages to look so cool without trying too hard. 

“You’re staring,” he mutters, looking at you from the corner of his eye as the two of you walk down a cobblestone street. 

“I’m not,” you lie. You turn your head to avoid his gaze, but Heeseung thinks he likes seeing you this shy. It’s new territory for him, one that he wants to explore. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Go for it.” 

“Why did you forgive me so quickly?” Heeseung asks. “I appreciate it, I really do, but a big part of me feels like I don’t deserve that just yet.” 

It takes you a while to answer. Why did you forgive him as fast as you did? For a week and a half, being in close quarters with Heeseung made you feel nothing but anxious and on edge, so why were you able to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him?

“I’ve always held onto the idea that you’re a good person,” you begin. “I’ve always admired that you intend to care for the people you love and make them feel like they have a place in your life. You’ve always made me feel safe, like I could run to you when things got too hard. 

“What you did was in poor taste, sure, but making bad decisions doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I know you, Hee. I know how you get when you’re faced with a difficult choice and how long it takes for you to come around. I was justifiably hurt but I think a part of me always knew you’d fix it somehow.” 

“I wish I could feel deserving of that kind of forgiveness.” 

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t feel like what I’m saying is true. I’ll admit that I shocked myself with how quickly I let my guard down with you…but you’re Heeseung. You've been my best friend since the first grade and you’re the boy I happen to have a really big crush on.” 

Heeseung bites his lips at your confession, willing himself not to be too forward as to kiss you in the middle of the street. He sees your bravery and the way you’ve put your heart directly in the palm of his hand, acting out of vulnerability even though the both of you knew he hurt you once before. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, Heeseung grabs your hands and locks his fingers with yours, squeezing three times to tell you he loves you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The afternoon comes and goes with little to no plan. Heeseung’s a bit worried that he hasn’t heard anything from the boys and he’s rendered shocked that you’ve taken it upon yourself to let the day take you where it may instead of finding the next spot to visit. 

As if on cue, Jay texts him with plans for the evening. 

jjongcaprio: 20:00, Pétrelle. It’s a five minute walk from the hotel

jjongcaprio: I made reservations for you and Y/N tonight. Don’t worry about me and the boys, just take her out on a romantic date 

jjongcaprio: The bill’s covered. The reservation’s under your name btw

heeseung: bro i cannot ask you to do this 

jjongcaprio: You don’t have to. You and I both know Y/N deserves to be wined and dined 

jjongcaprio: Plus I saw you looking at a few restaurants when we were on the train. I managed to pull some strings for you and got a last minute reservation for tonight

heeseung: thank you jay…i really don’t know what i’d do without you

jjongcaprio: It’s really not a problem, bro. Promise me that you’ll try to be happy with her. The guys and I are rooting for you two

“So,” Heeseung clears his throat as he looks up from his phone, “I think you and I should go out for dinner.” 

“Where are you thinking of going? I can text the others and see if they’re done sightseeing, or whatever it is they’re doing.”

“I mean just us two.” He stands awkwardly when you’ve turned your attention to him, his feet planted on the sidewalk beneath him as if that’ll help steady his beating heart. 

“Like a date?” 

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Like a date. I, Heeseung, am asking you out on a date. Tonight. At eight.” 

“I, Y/N, would love to go on a date with you. At eight.” 

The twinkle in your eye and your coy nature makes him feel like a teenager again. He leads you into the hotel and walks you to your door before stepping back as you step inside. 

“We’ve got an hour and a half before we need to leave. I’ll come by and then we can walk together. The restaurant is only a five minute walk, so you can wear those new heels I know you feel guilty buying.” 

“They’re really pretty though,” you rationalize. 

Heeseung nods. “Gorgeous, actually. Maybe you’ll be as tall as me if you wear them.” 

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” 

Heeseung bites his bottom lip as you disappear behind the door, locking eyes with you until you’re completely out of sight. Flirting with you like this is a completely new phenomenon for him. He’s only daydreamed about what you might say if he said something a little too suggestive or how you might act if he dedicated a wink in your direction. Heeseung had never considered that he’d be the one flustered, cheeks reddening to the point where he starts to feel shy. 

His nerves are endless as he picks out an outfit for tonight. Heeseung sends a quick text to his parents, who had pressured him into bringing nice clothes for a fancy dinner, and spends a few minutes updating them on the events of the past few days. His mother is pleased, to put it lightly, and sends a handful of emoticons to display her happiness. His father tells him words of encouragement before making Heeseung promise to bring you for dinner as his girlfriend, not just his best friend. 

With the last touch of his cologne, Heeseung looks at himself in the mirror and tries not to think too hard about how he looks. You’re Y/N, his best friend since he can remember, and you’ve seen him with snot dripping from his nose. 

“I look fine,” he says to himself in the mirror. “Y/N will like the look because your mom picked it out and we know those two agree on everything. Absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

Heeseung’s only regret is he doesn’t have a bouquet of flowers to present you with as he makes his way to your hotel room. He wipes his palms on his trousers and takes a deep breath before knocking on your door. 

When it opens, he’s met with the sight of you in a short black dress that hugs your hips to accentuate your body. The dress itself is an elegant, spaghetti strap number with a flattering neckline paired with jewelry that makes your skin appear to be glowing. Your heels match well with the dress you’ve chosen, so much so that Heeseung’s jaw drops when his eyes rake over your body. 

“Wow,” he mutters. “Just…wow.” 

“I’m not used to you being speechless,” you say mildly, closing the door behind you. 

“You look gorgeous,” he sputters. “I shouldn’t be seen with you tonight.” 

“You’re dramatic, Hee.” You give him a once over and Heeseung thinks he wouldn’t mind you checking him out as you please. “You look handsome as ever.”

He beams at the compliment and holds his arm out for you. 

“Shall we?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung knows the type of person you are and what you value, yet he still renders himself shocked when you allow him to take control of the evening. He knows you don’t need to have the expensive consequences that come with a first date or to be sipping the most luxurious wine to be happy, but Heeseung can’t help but feel like you deserve to feel as elegant as you look every once in a while. 

The host leads the two of you to a table with the most gorgeous view of the Parisian scenery. The twinkling stars paired with the dimly lit restaurant adds a romantic touch to the evening. Heeseung mentally thanks Jay for preparing wine recommendations so neither of you have to think too much about it. 

For a moment, he’s worried that he’s reached too far out of his depth. The fanciest thing Heeseung has ever done with you is eat ramen after prom in your best outfits because you both came to the conclusion that prom should be spent with someone you actually like. It’s funny in hindsight when he thinks about it now. 

You look so beautiful like this, allowing yourself to be taken care of by him. Talking to you over the table feels like you’re back in Korea before all that transpired. The food is impeccable and Heeseung thanks his lucky stars that he and Jay got it right. You sing praises left and right. 

Dinner ends much quicker than he’d like as the two of you finish dessert. The waiter tells him the bill has been taken care of and Heeseung sits in his seat awkwardly as you look out the window to see the view from outside. But he hears the live band in the background and sees a few older couples slow dancing from where he sits and makes up his mind. 

“Do you want to dance?” 

You pull your attention to him. For a moment, he thinks he’s asked the most absurd question known to man when he recalls all the times you refused to make a home on the dance floor until you’ve gotten at least four drinks in your system. 

You surprise him. 

“I’d love to, Hee.” 

The room disappears when he leads you to the dance floor. He mimics the other dancers and takes the lead, swaying your bodies back and forth to the melody of the music. You smell of vanilla and cinnamon, a scent so distinctly you that it makes him grin like a man in love. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say against his neck. “I won’t lie when I say I feel like a princess.”

“That’s because you are a princess,” Heeseung says, kissing the top of your head. “You deserve to be treated like one.”

“I can’t believe you pulled this off so quickly. Don’t restaurants like these require reservations?”

He chuckles nervously. “About that…Jay helped me with the details. I was looking up restaurants to take you to if I got the chance before our trip ended. I guess he saw the list and chose the most romantic one out of the bunch.”

“I owe Jay a thank you.”

“We both do.” 

“I feel lucky to have people in my life who care about me this much,” you say. “I’m so happy you’re back in my life.” 

“I’m happy to be in it.” Heeseung squeezes your waist. “Deep down, it’s always been you that I’ve loved. There’s not a single person who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Yeah?” 

You feel him nod. “I’ll say it until you believe me. I’ll even yell it in this restaurant right now.” 

“Please don’t,” you laugh. “I believe you.” 

The sound of the melody overtakes the conversation. You feel Heeseung’s steady heartbeat as he expertly moves your bodies together on the dance floor. When you close your eyes, you think of this moment and how badly you want to commit it to memory, no longer in anguish over the tribulations of the past year. It feels nice to let go of your worries, even better that you have Heeseung back. 

“I really want to kiss you,” he murmurs under his breath. You pull your head back.

“Then you should kiss me.” 

Heeseung wastes no time and pulls you into him, one arm around your waist and the other behind your neck. His mouth finds yours when he decides he loves the taste of red wine on your lips. It feels poetic to be kissing you for the first time as you’re both dressed to the nines in the middle of Paris. To him, kissing you feels like a breath of fresh air and the start of something new. For you, kissing him feels like coming home. 

When he pulls back, you search for his eyes. 

“Take me back to the hotel,” you whisper. 

Heeseung feels his heart drop. 

“I’m sorry. We can go back now.”

You grip the collar of his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt when he moves. It’s only then that Heeseung sees the want in your eyes and the pure lust that clouds your pupils. 

“Take me back to the hotel.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

By the time your elevator reaches your floor, Heeseung’s dress shirt is completely unbuttoned with his toned chest exposed. You’re barely able to detach yourself from his mouth when he pushes you out of the contraption. Your hand reaches for his as you pull him towards your room, digging through your purse when you feel Heeseung’s lips on the back of your neck. 

“You look sexy in my jacket,” he mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your skin. 

“L-Let me find the key.” 

“So sexy.” His hands slide up the side of your body until he grips your waist. 

When the door opens, you pull Heeseung inside with you and lock it shut before pushing his dress shirt off of his body, exposing his muscular build and broad shoulders. You aren’t shy about hiding your lust, gazing all over his chest and abdomen as you feel your core drip with arousal. 

“I like it when you look at me like that,” Heeseung says. He reaches for your hand and places it on his chest. You take the liberty to glide your nails down his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses underneath your touch. 

“I’m really wet,” you say as you eye the tent that has grown in Heeseung’s pants. 

“Are you?” he asks. “You won’t mind if I check?” 

You shake your head and Heeseung takes that as a green light, his hands finding the soft fabric of your dress before pushing his hand underneath it. He whimpers when his fingers come in contact with your wet lips. It’s adorable, the way you push yourself against him to chase his lips while he fingers smear your wetness across the fabric of your panties. 

“Bed,” you mumble against his lips. 

He follows where you pull him, loving the way you take control when you push him onto the mattress. Heeseung distracts himself to catch his breath from the overwhelming sense of pleasure to realize that you’ve started to undo his belt buckle and take his hard cock out of his pants. 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you plead, looking him in the eye. “Please let me.” 

You sit politely on your knees as you unbuckle Heeseung’s pants. His chest rises and falls in anticipation and he looks down at you to see that your mouth is watering at the sight of him. 

He’s already fully hard; he has been since you started unbuttoning his shirt in the elevator. You spit directly onto the tip of his cock and he bites his lip at the sudden contact before watching as you swipe your hand up and down himself. 

Heeseung doesn’t want to think about how you learned to do what you’re doing to him. He doesn’t want to think about the boys you’ve kissed or the people who got to see you like this before. What he does know, however, is he’s the only person from here on out who will see you on your knees if he can help it. 

Your mouth envelopes the head and Heeseung emits a short grunt. The tension between you two begins to slowly dissipate as you fit more of his cock inside of your mouth. Your tongue expertly traces every ridge and vein as you push your throat down onto him, causing Heeseung to put his palms on the mattress and throw his head back. 

You hum around him when he moans. He’s itching to put his hand behind your head but refuses the idea, letting you set your own pace. Heeseung watches as you switch your angle, sitting up to rest on your knees to push your head further down on him. He witnessed as you spread your legs, a choked moan coming from his throat in conjunction with a particular gag from your mouth. 

There’s spit everywhere. It’s trailing down your lips and connecting to his cock when you pull yourself from his body. It’s seeping to his pants and he’s about to speak up when your motion attaches itself to his sensitive balls, licking at its warmth while your hand strokes him from atop. 

“That’s it. Fuuuuck.”

He bucks his hips once and curses. Heeseung feels your mouth envelop one of his balls, the pressure of your mouth around it making him feel a kind of euphoria he didn’t know was possible. Your mouth moves to the other to give it the same treatment before retreating back to his cock. This time, your hand massages him from below as you suck on him. 

When you look up at him and wink, he decides enough is enough. 

“Baby,” Heeseung pants, attempting to push your head off of him. He thinks it’s so sexy that you’re turned on while giving him a blowjob. “Baby, please stop. I don’t wanna come yet.” 

You oblige and take your mouth off of him with a popping sound. You sit back and Heeseung stares at you through drooping eyelids in pure shock and amazement at how you’ve managed to pull him to a near orgasm as quickly as you did.

“Come here,” he beckons with his fingers.

He attaches his mouth to yours and pushes his tongue inside of your mouth, exploring the warm, wet walls you have to offer. Heeseung decides that he loves the feeling of your tongue against his and lets you suck on the muscle. 

You take your dress off to reveal sheer panties with nothing else on. Heeseung’s jaw drops at your beauty, but he also cannot believe how sexy his best friend’s body is. To him, you were sculpted from the hands of Aphrodite herself with great love and care. And it’s all for him.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmurs, hovering over your body to press kisses to the valley of your chest. You let his hands roam and spread your legs to make room for him. 

Heeseung’s head travels back to your chest and you watch as he envelops your right nipple in his mouth. “Your tits are just perfect.” 

He makes a show out of it, hands cupping your breasts to massage them as his mouth works on you. He pushes your tits together and shoves his face between them, inhaling your scent while his tongue gathers whatever taste your body gives him. Heeseung moves to your left nipple and uses his tongue to flick the hardened bud over and over again until you’re arching your chest into his mouth. 

He grinds himself into your core with his pants still loose around his legs. It brings a moan out of your throat and he swallows it whole with his lips pressed firmly against yours. The friction feels delicious with the fabric of your panties against the hardness of Heeseung’s cock. He grinds against you with the help of your hips rolling into his, your natural wetness coating his cock in your essence. 

Heeseung moves his head to kiss your jawline, moving his mouth all over the expanse of your neck until he kisses right below your earlobe. You let out a particularly loud moan when he does, and Heeseung curses.

“Shit. Yeah baby, make those sounds for me. Let me hear your pretty moans.” 

His mouth attacks the area again and you aren’t shy about it. Your hands tangle in his hair as he kisses your neck and grinds his cock against the wet panties, which have by now molded to the shape of your pussy. 

Heeseung groans at the feeling of a particularly wet gush and lifts his hips enough to elicit a whimper out of your mouth. He experimentally lifts his hips again to align himself with you as he did before. The pressure must feel so good because your mouth hangs open with your eyes boring into his. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Does my baby feel good?” You can only nod and he doesn’t blame you. “That’s a good baby. Fuck, you’re so wet, it’s driving me crazy.” 

Heeseung feels your legs wrap around him and the way your heel pushes his lower back into your core. He takes the hint and quickens his pace, wanting nothing more than to see you come for him.

“You gotta come for me now, pretty girl,” he coaxed. “You deserve to come. Won’t you do that for me?” 

Heeseung is sure that he’s never seen or heard anything more erotic compared to the vision of watching you come. Your mouth opens with breathy moans as you focus on your pleasure and your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re trying to savor the moment in your mind.

“Atta girl,” Heeseung praises when your hips grind into his. He keeps himself still and lets your body take over. 

You eventually come down and realize Heeseung has yet to come, but that’s the last thing on his mind. He sinks his body down to come face-to-face with your crotch and licks the come off of the soiled fabric of your panties. The sheerness gives him a sneak peek at your pussy, and he groans when he licks a slow, fat strip up your slit.

“You taste so fucking delicious, baby.” He licks at you again, faster this time. “Tastes like milk and honey.” 

Heeseung kisses your wet panties over and over again, his soft lips providing jolts of pleasure. His hands roam around the soft flesh of your thighs and squeezes them as if he remembers you’re all his to touch. The feeling is one you want to commit to memory, but it seems like Heeseung knows your mind is working overtime because he reaches his hand to find yours and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

You let his hand go when he pulls it from you to slide the useless barrier down your legs and to undo the straps of your heels. He takes great care to kiss your skin tenderly, starting by your ankle and making his way down just shy of where you need him the most. Heeseung repeats the process on the other leg until he comes face to face with your glistening core, licking his lips as if he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he says before placing a soft kiss to your clit.

He repeats the motion, kissing your folds like they’re delicate antiquities that need to be handled with the utmost care. His lips become covered with your essence; he feels you squirm underneath him and uses the expanse of his palms to gently pry your legs open for him, soothing the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

Heeseung tentatively licks your slit and decides he loves the sound of your moans when he has his mouth on you. He does it again, dragging his tongue to feel every ridge and crevice that he’s yet to explore. His mouth feels like a warm comfort with the slow pace he sets, licking you as if he’s trying to tell you how much he loves you without saying it. 

“You taste divine.” 

You look down below to see his hair covering his eyes and brush it away with your hands. Heeseung looks right into your soul and you feel your heart clench, causing you to roll your hips into his face. He merely buries his nose close to you until he bumps your clit with the tip, pushing his wet muscle into you deeper. 

When your moans get lighter and your breathy sounds are the only audible thing in the room aside from his own moans. You open your eyes to see Heeseung humping the mattress below you. The sight is so erotic that you can’t help but let out a loud whine at the thought of Heeseung pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. 

He brings his fingers to your pussy and sways his fingers back and forth until he foregoes his slow pace, favoring a faster one. He abuses your swollen clit while you can only lay there and watch him play with you. Heeseung expertly inserts his middle finger into your seeping hole and bites his lip to concentrate on getting you to come again. 

“I need it,” he confesses, bringing his mouth to lick you as he adds another finger. “I need you to come for me again, baby. Can you do that for me?’

“Yes, Hee,” you pant. “I wanna come so badly.”

“You can do it, baby. You’ve been such a good girl tonight, giving me the best head and letting me make you come. I think you deserve to feel good.” 

“I do,” you nod rapidly. “Fuck, I think I’m coming.”

“That’s right,” he coos, hammering his digits into you while his tongue laps up the juices leaking from your pussy. “So good. You taste so fucking good. Give it to me.” 

He doesn't relent until he’s satisfied. Heeseung cleans the come from your lips as best he can while sneaking his hand to his cock, pumping himself as he tastes your orgasm on his tongue. 

“You’ve crazy,” you mutter as you settle from your high, loving the feeling of Heeseung’s mouth tenderly licking you clean. 

“For you.” He pulls his face away and wipes the back of his hand before pressing a kiss to your clit. 

When he rises to take his pants and boxers off, he sees you with your arm covering your face. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

“Perfect, actually,” you sigh. You remove your arm to see him with his cock in his hands and motion him to come towards the edge of the bed as you crawl on your knees before sitting upright to pull him into a searing kiss. 

“That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Heeseung says against your mouth. “It’s better than porn, if I’m being honest.” 

You grab his cock and stroke him. “I’ll consider letting you take a video of me when we get back home if you fuck me right now.” 

“Turn around,” he says after an open-mouthed kiss.

You follow his instructions and he groans to himself as you present your perfect pussy to him again. Heeseung sinks to his knees and smacks your ass before shoving his tongue into your hole. He spreads your asscheeks apart and digs his nose against you, licking up the wetness and remnants of your orgasm like it’s his last meal. His tongue licks up your body until he finds your wrinkled muscle and presses a soft kiss to your tightest hole. 

The surprise comes to him when you moan softly. Your body doesn’t jerk away. Rather, you spread your legs further for him and Heeseung moans against your pussy before bringing his tongue to lick over the muscle again. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, dipping his tongue back in.

“Better than I imagined.” 

“You imagined my tongue in your ass, baby?” 

You nod. “I’ve always wanted to know what that feels like.” 

Heeseung doesn’t give you a verbal answer. Instead, he spits into your hole and watches it dribble down to your pussy, licking his way from your incredibly wet folds to your hole once again. He licks over the expanse with the surface of his tongue one, twice, three times before you’re whining for his cock. He wastes no time tearing open the condom and hurriedly places it on himself. 

The first stretch of his cock in your pussy makes him see Heaven. The sharp gasp that comes from your mouth is music to his ears and he’s careful to sink himself into you slowly, inch by inch until you’re telling him he can go further. 

His cock impales you at such a perfect angle that it has you falling to your elbows, your back arched so perfectly that he’s sure you’d be the most popular pornstar if you really wanted to be. He keeps half of his cock in you to allow you to adjust, but he underestimates just how cock hungry you are because you back yourself until he’s filling you to the brim.

“Baby’s such a slut, isn’t she?” Heeseung wonders out loud. He grins when you nod. “I love you like that. So dirty for me.” 

“Only for you,” you say, cheek pressed to the mattress when Heeseung thrusts in you. 

The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. It doesn’t take long for your wet juices to glisten over the back of your thighs and onto Heeseung’s. His hands find purchase on your hips as he pulls your body close to him, loving the way your choked moans become muffled by the mattress below. 

“So. Fucking. Tight,” he moans with detailed thrusts. “So. Fucking. Wet.” 

He climbs on the bed and plants his feet on the blankets, holding your body in place as he pounds into you from above. The angle has you seeing stars and rips moan after moan from you. 

Heeseung grins wickedly. “Such a fuckable body. So perfect.” 

His degradation paired with praise ignites a fire inside of you. You can only moan louder to let Heeseung know exactly how he’s making you feel and you can’t help but think you deserved to be fucked exactly the way Heeseung is fucking you.

The pleasure feels like an explosion of a thousand suns. Your body is warm from the hours you’ve spent in the hotel room and your neighbors getting a good night’s sleep is the least of your concerns. Heeseung’s cock drills into you from above like he’s a sex god and it nearly brings you to tears. 

He turns you over carefully until you’re laying flat on your back with your head propped against the pillows. He steals one from you and puts it underneath the small of your back to create leverage before lining up his cock with your entrance and pushing himself in again.

Heeseung thrusts like he’s got to prove just how in love with you he is. Your wanton moans fill the room with his low grunts as his cock continually hits the one spot that makes you see stars, over and over again.

But you know he could do more to make you feel better. He must notice you in deep thought because he slows his hips. 

“What is it, baby?” Heeseung asks when he notices your eyebrows knit together. “Is this okay? Do you need me to stop so we can take a break?”

“Take it off,” you whisper. His hips have faltered and his pace stutters at your words.

“Take what off?”

“The condom.” Heeseung nearly chokes. “Take the condom off.” 

“Baby—”

“I just wanna feel you.” 

Heeseung curses and his hips automatically drill into yours at the request out of pure shock. He can’t lie to himself. He’s thought about it multiple times since you left for Europe and as he’s come to term with his feelings for you. The cute fantasies about taking you on dates to dinner or drive in theaters transform into daydreams about dirty affairs in his bedroom with his seed leaking out of your perfect hole. 

Still, he doesn’t believe it.

“Please, Hee,” you plead, arching your chest towards him. “Let me feel you. Don’t you want to come inside me?”

“Fuck,” he falters, his forehead on yours. “You can’t just say that…I can’t be risky with you.” 

“Yes you can.” He watches you bite your lip and feels your hands push him off of you. Heeseung doesn’t put up a fight when he slips out of your warm hole and feels your hands grip his cock, desperately trying to tug the condom off of him. 

Heeseung sees the pathetic rubber in your hands when you bring it up for him to see. It’s glistening and his mouth drools at the sight, lips parting enough as if he stares at it in disbelief. He groans lowly in your ear as he peppers a few wet kisses to your neck. 

You spread your legs wider in the air and grip his cock in your head, pumping him a few times before letting his bare tip rest against your hole. His sharp intake is enough to make you bite your lip. 

“Pussy’s so wet,” he says against your neck, pushing an inch inside of you. “God, I could come like this.”

“You can.” 

“No, baby. Gonna fuck you the way you deserve before I come.”

With that sentiment, Heeseung pushes himself inside of you until he’s fully sheathed within your walls. He relishes the way you gasp at the sudden movement and he uses this angle to his advantage, positioning his ear next to your mouth to hear your delicious sounds. 

He moves his hips at such a pace that it makes you feel like your body’s bouncing on top of the soft mattress below you. Heeseung presses his chest against yours to kiss you like his life depends on it, tongue invading the privacy of your mouth but you couldn’t care less where his mouth goes. He can feel your nipples on his skin and groans into your mouth when you clench at a particularly hard thrust. 

“S-So good,” you stutter against his mouth with a breathy moan. Heeseung feels your arm around his shoulders, scratching at his back. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Mhm,” he coaxed. “Such a good baby. You look so pretty underneath me.” 

With a new sense of purpose, Heeseung lifts himself to push himself into you at a deeper angle. He forces his hips into you harder, your hands coming to your chest to cup your tits to give you something to hold in the meantime.

“That’s right, beautiful. Squeeze your tits for me.” 

You do, pinching and twisting your nipples until you hear Heeseung moan above you. It sounds nearly animalistic, the way his throat emits a groan that sounds so primal. He sees the dirty smile you paint your mouth with and leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead before his hand comes to your cheeks, squeezing them between my fingers.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” Heeseung asks, hips rolling against your own pelvis. When you nod, he gives you a nasty smile of his own and gives you a few harsh thrusts for good measure before pulling himself off of your chest with his cock still inside of you. 

Heeseung sits on his knees and pulls out just far enough where his hot tip remains buried inside of you, relishing in the panty breaths you emit as he watches your chest rise and fall. You look so beautiful to him with your hair messed up against the pillow beneath you and with a few faint hickeys on your chest and neck. Heeseung thinks that all of his wildest dreams could never compare to how gorgeous you look when you’re positioned directly where he wants you. 

You don’t complain when he pulls out to rest his cock on your wet, bare pussy. You wince at the loss and let him slide himself up and down, biting your lip when he grazes your swollen clit over and over again. 

The man above you lifts your right leg so that he can grip you tighter. You relinquish any control left in your body as Heeseung curses and kisses the side of your ankle. He dips the head of his cock inside and thrusts shallowly as if to tease, but you know he’s exploring all the way his cock looks like against your own body. 

It feels euphoric. The whole affair is dirty, but it’s the kind of dirty that makes you want to do it again. It’s the kind of dirty that makes this night an event you’ll want to remember for the rest of your night because Heeseung had poured his entire heart and soul for you to take. 

For Heeseung, this pleasure is less about knowing you have him permission to put himself inside you. You’ve always been so sure of yourself and your body; it’s something Heeseung has always admired about you as a person. Growing up with your insecurities of relationships and dating might’ve made you feel like a late bloomer; to Heeseung, your tendency to keep your head straight has always been a testament to how knowledgeable you are about yourself and about others. You save yourself for people who are worthy of you, and god, does he want to be worthy of you.

“I love you,” Heeseung whispers from above you. His eyes are closed and he pays no mind to the feeling your pussy gives him. Flashes of your memories stitch together like a film reel with your laughter as the soundtrack. He doesn’t think he wants to hear anything else for the rest of his life. 

Just for good measure, he whispers it again. “I love you so much.” 

“And I love you.”

Heeseung opens his eyes to see your tender ones, cheeks flushed from the sudden compliment. He always liked that he knew how to get you to blush when no one else couldn’t. This time, a sense of pride blooms in his chest. 

“I’ll never let you down,” he confesses. “And if I do, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

“I know, baby.” Heeseung’s hand cups your cheek and caresses it. “I trust you.” 

That’s enough for him to release your leg from his grip and pound himself into you like his life depends on bringing you to peak happiness. 

Heeseung’s palms are planted firmly on either side of your body as his hips roll gracefully against yours, the hot, wet mess between the two of you splashing on both of your thighs. He watches your eyes close shut and as your back arches to relieve some of the pressure, feeling somewhat proud of himself when he watches as your hands grab at the sheets for stability. 

There’s nothing that compares to watching you orgasm. Your eyebrows knit as if you’re concentrating while your mouth stands slightly ajar at the euphoric feeling of that single knot that’s threatening to come undone until it does. All of the girls he’s deluded into thinking he liked could never compare to the looks and sounds you’re making. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes softly. “Cream my cock, baby. That’s a good girl.” 

Heeseung feels you push and clench around him, gushing until there’s nowhere left for your come to go. He peeks down at where the two of you meet and groans when he sees his cock becoming painted in a sheer layer of white. It edges him on and the moment he locks his eyes with yours, his hips begin to stutter and he spills all he has to offer inside of you. 

He comes with short breaths as if he can’t believe you’ve allowed him to do so. Your hips move up and down as if to milk him for all he’s worth while Heeseung’s trying his best to balance his body on top of yours, grateful that some of his gym workouts prevent him from completely collapsing on top of you to.

His come seeps from your bodies and he pulls out, a few droplets splattering on your pussy lips. He nudges the tip against it, smearing his paint across your canvas and marveling at the sight. 

“My good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked in at his handy work.

“I’ve never let anyone come inside of me,” you say with a fond expression. Your arm comes to brush Heeseung’s hair from his face before cradling his cheek when he looks at you in surprise. 

“Really?” 

You nod, biting your cheek. “Well, I always knew you were it for me. I didn’t want anyone else tainting what’s yours.” 

“Mine?” he asks, catching his breath. “You mean it? You’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Hee.” 

“All mine,” he mutters to himself in disbelief. 

You still feel his cock working itself against you. He’s still hard, a wonder after your hours locked away in your hotel room. It makes you laugh.

“No one has ever compared to you either,” Heeseung says. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he continues toying with your pussy. “Even when I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t like you.”

You laugh. “Well that’s good to hear. I realized all the guys I went after while I was abroad either looked like you or reminded me of you.” 

“I can confidently and stupidly say the same.” 

Your laughs echo through the room. Heeseung pulls your body upright, not caring that your mixed come is leaking on his cock and his bare lap. He kisses you with tender care, lips moving at a slow pace while his hands roam over the expanse of your back while your hands are on his broad shoulders. Heeseung could live like this everyday if you’d let him. 

You smile midway through when you feel his fully hardened cock against you. Heeseung apologizes quietly against your lips but feels you shake your head, pulling back to push him against the headboard until he’s comfortably seated. 

He looks at your pussy when you hover above him, the white cream still sticking to you as you grip his cock. Heeseung can’t believe his eyes when he understands what you’re about to do. Before he can even think, you align yourself with his cock and sink until you’re stuffed with him.

“Shit,” he curses through his teeth. 

“What good is coming inside of me if you don’t do it again and again, Hee?” 

“That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

You don’t move just yet, opting to press small kisses to Heeseung’s face. You kiss his forehead, both temples, his nose, both eyelids, and the apples of his cheeks before placing a kiss to his lips. 

“Before we leave, I want you to fuck me against that window,” you say, turning your head to the window that glimpses the city below. 

“But people can see,” is Heeseung’s first comment.

“So?” 

He chokes and when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, you can’t help but laugh at him.

“I’ve heard talk about your escapades, Lee. Why so shy with me?” 

He smacks your asscheek. “Naughty girl. Didn’t know you were nasty like that.” Heeseung gives you that kind of teasing smile that has you folding for him all over again. “Alright then, humor me. What else do you want to do before we leave?” 

“I’d love to give you a blowjob while we shower, too.” 

“That can certainly be arranged. Anything else?” 

You look around the room. “I kind of want to see you eat me out while I sit on the desk chair. Makes me think you’re some kind of secretary who’s desperate for my pussy.”

“I am desperate for your pussy,” Heeseung reminds you. “What if I’m the stone cold CEO and you’re the cute secretary whose ass I dream about?” 

You swat his chest. “This is my fantasy. You can have yours when we get home.” 

Heeseung raises his eyebrow. “Mm, you sure?”

“Positively,” you nod. Heeseung’s hands travel from your ass to your hips and guides you up and down his cock, letting you set the pace after the brutal first round from a few minutes prior. 

“Gonna fuck you in and on my car, since you like being watched so much,” Heeseung teases. His words seem to make your pussy clench and hips move faster. He forgoes any shyness when speaking about his fantasies and spills his every thought.

“I always thought you looked so cute in your old school uniform. I’ve always wanted to take you in that skirt they gave you.”

“I’ll buy one of those sexy schoolgirl costumes and surprise you for your birthday,” you say, locking your eyes with him. “Oh, professor! Is there anything I can do to raise my grade?”

Heeseung laughs at your antics, but the images of you in the costume aforementioned makes his grip on your body tighter. 

“I selfishly want to watch you suck me off while I play with the guys.” He says it in a way that makes him avert his gaze and you can see a faint blush on his face. “I-I saw this video on Twitter. It looks hot.”

“I can do that for you.” You kiss both of his burning cheeks.

“But mostly, I just want you to sit on my face. Mad at me? Sit on my face. Sad? Sit on my face. Happy to see me? Sit on my face.” 

“Simp,” you grunt, thighs burning from pushing yourself on and off of Heeseung’s cock. 

“And proud.” He smacks both ass cheeks again. “Now what do you say, baby? If you ride me until you come, you can blow me in the bathroom before I fuck you in front of the entirety of Paris. Can you do that for me?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, you meet Heeseung and the rest of the guys in the lobby while Jay checks out on behalf of all of you. Jake’s the first to see you coming. 

“You’re glowing and I don’t know if I like that.” He raises his eyebrow at Heeseung, who has pulled you into him by your waist. 

“At least some of us are getting laid,” you retort. “I don’t recall seeing anyone do the walk of shame even though you had the room to yourself.” 

Riki and Sunoo don’t try to contain their laughter as Jake’s cheeks turn a shade of pink. He rolls his eyes when you look at him, but shakes his head and punches your arm with your first. 

“Nah, I’m really glad you two got that out of your system and worked it out.”

“You guys had major sexual tension,” Sunoo comments. 

“Thank God Y/N’s room was at the end of the hall,” says Sunghoon. “I don’t know how their neighbors felt but I can sleep peacefully knowing I didn’t have to hear all of that.” 

“Okay, enough,” Heeseung laughs. “We get it, we had a lot of sexual tension and now we’re fine.”

“So you guys are boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jungwon asks. 

“Y/N is my girlfriend and I am her boyfriend.” 

“I will key his car if he hurts you again,” Riki tells you, looking at Heeseung after he’s finished speaking. You detach yourself from his waist and bring your arms around Riki to give him a squeeze.

“Thanks, Riki.”

“Okay, we should call the cabs right now so we can get to the airport early,” Jay says from behind you. 

“Jay is such a dad,” Jungwon whispers. 

He pays no mind to Jungwon’s words, instead focusing on the way Heeseung pulls you into his chest. It warms his heart in ways he can’t explain.

“Congratulations, you two. Let’s go home.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

add yourself to my taglist !!

taglist: @baevsxii @lillotus17 @syzavxy @mrmld @nikilvrfvr.

[sincerelyneo]

fifteen minutes | n.jm

“i can do a lot in fifteen minutes, only gonna take two to make you finish”

💿now playing: 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter

❯ summary: Jaemin is supposed to be on stage soon—not in his dressing room with his girlfriend. He’s on a time crunch. Good thing you can do a lot in fifteen minutes.

❯ pairings: idol!jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, just pure smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, hand jobs, mirror kink, premature ejaculation, switch!jaemin, oral sex (male receiving), neediness, cum swallowing, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just quickie smut

When Jaemin first asked you to join him on tour this year, it sounded like such a great idea. He pitched it in a way he knew you couldn’t turn down: like a fun bucketlist, a silly scavenger hunt where the two of you would fuck in every city on the tour. You weren’t thinking straight at the time—just liked the sound of not being away from your boyfriend for months at a time. And sex. Lots of it.

But you only made it through two stops on the U.S. leg before things started going south. First was LA, then Oakland—both in California, which Jaemin insisted didn’t need separate hookups because they were the same state. But then one skipped stop turned into two, then five, then the entire Latin America leg went without so much as a quickie. At this point, you swear the two of you were having more phone sex when he was away than actual sex now that you’re here.

But it’s not his fault. It’s not yours, either. Tour is just so…mentally exhausting. There’s so much to do, so little time. Honestly, it hurts you, seeing how disconnected he becomes when he’s constantly on the go. It’s like his body shifts into auto-pilot, just moving through the motions: rehearsal, soundcheck, makeup, performance, sleep, repeat. He never misses cuddles before bed, though, he’s soft like that. 

And now, as you sit in his dressing room, watching his makeup artist roll her kit out, you can feel all that tension, all the frustration—yours and his—simmering in the air. You need him. You want him. You want him to relax, to take himself off auto-pilot and let his mind be here, be present, with you, in Europe, in London, at the last stop of the tour.

You get up from the couch and settle behind him as he looks into the full-length mirror. Your arms snake around his waist, and you rest your chin on his shoulder, pressing soft, feather-light kisses down his neck.

“You look pretty,” you whisper against his creamy skin, your breath so hot, so tantalizing, it forces him suck in his own sharp inhale.

“Baby…” he groans, “I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes.”

Exactly, you think. He’s a force on stage, filled with so much energy. You know that if you don’t have him now, you might not get him until you’re back home.

“Good thing I can do a lot in fifteen minutes.”

Your hand runs down the front of his stage outfit, careful not to crease anything and send his stylist into a frenzy—well, more of a frenzy than she's already going to be in for what you have planned. Jaemin watches the motion through the mirror, his nostrils flaring as his dark brown eyes lock onto your hands gliding down his body. He’s needed this, needed you, the whole tour. And now, he’s going to stand there and let you take whatever you want from him.

Your fingers fumble with his belt buckle, snapping it open just enough to toy with his zipper and palm the growing bulge in his briefs.

“Babyyy…” he groans again, voice strained, almost like it’s a struggle. And maybe it is, Jaemin hates (loves) your teasing. “We can’t—We shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to?” you ask, glancing at him through the mirror. You flutter your lashes at him so innocently, as if you’re not currently rubbing his hard, needy cock through the thin black material. 

“Fuck…” His head falls back for a moment, but he’s quick to lift it again, his eyes needing to find you again in the mirror. He can’t look away, especially not now when you're teasing him so deliberately. “Baby, you know I want to, but fuck—fifteen minutes isn’t enough time for me to fuck you the way I want.”

You smile knowingly. You get it. When Jaemin fucks, he fucks intentionally. He likes to take his time, kissing every part of you—your wrists, your forearms, your stomach, your hips, your thighs, your ankles. All of it, like pieces of art only he gets to appreciate. He likes that you’re his, wants to remember how lucky he is to be the only one savouring every inch of you. He’s patient, thoughtful. Fifteen minutes wouldn’t give him the time to indulge like he usually does.

That’s probably why he hasn’t tried fucking you much during the tour; but right now, you don’t want careful. You want quick. You want messy. You want to make him feel good, even if it’s just for a short time.

“I never said you had to do anything,” you murmur, peppering another kiss to his neck, your voice low. “I said I can do a lot in fifteen minutes. So, please, let me make you feel good, Jaem.”

He bites his lip, conflicted. Jaemin knows he shouldn’t, really knows he shouldn’t, but the desire coursing through him is too much to ignore. He wants this, so badly. That’s why he’s letting you help him slide his briefs down, just enough. You don’t take them all the way off—time’s not on your side—but just enough to let his hard, eager cock spring free. His tip is  flushed and angry, glistening with pre-cum, thick and veiny and standing to attention.

“Shit, Jaem, this must fucking ache, baby.” 

You wrap your fingers around his cock, and he shudders the second you touch him—so sensitive. Jaemin’s eyes stay locked on yours in the mirror, pupils blown wide as he watches you slowly start to stroke him. But there’s no time for slow, no time for teasing. You have fifteen minutes to make him cum, and you will.

“God, Y/N… shit—please,” Jaemin breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re fucking killing me.”

You just smile, sly and dirty, as you keep working him over. He’s like putty in your hand, his hips rolling forward, chasing the friction, so desperate, so fragile, so pent up. Your fingers twist and stroke, applying just the right pressure to make his whole body shudder—abs tightening, breath hitching. It’s mesmerizing. And it’s even hotter knowing he’s watching it all unfold in the mirror, eyes hazy, lips parted, completely undone by you.

You lean in, your lips just inches from his ear, and whisper, “You’re so hard for me, Jaem. It’s so pretty.”

His eyes flutter shut. He loves being pretty for you, loves being perfect when he can, loves when you tell him. His head falls back as he surrenders to the sensation, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. And you can feel it—the way his body tenses, a different kind of tension building deep inside him.

You pick up the pace, stroking him faster, more deliberate. Long, languid strokes, your grip firm but careful, paying extra attention to the head—just the way he likes it, the way you know will get him there to make use of the time. 

You can’t help but smirk when his hips start moving more frantically, short breaths turning into whimpers, pleads—desperate, breathy begging.

“Think your stylist will be pissed if you cum on these pants?” you tease, easing the pace. “They look expensive… maybe I should stop—”

“Don’t…” pant, “You…” pant, “Dare.”

You wouldn’t—of course not. You don’t want to stop, but you’re not a menace either. You don’t want him getting into any trouble because of you. So, you do the only thing that makes sense.

You drop to your knees.

He barely has a second to process it before your mouth is on him—warm, wet, and devastating. The moment your lips wrap around his cock, sucking him deep, his vision dots, pleasure attacking him so hard it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs.

His arm shoots out, palm slamming against the mirror. “Oh, fuck… shit—baby, I’m gonna—fuck!”

You don’t slow, don’t falter—your head bobs relentlessly, determination driving you. Jaemin’s cock throbs with every glide, every flick of your tongue, and when you glance up at him—God, he’s beautiful like this. Completely wrecked.

His sweet mouth turned sinful, spilling filthy curses between gasping breaths. His glossy eyes, dilated and cloudy, drink in the sight of you. Pink lips part, and tremble, because he’s so utterly lost in the satisfaction you’re giving him. Until finally, his knees buckle, his hand slips from the mirror, and with a broken moan, he grips your head, holding you in place as his hips stutter—shattering—while he spills down your throat.

You don’t waste a drop—you take it all. The first spurt hits the depths of your throat, warm and salty, and you swallow without hesitation. Jaemin’s body jerks, shuddering through the aftershocks, broken moans filling the air. Slowly, you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, leaving a thin trail of cum on your lips. You want to lick them clean, let your tongue dart out to catch every last drop—but he doesn’t let you. 

His thumb gently brushes your lips, gathering up the rest of his release that you couldn’t swallow. He presses it to your mouth, rubbing slow and teasing, until you part your lips for him. You take his thumb into your mouth, sucking it clean, making a show of licking up every last drop, relishing the taste. At least you didn’t get anything on his clothes—that would have been a nightmare.

When he finally pulls his thumb from your mouth, he sighs, his body relaxing as he comes down from the high. He reaches out to pull you to your feet, and you smile up at him.

“Look at that,” you tease, nodding toward the small blue clock on the wall. “Two whole minutes.”

He groans, “Ugh… don’t remind me.”

You laugh, teasing, “Told you, I can do a lot in fifteen minutes. It’s a gift.”

Almost like a switch has been flipped, your words spark something wolfish in his eyes, and before you can process anything else, he’s pressing his mouth into yours, pushing you back against the cool glass of the mirror.

You gasp, breathless, “Jaem—what are you—”

“Making the most of my fucking fifteen minutes. I have thirteen left, no?”

“But I thought you were in a hurry—”

He cuts you off, his grip tightening around you as he presses you harder into the surface. “Put your fucking hands on the mirror, Y/N, and lift up your dress. I’m fucking you.”

You don’t protest, because it’s his turn now. His turn to wreck you, to possess you, to scramble your mind until you’re nothing but a puddle beneath him. You place your hands on the mirror, feeling the cool glass beneath your palms. It contrasts sharply with Jaemin’s firm, heated grip on your hips and his fingers that are digging into your skin. 

Making the most of his seconds, Jaemin slams into you from behind, his cock driving deep inside your pussy, movements fast and urgent. You squirm, suddenly reminded of the fact that you're in his dressing room, just a few feet away from the backstage crew. Quickly, you pull one hand away from the mirror to cover your mouth and stifle the sounds he’s about to work out of you.

Jaemin fucks into you fast. It makes you breathless, the glass fogging up around your hand as he pounds and pounds. The rhythm is frantic, the strokes short and sharp. The sound of your bodies slapping together echoes through the room, filthy, wet smacks that are almost obscene.

The two of you have never had sex like this before—though you’re definitely not complaining. It’s messy. It’s rushed. It’s wild. And it feels so damn good. His hands are everywhere—gripping your breasts, your ass, your thighs through rustled fabric. His time may be counting down, but he still needs to touch every inch of you as he moves inside you. 

“Look at how well you take me, baby,” he breathes, his teeth grazing your ear, nipping at the lobe. “Look at how perfect we fit together. Made for each other, yeah?”

You nod eagerly, your breath hitching as you whisper, “Yes.”

“Exactly,” he groans, “So damn perfect for each other. You’re gonna make me cum again, baby.”

The mirror shows a distorted reflection of Jaemin's face, twisted in pure ecstasy. His eyes are shut, mouth parted in a silent scream as he fucks you relentlessly like an animal. You feel the sweat dripping down his face, the tension rippling through his body as he chases his release.

“Not yet,” you beg, “Please, Jaem, not yet. We have six more minutes.”

He doesn’t know why he can’t hold himself back now—he usually enjoys long, drawn-out sex. It’s his favourite. But everything feels too overwhelming, too good. You, here, on tour, with the clock ticking, the stakes, it all turns him on for no reason at all. But nothing—and he means nothing—gets him harder than the thought of pleasing you. 

So, he holds back, gritting his teeth as he fucks you raw, resisting the urge to be greedy. Lets himself soak in the feeling of your warm, wet walls pulling him in instead.

And damn, it’s worth it—always so damn worth it to watch you melt beneath him, needing him to hold you up as your body trembles. Your orgasm hits you hard, making your pussy clench around him desperately. Jaemin is only human, and he can’t hold on any longer, not with you pulsing around him. 

He groans with a final thrust of his own. “Fuck—”

Looks like you both can do a lot in fifteen minutes.

[thatguywrites]

I love your disabled reader stories, how would you feel writing a low vision/blind reader. Any driver you want for it, also maybe reader possibly having a guide dog. Keep up your amazing writing and have a lovely day.

Lowkey in the hospital rn (not ER, no worries) so this is a nice distraction :)

Drivers with Visually Impared Reader

Verstappen, Piastri, Tsunoda, Hamilton, Alonso

Max Verstappen

Whenever you and Max run into signs that don't have braille, he tweaks out

Even if you're kinda used to it, Max is always infuriated by the ableism of Europe and the Motorsports community

If you use a white cane he always gives anyone who walks on blind paths the nastiest stimk eye

If you have a guide dog, whenever it's off duty it's just the bestest friend with Max's pets

Racing is actually very hearing oriented, so he is very exited to teach you to sim race

He gets 3d models of the tracks and teaches you how to listen for how fast you're going

He loves being able to share his passions

There is nothing hotter to him than his boyfriend sim racing

Oscar Piastri

When you guys first get together Oscar wants to know what it's like to be blind, so he tries to walk around his apartment blindfolded

He doesn't even make it an hour, and aquires tons of bruises

He doesn't tell you he did that until you'd been dating for over a year, and says it really helped him understand what your life is like

He also learns the importance of dulled furniture

And he makes sure his mom's house is also disabled friendly

Which she does without question of course

Yuki Tsunoda

He puts 亀吉 on your service dog's back all the time

Part time service dog, full time taxi

Japan is actually pretty Blind-friendly, so he really likes taking you there

It makes him happy to see you not be treated like an other, instead just be treated like a person

Whenever you come to the paddock he gets really protective of you

Like he sticks by your side because he knows someone is gonna be rude, but maybe they won't if they know he's about to punch them

Lewis Hamilton

As soon as you decided to move in together Lewis spent an entire day making a 3d model of his apartment for you

It is perfectly to scale

He also makes sure that any corners of his furniture aren't sharp in case you bump into them when you're still getting used to the apartment

Whenever your service dog is off duty he will spend hours playing with it and Roscoe

He gets a customized service dog vest with Ferrari/Mercedes colors for when you're in the paddock

Even if you can't see it, he'll make sure that you still slay

Pierre Gasly

Whenever he's away for races, he record audio books for you

He says that his voice is better that the boring monotone ones

He loves having cuddle piles with Simba, your service dog, and you

All his pretty boys

He's very sweet with you, and loves going on walks with you, but if you run into someone being rude and getting in your way, he'll snap

He's very protective

He knows you can hold your own, but he also wants to take care of you

Taglist: @koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen @op-81-lvr-reblogs

[avianyuh]

Small World | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: After being ditched by your friends, your coworker Taehyung invites you to a weekend hang out at his apartment where you end up running into someone unexpected.

word count: 3k

I had avoided checking my phone all day. I knew the minute I’d inevitably skim through Instagram, I would be bombarded by pictures of my past friend group’s summer trip that I was seemingly “left out” of the planning for. Six years of friendship went to waste and I was left all throughout the month of June with nothing to do but sit on my couch, green with envy over everything I was missing out on. 

All I could do was focus on work, which was actually surprisingly easy to do since I had a few really great coworkers. One of which, going by the name of Taehyung. We both waited tables at a restaurant, which upon my move to the city after college was the only place willing to hire me as a fresh graduate with no job experience past some part time retail work in High School and university. We both bonded over feeling out of place in our twenties, banding together to “fuck our timelines” we had expected to be halfway done by our midtwenties. In reality, I learned that being an adult is harder than it looked and I look back and laugh at how diluted my version of adulthood was back when I was a teenager. 

I lived with a roommate I barely knew. Most of the conversations revolved around when the rent would be due. I was working a job that wasn’t aligned with my major and I was still single. Now, on top of everything else, it seemed like my friendships were falling apart all because I couldn’t afford the Europe summer trip, hence my friends thought I should be punished and be made to feel more broke than I already was. That’s why my growing friendship with Taehyung started to become more important. 

“I can’t believe that they would post all the highlights knowing you’re sitting at home looking at the pictures. That’s fucked up.” Taehyung shook his head in disapproval as we chatted in the break room, quickly trying to eat our meals before the dinner rush came in. “Out of all the things you’ve mentioned over the past year I’ve worked with you, this one takes the cake.” I let out a sigh of relief, hearing him agree that my friends were being inconsiderate, I felt less crazy and more validated. 

“I get that they want to post about the trip, but they didn’t even try to compromise with me when I asked them if we could pick a more budget-friendly location. They told me it was my fault I wasn’ working somewhere better by now.” I ranted, watching as Taehyung’s eyes went wide. 

“Fuck them” Taehyung said with a mouth full of sandwich. “Which friend was the one who told you to not wear green again?” I laughed, thinking back to the time I told him about a passive aggressive conversation I had with a friend from university. 

“Riley, she told me green made me look wide.” I said, with an emphasis on the word wide. 

“You want my honest opinion.” Taehyung asked, leaning in across the table. “I think you’re better off without them…they seem fake.” My eyes softened as I reached for his hand across the tiny break room table, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“Thanks Tae, that means a lot.” I said, grateful to have someone who actually understood me. Then we both stood up and tied on our work aprons before starting our shifts. 

After a few hours of enduring some nice people out to eat with friends, family or alone, and of course the nasty, cranky crowd, I was officially exhausted and ready to clock out. “Heading home?” I asked Taehyung who was standing behind me as I finished punching out. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to just wash my face and go to bed. My feet are killing me.” He complained as he also punched out. We always walked out together if we were working the same shift. Most of the staff had already left, but we tried to wait for each other most nights. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my metrocard as we both headed down the sidewalk toward the subway. “Oh by the way, I’m having a little get together on Saturday night if you’re interested?” Taehyung piped up as we neared the corner, getting closer to the landmark we’d usually go our separate ways. 

“Really? That sounds fun, I don’t think I’m doing anything that night so maybe I’ll come.” I answered, trying to rake through my mind on any prior engagements I may have already signed up for on Saturday. 

“Well, I hope you can make it. It’ll just be a few of my friends, a lot of those artsy types I keep telling you about.” I smiled, Taehyung was very into anything artistic, frequently blowing money meant for his savings on paintings from artists around the city. He always backed up the purchase by saying he needed to support other struggling people. Taehyung’s ultimate goal was to sustain himself off of his own art one day, and eventually stop waiting tables. I really wished that he’d sucker some rich guy into buying one of his pieces one day so he’d never have to work another day in his life. An ex boyfriend I had dated back in High School was also pretty artsy, but he took the musical route. I spent many nights in his room watching him play guitar, or sing to me while we were driving somewhere. We broke up right before graduation after he told me he was moving to LA with a few of his friends, in search of getting signed. I hadn’t heard from him in years and remembered feeling pretty hurt that he dumped me two days before graduation. I thought about him sometimes, even looking him up on Instagram, but he had stopped posting two years ago, so I wasn’t sure about his whereabouts anymore. 

Taehyung and I hugged and said goodbye and by the time I made it home, he had already sent me his address. Everyone’s coming at 7, but come over a little earlier if you want, he had texted. 

By Saturday I was sitting on Taehyung’s couch, music playing softly in the background as we laughed and talked. Taehyung gave me a run down of the people coming over. There was Julie, who had blue and purple ombre hair, who was working at a boutique downtown. Cami, a friend of Taehyung’s who worked at another restaurant who I had actually met a few times. Then there was Jimin, who most people viewed as charming, who worked as a choreographer. Taehyung said that Jimin might’ve been bringing a friend of his, but Taehyung didn’t know who. I loved meeting new people, and especially now considering my last text to my group had gone unanswered, I chose to ignore the pit of disappointment in my stomach and try to have fun. We’d just be sitting and talking, with some food and alcohol spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch. Taehyung had put in a lot of effort. We continued to sip out of our glasses and talk until the buzzer went off, signaling the first person to arrive. 

Cami was the first to show up, greeting both Taehyung and I with a warm smile. She had long, wavy hair and had appeared to have dyed it a honey blonde since the last time I had seen her. She plopped down on the seat next to me as I handed her a glass, catching up on our lives. Soon after Julie arrived, bringing her uninvited boyfriend with her who sat silently next to her most of the night. Taehyung gave Cami and I the side eye as Julie’s boyfriend glanced down at his phone, not even bothering to say hello. 45 minutes later, the buzzer rang again, and Taehyung stood up from his seat, “I wonder who that could be…” he questioned sarcastically. According to Julie, Jimin was always late, even when he promised to be on time. 

I stood up to stretch my legs and grab some more ice for my glass from the kitchen while Taehyung answered the door. I could hear the sound of the door opening and closing, as everyone jokingly cheered and yelled “Jimin!” I crept back in and to my seat, glancing over at Jimin, who was dressed in ripped jeans and a dark t-shirt. He was definitely attractive, which was probably what Taehyung meant when he said Jimin was a charmer. But what really caught my eye was the shadowy figure still standing in the hallway. He was more built than Jimin, and he had hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. I couldn’t see his face, but could make out the outlines of some of the tattoos that adorned his arms. I squinted, leaning forward, waiting for him to fully come into the light. “Who’s that behind you?” Taehyung asked, playfully shoving Jimin out of the way. I gasped, feeling my heart stop as I got a full view of him. There he was, my ex-boyfriend. The boy he dumped me, told me he couldn’t be with me, said he needed to travel, get out of our small town and go somewhere he could be a serious musician. 

“Hey, I’m Jungkook.” He said shyly, extending his hand for Taehyung to shake. But as he turned his attention away from Taehyung and stepped further into the apartment, removing his shoes by the front door, he must’ve gone through the same shock as me when his eyes met mine. It looked as if he had seen a ghost. Stunned, standing maybe 15 feet away from me. It felt as if no one else was in the room as our eyes locked, almost as if we were in a staring contest. Jimin nudged him, gesturing for him to follow his lead and sit down. I fidgeted nervously in my seat as Jungkook sat on the other side of the sectional, directly facing me. I took a sip of my drink, wishing the alcohol would calm my growing nerves. I tried to not look at him, instead half heartedly focused on whatever Cami was talking about with the rest of the group, but it was no use. I couldn’t pay attention knowing the guy who broke my heart was sitting on the other side of me. I leaned over, whispering in Taehyung’s ear that I was going to go use the bathroom. He patted my knee in acknowledgement, smiling at me as I got up and left the room. I tried to catch my breath as I walked down the hallway. I shut the bathroom door behind me, turning on the light and leaning over the sink. Not long after, there was a knock on the door, to which I didn’t respond. I knew who was on the other side of that door. 

“I’m coming in.” Jungkook said in a low voice. He shut the door behind him as he leaned his back against it. He didn’t say anything and neither did I, again just staring at each other. I scanned his body, taking in everything that had changed about him in the past few years. The tattoos that were displayed all over his arms and hands. The way his black hair was perfectly tousled, and his arms had become more muscular. He had always been very competitive and athletic, so I wasn’t surprised to see how fit he still was after all these years. I also took in the new addition of a lip piercing, which made him even more attractive. His eyes still gave off the sense of innocence, but they seemed a bit duller. Back when we had dated, everytime he talked about music or sang, his eyes were filled with hope, if that makes sense. Now his eyes seemed somewhat tired. I shifted against the bathroom counter, biting my lip. All you could hear was our breathing. Finally, I broke the silence. 

“I, uh, can’t believe we ran into each other.” I said in disbelief. 

“Small world, I guess.” Jungkook joked, crossing his arms over his chest. I looked around the tiny bathroom, thinking about what he was going to say. “I didn’t know you moved to New York City? I guess that explains why I haven’t seen you around when I go to visit my parents back home.” He said, his gaze focusing back on me. 

“Yeah, I don’t really go back home that often, it’s hard to get time off, my manager gives me a hard time.” I explained, to which he nodded in understanding. 

“Where do you work?” Jungkook questioned curiously. 

“At a restaurant, that’s how I met Taehyung.” Jungkook swallowed hard, shifting his weight, and standing up straight.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” He asked, pointing his thumb behind him outside of the bathroom. I was surprised that he would ask, assuming he wouldn’t care if I was dating Taehyung or not. But I could sense a kind of desperation in his eyes as he anxiously awaited my answer. His breathing became more shallow and he nervously tapped his pointer finger against his chin, a nervous habit he had back when I had known him years ago. 

“No, just a friend.” I shook my head. I could hear him let out a deep breath, which for some reason made me feel good. Knowing after all this time, there was still something there. I inched toward him, trying to make it seem like I was just moving in place. Maybe I shouldn’t step closer to him? I wondered in my head. “I thought you were living in LA?” I asked, looking up at him. 

“LA fell through two years ago, and I got a job playing in a band up here. I had a record deal but it fell through back in LA so I just figured it was time to move.” He shrugged, moving his hands into his pockets. 

“I kept up with you online for a few years. I really wanted everything to work out for you…” I said quietly. 

“I’m sorry about the way I ended things.” Jungkook said, moving closer towards me. “I was a stupid kid and believe me, not even trying to make it work with you has been one of my biggest regrets.” He whispered, standing right in front of me. His eyes were filled with remorse and I subconsciously found myself reaching for the free hand he had taken out of his pocket. I ran my thumb over his as I pursed my lips together. 

“Jungkook…I’ve missed you.” I murmured, “I never thought I’d see you again.” Our bodies were now firmly pressed up against each other. He scooped me up and lifted me onto the edge of the bathroom counter. I could feel his muscles tense, his skin was soft. He cupped my face, his nose against my own. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, letting his thumb rub against my cheek. 

“Mhm”, I interjected before his lips crashed against mine. His lip piercing was cold upon contact. It felt as if we were 18 again, as his hands abandoned my face and crept under my shirt. His tongue entered my mouth, The only sound heard came from our kisses and the moans that left my throat. I’m sure he could taste the alcohol on my lips. My hands slip down his toned chest, resting on his belt buckle. He pulled away for a second, looking into my eyes, now with a new sort of intensity before begging to trail kisses down my neck. I tried to stifle the moans fighting to come out of me as I closed my eyes, focused on the air hitting the wet kisses he was leaving on my body. My fingers slipped through the belt, started to tug at it. 

“Y/n, I don’t think it’s appropriate to have sex in your friend’s bathroom.” He joked in between kisses. I opened my eyes and laughed as he lifted his head back up. I pressed my forehead against his own before pressing a soft kiss to his full lips. 

“You know everyone out there wondering why we’re in the bathroom together right?” I stated, trying to distract myself from the heat growing between my legs. I needed him, but I knew now wasn’t the right place. 

“Fuck em’. Let’s just leave and we can explain it tomorrow.” Jungkook said, a smile forming on his lips. 

“And what exactly am I supposed to tell Taehyung? That I left his apartment early to go have sex with my ex-boyfriend?” As I said it, I felt myself start to sober up as I started to think about my current predicament. If we had sex? What would happen after? Does that mean we’re back together? Will he want to keep in touch? I suddenly became angry at myself. How could I be so stupid, sleeping with a guy I hadn’t spoken to in years. It’s true that I frequently thought of him and I checked his accounts to see if he had posted or had moved on. But realistically, how easy would it be to pick up from where we left off years ago? Maybe I was drunk and in my feelings over my friends that I had unintentionally thrown away my better judgment. 

Jungkook kept his arms around my waist, but stepped back a bit so he could get a better view of my face. “Y/n, what do you want to tell him? What are we doing here?” He asked, which took me by surprise. I wanted to be honest with him. Being able to see him again and feeling that same chemistry after all that time apart, I knew what I wanted to say to him. 

“Jungkook, I want to try this again.” I answered, to which he moved closer again. His hand caressed my cheek as his lips molded against mine again. 

“I do too.” He said after pulling away. 

-

{A/N: OMG, guys I feel so bad, I disappeared again. Truthfully, I was suffering from a mix of writers block, finals and a shitty personal life. But this story idea popped into my mind and I knew I had to write this shit down right away and I absolutely love this story and I hope you do too! Jungkook is just one of those guys where I can see him fitting into so many different scenarios/tropes and reconnecting with a guy from your past is my favorite and something I'm manifesting for myself lol. But seriously, I hope you enjoyed this. JK is my favorite to write about besides Yuta, stories with him as a character seem to come pretty natural idk why. Also, this story will be posted on my AO3 page for those who like to read on there. As for a writing schedule, I DO plan on writing this summer, but I'm not sure if it was be posts every two weeks like I'm used to, I'm trying to not burn out, but just know I'm always trying to come up with new story ideas. As always, I love you all so so much, thank you for continuing to read my work while I've been inactive. I'm always here! Have a great day/night and mwahhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋}

[alphynix]

Metriorhynchids were a group of fully marine crocodyliforms known from the mid-Jurassic to the early Cretaceous of Europe and the Americas. They were the most aquatic-adapted of all known archosaurs, with streamlined bodies, smooth scaleless skin, small front flippers, larger hind flippers, and shark-like tail flukes. They may also have been endothermic, and might even have given live birth at sea rather than laying eggs.

Rhacheosaurus gracilis here was a metriorhynchid that lived in warm shallow waters around what is now Germany during the late Jurassic, about 150 million years ago. Around 1.5m long (~5'), its long narrow snout lined with delicate pointed teeth suggests it fed on small soft-bodied prey, a niche partitioning specialization that allowed it to coexist with several other metriorhynchid species in the same habitat.

Unlike most other marine reptiles metriorhynchids didn't have particularly retracted nostrils, which may have had a limiting effect on their efficiency as sustained swimmers since higher-set nostrils make it much easier to breathe without having to lift the whole head above the surface. The lack of such an adaptation in this group may be due to their ancestors having a single nasal opening formed entirely within the premaxilla bones at the tip of the snout, uniquely limiting how far it could easily shift backwards – other marine reptiles had nostrils bound by the edges of multiple different bones, giving them much more flexibility to move the openings around.

(By the early Cretaceous a close relative of Rhacheosaurus did actually evolve nostrils bound by both the premaxilla and the maxilla, and appeared to have started more significant retraction, but unfortunately this only happened shortly before the group's extinction.)

Metriorhynchids also had well-developed salt glands in front of their eyes, but the large sinuses that accommodated these glands may have made their skulls ill-suited to deep diving, being more susceptible to serious damage from pressure changes and restricting their swimming to near-surface waters only.

Preserved skin impressions in some metriorhynchid fossils show several unusual "irregularities", including curl shapes, small bumps, and cratering. It's unknown what exactly caused these marks, but they may represent scarring from external parasites such as lampreys and barnacles.

———

NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

References:

Andrade, Marco BD, and Mark T. Young. "High diversity of thalattosuchian crocodylians and the niche partition in the Solnhofen Sea." 56th Symposium of Vertebrate Palaeontology and Comparative Anatomy, 2008. https://svpca.org/years/2008_dublin/abstracts.pdf#page=14

Séon, Nicolas, et al. "Thermophysiologies of Jurassic marine crocodylomorphs inferred from the oxygen isotope composition of their tooth apatite." Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 375.1793 (2020): 20190139. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2019.0139

Spindler, Frederik. "Live Birth in a Jurassic Marine Crocodile." Abstracts of the 90th Annual Meeting of the Paläontologische Gesellschaft, 2019. https://www.palaeontologie.geowissenschaften.uni-muenchen.de/pdfs/palges2019_abstracts.pdf#page=141

Spindler, Frederik, et al. "The integument of pelagic crocodylomorphs (Thalattosuchia: Metriorhynchidae)" Palaeontologia Electronica 24.2 (2021): a25. https://doi.org/10.26879/1099

Young, Mark T., et al. "Convergent evolution and possible constraint in the posterodorsal retraction of the external nares in pelagic crocodylomorphs." Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society 189.2 (2020): 494-520. https://doi.org/10.1093/zoolinnean/zlaa021

Young, Mark T., et al. "Skull sinuses precluded extinct crocodile relatives from cetacean-style deep diving as they transitioned from land to sea." Royal Society Open Science 11.10 (2024): 241272. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsos.241272

Wikipedia contributors. “Metriorhynchidae” Wikipedia, 12 Nov. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metriorhynchidae

Wikipedia contributors. “Rhacheosaurus” Wikipedia, 02 Dec. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhacheosaurus

[adverbally]

Baby, Please Come Home

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt “together” and the @steddiemas prompt “surprise” | wc: 955 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: future fic, established relationship, alone at Christmas, angst with a happy ending | dividers by @popmilky

“All the flights out are grounded and they’re rerouting everyone coming in. We’re just hoping they can get us in a hotel for the night, otherwise we’re sleeping on the floor of the terminal.”

Eddie sounds so far away through the telephone line. He’s with the rest of Corroded Coffin in New York City, where they’re apparently stuck in the blizzard of the century. The airport is completely shut down, just in time for the Christmas travel season.

“How long do they think it’ll take for the storm to pass?” Steve asks, biting at the cuticle of his thumb. He paces back and forth in front of the phone to work off his nervous energy. It might actually be making him feel worse, moving so much but not getting anywhere, but he can’t just sit here.

Eddie sighs. “No clue. But with how many flights need to be rescheduled, it might be a couple days before I can get home.”

Today is December 23rd, which means— “You won’t be here for Christmas,” Steve realizes.

He hasn’t had a Christmas without Eddie in eight years. Even when they were just friends, they spent the holiday together while Wayne was at work and the Harringtons were in Europe somewhere. Then there were Christmases in their first apartment in Chicago, on the road with Corroded Coffin, even a memorable tropical getaway where their drinks were garnished with Santa hats.

Steve won’t get any of that this year. It was supposed to be a quiet holiday, just the two of them. Now he’ll be alone.

Eddie has clearly come to the same conclusion. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d rent a car and start driving right this second if the roads were clear.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries hard to keep his voice level and hide any evidence of the tears he wipes from his cheeks. “We’ll celebrate when you get back. Stay safe and say hi to the boys for me.”

Eddie’s voice goes soft. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you,” Steve manages to croak before the line goes dead.

The dial tone seems to echo in the empty apartment for hours.

Christmas Eve passes achingly slowly. Steve spends half the day on the phone, catching up with Dustin visiting his mom back in Hawkins and Robin and Nancy who are snowed in at home in Boston. He waits for Eddie to call, too, maybe with some sort of update on their flight situation.

Eddie doesn’t call.

He stares out the window of their apartment and watches the snow piling up outside. It’s nothing compared to what’s bombarding the east coast, but Steve has always liked the snow. A fresh blanket of white, covering the dirty pavement and muddy slush in the streets with something beautiful. He wishes Eddie were here, complaining about the cold and the ankles of his pants getting wet. Even better, snuggling up with Steve on the couch to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, just like they do every year.

Steve doesn’t try to watch it alone. Instead, he chokes down a frozen dinner and goes to bed at six o’clock so he can have a few hours where he doesn’t have to think about how much he misses Eddie.

It’s very late– or maybe very early– when Steve wakes up to the bed shifting beneath him.

In the dull blue light of the pre-dawn hours, he can only make out shapes. A dark silhouette with messy hair on Eddie’s side of the bed, looking just like Eddie does when he sits to unlace his boots.

Steve thinks he might choke on the wave of emotion that rises in his throat. It’s Eddie, undeniably. He can tell from the exhaustion in his shoulders and his quiet mumbles of frustration when he can’t undo the knot in his shoelaces.

Without thinking, Steve reaches out a hand to settle at the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie looks at him over his shoulder, an apologetic grimace on his face. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you up.”

“You—” Steve can barely get a word out before his vision starts to blur and his chest gets tight. The tears he hadn’t let himself shed all day are hitting him hard now, like the shock of Eddie making it home knocked them loose.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” Eddie shifts until he’s lying next to Steve, still wearing his jeans and an old henley of Steve’s. He smells like recycled plane air.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to roll into Eddie’s waiting arms. He needs the comfort, the reassurance that Eddie is real and solid and here. “I can’t believe you made it,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shirt.

“Me neither,” Eddie sighs. Already, his fingers are combing through Steve’s hair, trying to soothe both of them at once. “A seat opened up at the very last minute. I didn’t even have a chance to call and tell you I was leaving.”

“Remind me to be mad about that later.” He can feel Eddie’s quiet laugh rumbling through his chest. Steve smiles along with him. “God, I missed you.”

Eddie kisses his temple. “I’m taking you with me next time, I don’t care if it’s only for two shows.”

“Sounds good.”

“And no more holiday concerts.”

“Nuh-uh.” It comes out a little slurred, Steve’s voice feeling as heavy as his eyelids now that he’s comfortable and Eddie is with him.

Eddie is still stroking his hair in long, slow movements. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Steve hums in agreement. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Just before Steve drifts off, he thinks that Eddie might be the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten.

[xclowniex]

Not many of the boycotts get under my skin and it may just be due to stress from moving and the recent events in Europe but holy fucking boycott batman, they're trying to boycott Mary (2024) which hasn't even releases yet.

I don't know much about it, however it follows Mary (the religious figure) after she gives birth to Jesus and has to flee.

Now let's lay some facts out first.

Both Jesus and Mary were jewish, not Palestinian. They lived in Judea, centuries before Palestine existed. Jesus and Mary also practiced and followed judaism.

There are a few reasons as to why people are boycotting, all equally silly and due to Mary being played by an Israeli Jewish actress.

Some people are ignoring fact and are claiming Mary was in fact Palestinian. To them, the movie is participating in a historical inaccuracy and erasing Palestinian history.

For anyone who actually knows the history more than reading an Instagram post, knows that, like we've established, Mary was a jew from Judea and not Palestinian. I also find it racist to think that Palestinians cannot have their own history and have to piggyback off of another culture. Palestinian history should be taught and represented in the media, without having another groups history rebranded as Palestinian to give legitimacy. Palestinian history should have legitimacy on its own.

The other reason for the boycott is the Israeli jewish actor playing her, Noa Cohen.

And to this I have a few thoughts.

Firstly, I thought (and still do) that the best representation in media is when a character is portrayed by someone of the same identity. Israel is the closest thing to modern day Judea. You aren't going to get any better rep than that.

Secondly, people need to understand that you are going to be uncomfortable at times!!! If an Israeli person being in a movie makes you uncomfortable, tough fucking titties just cope. Israeli citizens are not their government and it is bigoted to think so. So just learn to cope.

I have zero clue if she served in the IDF or not, but if she has and that's a factor in the boycott, I need people to also just cope. Most Israelis have served. By banning every Israeli who has served from being in movies and shows, you are banning the majority of Israelis from a whole profession.

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

Part 2 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“You think you have a chance with me?”

You can’t help the disgust that floats to your face as you stare down the plain, absolutely mid male specimen standing across from you, face reddening with anger, embarrassment or both - you don’t really care. The audacity to ask for your number. Who does he think he is?

“I- Who do you think you are?”

He stutters in disbelief.

You scoff at his stupid question.

“Someone out of your league. That’s who I am.”

You ignore the growing crowd of passersby, too busy eavesdropping to move along.

You cross your arms, weight on one leg, as your pink, shiny miu miu purse hangs from your wrist.

“That doesn’t mean you can be an asshole?”

He fixes his black backpack, which, is as bland and boring as his looks.

“Actually. It does. Why should I be nice to someone who insults me?”

You rake your shiny nails through your long hair.

“I just asked for your number!”

He exclaims, both hands out in disbelief. ”Exactly.”

You say, flatly. Looking at him straight in the eyes.

He must’ve realized you’re a class A bitch that can’t be reasoned with. Though he looks infuriated, he shakes his head and starts walking off.

“You need a therapist.”

He says, turning his head back one last time.

“And you need a reality check!”

You shout, smug smile on your face as you watch him scurry off in embarrassment.

Head high, you continue down the campus road to your destination.

You ignore people - guys, as usual - staring your way as you beeline for the sleek black Maserati parked by the road.

You open the passenger door and climb in.

“Someone looks happy today.”

A familiar velvety voice greets you from the driver’s seat.

You ignore his gaze on you as you fasten your seatbelt and settle your bag in the car.

“Rather, it’s the opposite.” You open the glove box and roam for your sunglasses. “Some ugly guy just asked for my number.”

You look to Sylus as you wear them.

His easy-going crimson eyes are upturned into an amused smile.

“Why do guys do that?”

“Why do guys do what. Ask for a beautiful girl’s number?” He asks, patiently.

“Ask for someone way out of their league.” You huff.

“A guy can shoot his shot.” Sylus shrugs and answers.

“Well, it’s insulting. Is what it is.” You sink down in your seat as Sylus chuckles and adjusts the gear. The car starts smoothly coursing through and out of the campus.

“So did you give him a lesson, kitten?” He asks you, eyes fixed on the road. “Is that why you look so happy today?”

“What do you mean by that?” You shoot him a sharp look, to which he smirks. “Not as much as I would’ve liked. The more I think about it. The more it infuriates me.”

“Well then,” Sylus says, voice low and easy, “I guess our kitten should buy something extra special today.”

“Oh daddy.” You hide a laugh behind your hand as you stroke his firm, thick biceps, fitted around his crimson shirt, as they flex under your touch. “You spoil me!”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Sylus was a peculiar man. You’d had your fair share of sugar daddys, but none quite like Sylus.

In his early-40s, he was as handsome as they come - well defined, manly features honed into a strikingly, almost obsessive clean cut appearance, alongside his toned, muscular body.

The air he carried himself with asserted dominance without him even trying. There was a particular easy-going nature about him that could only be found in predators at the very top of the food chain.

So when he had suggested the particular relationship, it was like you’d hit the jackpot.

He’d spoil you with the most expensive things - from jewelry to bags, a vacation in Europe with private jets and five star hotel exclusive suites. And you’d also get to enjoy his handsome, funny, gentle, and dashing company!

But for some reason, even after months of meeting, he wouldn’t cross the line like so many others try to do eventually. He wouldn’t ask anything personal, like your family life or your closest friends. He wouldn’t get jealous, or possessive. He wouldn’t be needy about texting.

But most of all, he wouldn’t ask you to do any sexual favors.

Most he would do was place a hand around your waist as you walked or sat beside him, or pull you in for an embrace or a chaste peck on your forehead.

For some reason his gentlemanly stature made you crazy adamant on seducing him. Coerce him, push him over the edge, until he breaks the facade and makes the first move. Begs you to let him touch you.

You wouldn’t do any thing overly suggestive. That would make you the loser.

You’d linger your touches just a slight. Accidentally press your chest into him as you walked through a busy street. Touch his thigh as you laughed at something funny he said. Whisper in his ear when you didn’t really need to. Meet his gaze. Really, meet his gaze, with a suggestiveness hard to ignore.

It wasn’t long until he unraveled.

Now, after a few years into the sugardaddy-baby relationship, sex had become something he’d demanded exclusivity. Of course, with extra benefits alongside the extra condition.

Most times, like today, he’d pick you up and go for a date - some shopping, dining, and then to a hotel or his place. Sometimes, he’d call you impromptu. And you were to drop anything you were doing and visit wherever he was to have sex with him. Sometimes it would be in a car, parked remotely. Or in a fancy hotel where he was in the middle of a meeting of some sort, with some fancy business men, in a meeting hall. Or in the restroom of a fancy restaurant, for some reasons unknown.

But despite all this, he would never tell you where he worked, or what he did for a living. It made you almost certain he was a drug dealer. Or a mafia boss. of some sort.

“Ah, fuck- yes. Daddy, fuck me right there-”

Your scream echoes through the expansive hotel suite as Sylus pounds you from behind. The sound of skin slapping skin, alongside the lewd sound of squelching - from a mixture of your own juices to his cum - play in the background.

“You like that, kitten?” His fingers thread through your hair as he grips it and pulls your head back to face him. You nod, tears in your eyes from the ecstatic pleasure. Through the tears you meet his eyes, dark and focused, almost angry from pleasure and need.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- if you clench like that,” A slap comes down on your ass. You moan and bury your head in the sheets. It elicits a groan from him. “-daddy’s going to have to cum again.” His deep, ragged voice scolds you, as he thrusts deeper.

Every thrust starts sending a jolt up your spine. Your body starts to tremble. Your moans muffle in the sheets.

“Raise your hips.” He orders, as your posture begins to falter. You try, but your limbs feel like jello.

He places his large two hands on your hips and sharply brings it up - just in time with a deep, controlled thrust, down to the very base of his length, his pubic bone burying itself in your ass - his glans hits your g-spot so hard, you end up screaming his name while squirting all over his cock.

“Sylus- wait- I’m still cumming-!”

You urgently exclaim as he doesn’t give you a moment to calm down. He grips your hips as you jerk and attempt to run away from the pleasure, and pounds into it relentlessly, ignoring your complaints.

“Ah, kitten, feeling, good?” He growls between each thrust. You shake your head in plea to stop the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. Another slap comes down on your ass. “Don’t lie, to daddy, you’re still squirting, so much. Ah, fuck, I told you I’m gonna cum if you clench like that-”

His groans get deeper and messier, as his thrusts that pound down relentlessly fast. The bedframe rattles as your body slams into the mattress with each fast thrust. You don’t even have it in you to moan anymore. Your mouth is agape while your body jerks and trembles while he pounds into you, until one strong thrust, where Sylus groans, deep and dirty, and you feel his cum shooting inside and coating your walls, thick and hot.

“You’re still shaking.” You hear him say from behind you, breathless, as he pulls out his length from you. You twitch again as you feel him pushing the leaking cum back in you with the tip of his length.

“I think you get more sensitive each time we do it.” He says as he turns you over to inspect you.

Dazed, you meet his languid, gentle eyes.

“Maybe my insides are slowly molding to yours.” You manage to say, swallowing hard to calm yourself down.

He leans in to press a tender kiss.

“Don’t say things like that, kitten.” He warns, after pulling back.

“Why not?” You ask him as he lies down beside you and pulls you in for an embrace.

“It’ll make me greedier.” His lips curl into a smirk.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for starters. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He states, matter of fact.

You don’t fully understand what he says.

“Not really. Oh- right! I forgot to tell you.” You meet his inquisitive gaze as you excitedly chatter. “I got a marketing internship this summer!”

“Really? Well congratulations!” He pats your head affectionately. “At what company?”

“Onychinus!” You notice his eyes flicker. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s a really big international trading company - apparently mostly for minerals and ores!”

“Oh really? That’s great news.” He chuckles. “When do you start?”

“June first.”

“In two weeks, huh.” His eyes have an amused light in them. “Do they pay you well?”

“As much as a grain of sand compared to you. But what can I do. That’s life, I guess.”

Sylus chuckles like he’s heard the funniest joke all week. “Right, right. If they paid all their interns as much as I do to you, I think they would have a hard time.”

“So what do you do that makes you able to spend so much money on me, huh? boss-man?” You narrow your eyes and attempt to pry his life again. Your attempt at a threatening face seems to have no effect on him.

“Oh kitten, don’t worry.” He says, amused smile playing at his lips, while he gently cups your face, his thumb stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

On the first day of your internship, you head to the fifth floor of Onychinus head quarters - where your international digital marketing team office is located.

You’re surprised to find out that a lot of the employees at Onychinus are greatly loyal to the company. Everyone welcomes you to the family, and, though it’s only been a couple of hours, you find yourself getting swept up by the company pride everyone feels.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out the reason behind the loyalty though - apparently the CEO is hot. Like, panty dropping hot. Apparently it’s your lucky day if you get to see him walk the first floor lobby to work, where he will then take his exclusive elevator to the top most floor, to the CEO’s office.

So you’re not surprised when a collective gasp erupts from your team mates as you were lounging by the lobby cafe, drink in hand.

“Y/n! That’s the CEO! Look!” An excited co-worker taps you and whispers in your ear.

You turn to look.

You meet eyes with familiar, crimson ones, looking directly at you.

Your jaw drops at the sight of Sylus, your sugar daddy, walking through the lobby with a dozen escorts behind him.

The way the path paves itself, how everyone gawks, how he carries himself, how he commands, there’s no mistake that he’s the CEO everyone’s been talking about.

He smirks knowingly and shares a glance with you, before turning away and heading to the elevators. To his exclusive elevator everyone talks about.

“Geez Y/n, did you fall in love at first sight?” A co-worker laughs and points out, just as the lobby begins buzzing after Sylus leaves.

You press your lips shut after realizing they’d been parted this whole time. Your face flushes from embarrassment.

“He is dashing” Another says, eyes glazed over as if stuck in a daydream.

“I heard he’s not married. Who do you think a guy like him meets?”

“Probably a super model. Or an A class actor.”

You quietly listen in on the gossip for the rest of lunch.

When you return back to your office seat, you wonder if you should send him a text about it.

Something along the lines of, why didn’t you tell me earlier? like, years ago? I thought you were a drug dealer!

You’re bordering on exasperation and anger he didn’t tell you sooner, and curiosity and relief that you finally found out, when an employee quietly approaches your desk.

He’s dressed in a fancy suit, like the ones that were escorting Sylus down at the lobby earlier.

You look at him inquisitively before he leans in and whispers in your ear.

“The CEO would like to see you now. Privately.”

You nod and follow him through the building halls. A small smirk plays on your lips as you rummage through a million scenarios to find the one that will successfully corner Sylus and make him admit his fault for not telling you sooner.

And, just like always, you will get your way.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Posting this again on my new blog :(

[batsandbirdbrains]

The Flock

Based on this lovely addition by @lemonfizzyy

Dick is Peregrine (18)

Jason is Rook (15)

Tim is Sparrow (11)

Damian is Robin (still in training) (7)

Timeline for yj moves way up. Dick was 13 when all the season 2 shit happened, it was still just the og team but the reach shit was happening. Dick ends up getting ripped apart by the JL for plans he came up with that saved everyone, and even though no one died, they’re so hard on him for what happened. And Dick just gets pissed. And he packs his shit in the middle of the night and leaves. Goes back to Haly’s Circus, who mostly tours Europe and Asia now. They stop in America every couple years.

And while he’s performing in the circus, he becomes the Skydancer, named after his mom’s act before she became a Grayson. He’s an instant hit. Everyone loves him.

And on the side? He takes on a new hero name: Peregrine. He mostly protects the circus and anything that might harm them. Stops smuggling rings, human trafficking rings, mob families that try to extort businesses like the circus. Things like that. He's careful about when/where he goes out - it's not at every stop the circus makes, and sometimes he hacks a zeta to go to a different city, especially if it's to revisit a previous stop because he hadn't quite wrapped up all his business there.

Then after a year, he runs into a kid named Jason. He ran away to join the circus, and Dick takes him in. Teaches him how to be an acrobat, and eventually Jason joins the circus and the two have an act together. Dick is still mostly solo as the Skydancer, but he has some duet stuff with Jason to get him on the roster. He informally adopts Jason, and everyone in the circus refers to Jason as a Grayson now.

Jason eventually finds out about Peregrine, and insists he help. Dick trains him, passing on the name Robin while he’s still in training. He trains as Robin for a few months before Dick allows him to come out with him at night.

Once Jason is ready to soar, he picks the name Rook. He likes that a rook is both a bird and a chess piece.

Then a little boy named Tim is forgotten by his parents at a stop near the circus. Dick and Jason spend days trying to figure out how to get him home, but Tim doesn’t actually want to leave. This is the most fun he’s ever had. Plus, his parents left him in a foreign country, and their vacation was supposed to end shortly after Tim got left at the circus. They aren't coming back. Tim doesn't really want them to come back. He's happier with Dick and Jason. They end up adopting him too, and now there's a third Grayson brother in circus. He doesn't join the acrobat act right away, Dick wants to train him properly before allowing him to perform in case he gets hurt. For the most part, Tim helps out the workers who sell popcorn and souvenirs.

Tim is Robin for longer, considering he’s so much younger. After at least a year and a half of training, he too graduates from the Robin mantle. He becomes Sparrow.

Then there’s another little boy who’s running from something horrible. His name is Damian and he’s five and he’s terrified. The brothers take him in without question. A fourth Grayson brother now roams the circus, and no one bats an eye. Dick takes care of his brothers, looks after them, and treats them as if he's known them all their lives. They all return the favor.

Damian is still Robin, because he’s so little, and Dick can’t wrap his head around how Bruce ever let him out when he was only a few years older than Damian. It’s absurd.

But it's now been two years since Damian joined the family, and the League of Assassins is after them. Damian is the son of Talia al Ghul, they figure that much out fairly quickly. But Damian had never actually met his mother, not that he could remember. It's why he had no problem leaving the League and latching onto Dick. Dick is nice. Jason is nice. Tim is nice. Dick trains him to be an acrobat and to work on his self-defense and never ever hits him or screams at him. Sometimes Dick might raise his voice, but it's usually because he's scared one of them will get hurt. He gets angry sometimes, but very rarely is it at one his brothers. And if it is at one of the brothers, it's usually because they were doing something stupid that they knew they weren't supposed to be doing in the first place.

But Dick is now only 18, and he has no legal claim over any of the boys, and he certainly isn't a match for the entire League of Assassins. As much as he loathes to do it, he eventually packs the boys up and hacks a zeta to get them all to the Watchtower. They need help. They just had a brutal fight with the League of Assassins the night before, and they'd been on the run for weeks, not wanting to drag the circus into any of this mess. Dick is tired and he's hurt and he's desperate to keep his brothers safe, and even if the heroes in the Justice League can't stand him, he likes to think that they won't turn his brothers away just because of him. They're innocent, after all. They don't deserve to be hunted like animals.

They're all wearing their vigilante suits (modified circus costumes, really, but Dick managed to find a tailor that would use Kevlar), and they're all wearing domino masks. Damian, as Robin, is in one of his acrobat costumes. It's green and red and yellow, and he has on a mask and one of Dick's hoodies on (bright green with a faded circus logo - it's old, and each brother has stolen it at some point to claim for himself, it's Damian's now). Dick even went so far as to hack the zeta to announce their vigilante names, but it wasn't until Robin was announced that the JL members really made themselves known.

Except, it wasn't the Robin they were expecting.

"It's the Flock," they hear someone whisper, and Dick pulls his brothers closer to him. He's seen the name before - the Flock - it's what their fans call them. What newspapers call them. He thought it was kind of dumb, really, but the boys thought it was funny. Jason, when he was still new to being Rook and the name was first thrown around, thought it was hilarious "because it sounds like fuck, Dick!" and Dick had just rolled his eyes. It had become something of an inside joke for the boys to use the phrase "what the flock" instead of the usual "what the fuck" whenever they were out on patrol. Dick will never admit he thinks it's funny; he has an image to uphold as the responsible older brother, after all.

But now Batman is standing in front of them, scowling at them. Dick pushes his brothers behind him, but he holds Damian tight in his arms. He'd figured it out fairly quickly after the Talia reveal that Bruce was Damian's father. He has no interest in passing over his baby brother, though. He's here solely for protection.

"The League of Assassins is after us," is all Dick says. "We can't take them on our own. And I refuse to let my brothers be taken by them."

"How did you even get up here?" someone asks. Dick can hear Tim and Jason huffing behind him.

"How the flock do you think?" he hates that he slipped up with that stupid phrase, because now Tim and Jason are laughing and it's going to make them look like they're taunting the Justice League. Shit.

"Robin," Batman starts, still glaring, but Dick cuts him off.

"Peregrine," Dick snaps. He hikes Damian up a little further against his hip and says, "He goes by Robin, now."

Several people seem to come to the same realization at the same time, and Dick is actually a little surprised. He didn't think he was all that subtle about graduating from Robin to Peregrine when he left and joined the circus, but it seems Batman hadn't shared all of his information. Typical.

"You've been missing for five years," Batman starts again, but Dick just shakes his head.

"Does it really count as being missing if no one wanted me around?" he questions. "I wasn't hiding. You knew exactly where I was. You just didn't want me here."

Batman says nothing. Dick almost wishes that Bruce would continue arguing with him, because the silence is worse. It means Dick was right. He had been hoping he wasn't, this whole time.

It's Superman who steps forward and asks for more information on why they're there. Dick explains again that the League of Assassins is after them, that he knows they can't take on Ra's and Talia on their own. That he wants protection for his brothers.

They're offered protection on the condition that Peregrine rejoins the team, along with his brothers. Dick isn't happy about it, but he obliges.

"Fine," he says after a long discussion with his brothers. "But Robin is still in training. He doesn't go out in the field until I say so. And that won't be for a few more years."

"He's capable, isn't he?" Batman asks. "You said he'd been trained by the League."

"He's seven," Dick spits. Then he turns to Superman. "And I want legal custody of all three of them. We've been a family for years, and I want it in writing and legally recognized."

"We can arrange that," Superman promises.

None of the brothers let anyone else know that Damian is most likely Bruce's biological son. They won't risk him trying to take custody of Damian.

A few weeks later, the brothers are all legally Graysons, and Dick has custody of all three of them. They're living at Mount Justice for now, but Dick and Jason are looking for a place in Happy Harbor to settle down. They're given a stipend by the Justice League, but Dick still wants to get a day job. There's a gymnastics studio in Happy Harbor, maybe he can be an instructor. The other three will have to start school eventually, though, even if Jason insists he can get a job and skip high school. Dick refuses to humor that idea.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi, Elodie —

I have been allowed to fire a number of replica historical firearms and am happy to share my method.

Find your local reenactors (they may only be semi-local) for the period you want or as close as feasible. Go to an event. Meet the reenactors and explain your needs. Someone will almost certainly let you have a go, with blanks obviously, on-site or at a later time in a less-populous place, depending.

They will ABSOLUTELY talk you through the steps, care, and features of their weapon and let you hold it and take photos.

Warning: they will try to recruit you and they’re a ridiculously fun bunch so it might well work.

(In reference to this post - They need to do that thing where actual professionals in certain fields have seminars for writers but with letting historical... – @elodieunderglass on Tumblr)

That's absolutely lovely, thank you so much! Hey @werewolfetone - here's something for you!

I myself am not super interested in firearms! I can shoot tin cans with an air rifle and perceive that as being perfectly sufficient. if I ever write a story with guns in it - just watch out, if you're beer-can-shaped, that's all I can tell you. you'll also be like "what about the gunpowder elodie" and I'll be like "air's good enough for me and it's good enough for you. I don't like percussive noises. AU without gunpowder."

My husband is good at them - firearms, I mean. Percussive noises also, I suppose. Upon moving to America, he took them (firearms) up as a hobby, was adopted by all sorts of deeply odd older men, took some progressively specific tactical courses, and placed unexpectedly highly in some semiprofessional competitions.

I remember conservative older American guys being absolutely bewildered that foreign nationals like Dr Glass technically shouldn't be allowed to, like, purchase their own home-defense cannon or become licensed arms dealers or go on Secret Courses or whatever the hell they kept encouraging him to do. "I'm English, stop arming me," he'd say, but they wouldn't.

when we moved over to resolve our two-body problem, the old man gun friends were so disbelieving that Dr Glass could TRULY permanently returning to Europe that one of them kept and stored his guns for him for years, and only recently sold them on his behalf.

anyway some of them were indeed re-enactors and they would be fully like. hey dr glass would you like to come along. you can be a good guy if he like. and he was like. can you please stop arming the british (me). thanks for your enthusiasm though. thanks.

where was I going with this? thank you.

[aizawashuichi]

This may be unpopular, but I’ve always headcanoned Mello to be quite insecure about his masculinity, especially if I consider the time period (90s-2010s), his appearance and possible region of origin (balkan/eastern europe) and sexuality (bisexual to me - but the label is not important, just the fact that likes men). And not in a “Andrew Tate - Alpha Male - Sigma, lash out against women and think of them as inferior, and have to show off my money, and tell other men to act like asshole, because that’s what girls want” way.

I strongly believe he identifies only as a male, so to me, he’s part of that group of boys raised in toxic environments that do not allow them to experience certain things because they are deemed “for girls/feminine”, and if they do feel those things, it creates a cognitive dissonance between how they are supposed to be and how they truly are, leading to this complex. In this way, they prohibit themselves from enjoying what they actually like or to be who they are, because society tells them that it’s not what a boy/man is supposed to be/do and they internalise this idea, until they realize that what they like or how they behave doesn’t affect their gender identity.

Moving on to his appearance. Even in this fandom, there is a running joke that he looks like a girl, and boys with long hair in general are still deemed as such. It was more prominent at the beginning of the century, but still. Mello has also a very thin build and looks more androgynous, so I don’t doubt that kids at the Wammy’s House would call him a “lady” just to piss him off, not thinking too much about it, when in reality had a big impact on him, because you know, he had to be “manly”.

I don’t know if I should even talk about his sexuality or headcanoned region of birth, because we all know about the gay man = effeminate = girl stereotype and how the EE/Balkan region still places great value on traditional strong men.

Lastly, in HTR13, it is said that Mello is someone who has a gentle heart (maybe not the exact words, but that is the message) and since he has also an inferiority complex, it’s obvious that he is sensible to how he is perceived by others, so that is also why I think he is very insecure about this aspect of his person, because he’s not the stereotypical man that he thinks he should be.

Long story short: he wants to be seen as a man without having to conform to society’s standards of manhood but can’t really free himself from the expectations placed upon himself because of a simple label.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Enemies to lovers?

18+(repost)

Story:You hate Erik Campbell. He’s loud, smug, stupidly hot, and somehow always in your space. Everyone says you’re gonna fall in love - you’re just trying not to commit a felony first.

“Why don’t you fuck off for once, Campbell?” You were practically screaming at your best friend’s brother — your archnemesis, your biggest headache, and unfortunately, the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on.

Erik fucking Campbell.

Tattoos, smirks, muscles, the whole damn package — wrapped in the personality of a smug, overgrown child who lived to piss you off.

Ever since you'd moved to the neighborhood, it was like gasoline meeting fire — a full-blown combustion of insults, shouting matches, and unresolved sexual tension no one dared talk about.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE ALL THE DAMN TIME?!” he yelled back from across the kitchen. Julia, his sister, sat on the counter, watching the chaos unfold like a telenovela. “God, these two are gonna get married one day,” Bobby muttered to her as he passed by, grabbing a soda. “If they don’t kill each other first,” he added with a chuckle.

You pointed at Erik like he was the root of all evil. “Why the hell are you always here? Get a job, Erik.” You turned to storm off, but he followed you, hands on his hips like an offended housewife.

“I HAVE A JOB, YOU BRAT.”

You snorted. “You work three days a week, Erik. That’s barely a job — it’s a hobby with a paycheck.”

“Guys, seriously. I’m trying to swim in peace.” Julia sighed, squeezing between you and your favorite enemy.

“We’re coming,” you growled, turning back to Erik with the fury of a woman on the brink of a breakdown. “But this isn’t over, asshole.”

“Watch it, brat,” he said with a devilish smirk, leaning down just enough to make you blush for reasons you’d rather die than admit.

Maybe it was the way he towered over you. Maybe it was the way his voice dipped when he was pissed. Or maybe it was just your hormones, which clearly had no self-respect.

“Oh, and Briana’s coming over,” he called over his shoulder, heading toward his room. “Try not to light her on fire again.”

“Maybe tell her to stop wearing three pounds of hairspray — she wouldn't go up like a human torch,” you snapped, bolting for the garden before he could chase you down and drag you into his personal hell.

Briana. His occasional hookup and your full-time bully. She had the IQ of a paper towel and the personality of a fake tan. And she hated you.

One time, she actually said, “I don’t think Europe’s a real country.”

You had to physically stop yourself from seizing. “It’s not a country, genius. It’s a fucking continent.” “Whatever, nerd. Maybe you’d stop studying if you got some dick.”

The moment Erik walked in, she flipped like a switch — sweet, giggly, fake as Barbie’s tits.

It was a pool party disaster waiting to happen.

“Hey Peach, can you help me with the BBQ? Can’t find the lighter,” Bobby called — your sweet friend, aka your protector from Erik’s cereal-stealing tyranny.

“Hold on, lemme check my bag.” You fished out a pink lighter, clicked it to test the flame — and right then, Briana sprayed a cloud of toxic-ass hairspray a little too close.

Flash. Boom. WHOOSH.

Her head lit up like a damn torch.

She dove into the pool, screaming, while you tried to pretend you weren’t dying of laughter. She came back the next day looking like Lord Farquaad after a breakdown.

Erik, of course, blamed you. Briana refused to sleep with him for four weeks. Watching Erik suffer without sex was better than Christmas.

He was moping around the house like a divorced housewife with blue balls.

Then came the revenge.

You were finally about to get laid — a hot date set up by your cousin, the guy was packing, polite, and knew how to kiss. You were ready to sin like it was Sunday.

But Erik?

Oh, Erik had other plans.

“OH MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” he gasped, storming into your driveway like a soap opera star. “What the fuck—” you turned to see him holding his chest like he’d been stabbed. “YOU GHOST ME AND SHOW UP WITH HIM?! AFTER YOU GAVE ME HERPES?”

The silence hit like a slap.

“WHAT?!” both you and your date shouted at the same time.

“Erik, you son of a—” you stormed toward him, ready to rip his nipple piercings clean off.

“Please don’t beat me up again!” he dropped to his knees, hands clasped like a fake Catholic boy begging for salvation.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER—”

“Okay, I’m leaving. Don’t ever text me,” your date snapped, jumping in his car and peeling out like the devil was after him.

Now Erik was in your face. One breath away. You couldn’t tell if you were about to hit him or kiss him. Maybe both.

“I will fucking kill you. We were supposed to fuck, Erik. What the hell?!”

“You left me with blue balls for four weeks,” he said, voice low and taunting. “It’s payback time, brat.”

Your knees buckled.

You grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer, your lips an inch from his. His eyes widened, fixed on your mouth like it held the answers to the universe.

“Listen to me, asshole,” you whispered. “I’m horny, ovulating, and at my limit. Pull one more stunt, Campbell, and I’ll burn you next — and this time it won’t be an accident.”

He swallowed so hard you could hear it. His jeans betrayed him. You smirked.

You let go of his shirt and turned back toward the house, praying your vibrator was fully charged.

Or else you were going to cry.

The Present Day

You were lounging by the pool, slipping off your shirt and revealing your brand-new bikini. The sun hit just right.

“Oh damn, look at you—body tea is burning hot,” Julia gasped, slathering sunscreen on her thighs.

“Thanks, babe. Got it on sale last Sunday,” you giggled, catching Erik’s eyes glued to you. The way he stared made your skin flush hotter than the sun, but you brushed it off—until Briana strutted into the garden.

“Speaking of burning hot—she’s back,” you muttered, collapsing into the lounge chair and sliding on your sunglasses.

“If she touches my skincare one more time, I swear I’ll redo her hairstyle—with hedge clippers,” Julia scoffed.

You giggled but fell silent when Erik placed his hands on Briana’s waist and kissed her like a man starved. You looked away. Whatever. You couldn't explain the jealousy bubbling under your skin. Was it rage? Horniness? Maybe it was just Erik—how he acted soft with her, and with you, like you were the final boss in The Exorcist.

“I’m going for a swim,” you announced and dove in. The water was cold, perfect, and cleansing. Thirty minutes later, you surfaced, refreshed and ready to tan—until the devil herself blocked your way.

“Oh. You again,” Briana sneered.

You grabbed your towel, pretending she wasn’t even there.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” she said, voice tight with venom.

“Plotting your next haircut? Sorry, sweetheart—I’ve retired,” you replied, plopping back on the sunbed, unbothered, flipping open your book.

“No—you bitch—”

At that word, you sat up, spine straight, eyes locked on hers.

“Watch your mouth,” Julia snapped, standing at your side.

“Tell your little friend to stop staring at my boyfriend. Or there’ll be consequences.”

You and Julia burst out laughing.

“Oh my god. Babes, you’d make such a good stand-up comedian. That was hilarious—and so sad.”

“He’s mine, you fuck. And he’ll never want you.”

You stood up. Calm. Cold. Knuckles white, pushing hair behind your ear.

“Briana,” you said, voice sugar-sweet and sharp like a blade, “you can have him. Hell, stick a name tag on his forehead. I promise no one’s coming for your boy toy.”

You turned to walk—then she grabbed your hair.

“You bitch—!”

“Touch her again and I’ll break your nose!” Julia shouted.

But you were faster. Reflexes kicked in—thank you, self-defense classes. You grabbed Briana’s wrist, spun, and slammed your elbow into her stomach. She let go with a gasp.

“Touch me again,” you hissed, “and the only makeover happening will be your fucking face.”

You walked off, heart pounding, blood boiling. Erik had seen it all. Of course he had.

He was going to kill you.

Inside, you collapsed on the couch, breathing hard. Your neck stung—you reached back and winced. That bitch had scratched you. Her claws were like knives. You headed to the bathroom for antiseptic. God knows where her hands had been.

You were about to pour it on when the door slammed shut.

“ARE YOU FOR REAL RIGHT NOW?” Erik barked.

“Don’t close the door—hey—!”

Your chest tightened. Panic started to rise. Shit. Not now. The door was sealed shut. Claustrophobia wrapped around your throat.

“I’ve told you so many times—just once, can’t you try not being a menace? You elbowed her like some goddamn Kung Fu Panda!”

You reached for the doorknob, shaking.

“Where do you think you're going? I’m not—wait—why are you—”

He froze when he saw your body trembling.

“Erik, it’s stuck. It won’t open—I can’t breathe—” You slammed your shoulder against the door in desperation.

“Hey, hey—stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

He pulled you back and tried the door himself. Nothing.

“Great. We’re stuck until someone comes into the house.”

You curled up on the floor, knees to your chest, hyperventilating.

“Shit. Are you okay? I—fuck—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he crouched beside you, his voice low, worried.

“Erik��� I’m claustrophobic… I’m gonna faint…”

“Shit. I forgot—fuck.” He ran his hands through his hair. “The pantry. When Bobby locked you in—dammit.”

He tilted your chin up gently. “Hey. Look at me. Just breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Something about his voice, his hands, his eyes—it grounded you.

“That’s it. Deep breaths.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked pretty crying, he thought. Not the time to say it.

You shuffled toward him, letting him wrap his arms around you. He held you close, rubbing your back slowly.

“I’m sorry for punching your… girlfriend. But it was self-defense.”

You looked up at him, vision still blurry.

“I’m sorry for yelling. And for slamming the door,” he said, quieter now. “And she’s not my girlfriend. I could barely call that a ‘thing.’ And after today? It’s definitely over.”

You blinked. “She told me to stay away from you. Said I didn’t stand a chance.”

Erik paused. It was like his brain was buffering.

“What? Jesus. I invited her to break things off. What the hell is she—?”

He laughed, rubbing his face. You laughed too. It felt like something shifted.

“You really elbowed her,” he said, grinning. “Like a total badass.”

“Self-defense classes, baby.”

You threw your head back, and hissed at the sting in your neck.

“Ah, shit.”

“Let me see,” he said, lifting your hair to inspect the scratches. His fingers brushed your skin—your whole body shivered.

“Yeah, she got me good,” you muttered.

“Sit up. I’ll clean it.”

You stood. He trailed his fingers along your skin, slow, electric. You glanced at the mirror and caught his reflection—his eyes were dark, predatory.

“Pass the antiseptic, Peach.”

“You haven’t called me that in forever,” you whispered. “It sounds… nice.”

He smirked. “Brat suits you better.”

“Fuck—can you blow on it? It burns.”

“Hold still, brat,” he said, placing a firm hand on your waist.

You giggled—until his breath hit your skin. Hot. Slow. Dangerous.

A moan slipped out of you when he gripped your hips tighter.

“Fuck—” you gasped, steadying yourself against the sink.

“You’ve got to stop,” he growled in your ear, pulling you against him. “Or I’ll ruin you, Peach.”

“Stop what?” you asked, feigning innocence, grinding into him.

“You’re such a needy little brat.”

He grabbed your jaw, tilting your head, and bit into your neck. You were already soaked.

Your bikini top hit the floor, and his hands were everywhere—one on your throat, the other squeezing your breast like he was starving.

“Stop teasing,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He kissed your collarbone, biting hard enough to make you cry out.

“So damn eager for me, aren’t you?” He angled your face toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. Look at what I do to you.”

His fingers slipped into your bikini bottoms, circling your clit. You nearly collapsed, gripping the sink for dear life.

“F-Fuck, Erik—it feels so good,” you moaned, watching his devilish smirk in the mirror.

“That’s my girl.”

He pushed two fingers inside you, pumping hard and fast until your legs shook.

Right before you came—he stopped.

“Asshole—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. He spun you around, lifted you onto the counter, and crushed his mouth against yours. Raw. Desperate. On fire.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed. “Or I swear, they’ll have to drag me out of here in a bodybag.”

You cupped his face, panting. “I don’t want you to stop. Not now. Not ever. I’ve wanted this for too long.”

“Careful what you wish for, Peach.”

“Ruin me.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you like a madman, hands in your hair, your nails clawing down his back. You reached into his swimsuit—fuck. Thick. Pierced. Dripping.

“Thinking of giving me another STD, brat?”

You smacked his chest. “Pull another joke like that and I will bite it off.”

He laughed and kissed you hard.

“Come on, Princess. Legs wide open.”

You obeyed.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, stroking your cheek like he was about to wreck you and worship you all at once.

“Stop being soft—I can take it.”

And then he slammed into you.

You gasped—his piercing stretching you just right. Pain and pleasure crashing together.

“F-Fuck, Erik,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Breathe, baby.”

His thrusts grew harder, faster, cruel and perfect. He kissed you again as you shattered around him, moaning into his mouth.

He came seconds after—burying himself deep inside you, groaning into your neck.

You stayed like that. Breathless. Bruised. Blissed out.

His cock still inside you.

And you never wanted to move again.

The bathroom was quiet now.

Heavy breathing. Damp skin. The scent of sex still clinging to the air like smoke after a fire.

You were slouched on the counter, Erik still between your legs, his hands resting on your hips like he didn’t quite know how to let go.

You blinked, trying to ground yourself, brain foggy and dazed. Every nerve ending had been lit up like fireworks and you were still feeling the aftershocks.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

You could feel him still inside you, twitching slightly. His chest rose and fell, forehead pressed to yours.

“Say something,” you mumbled, voice soft, unsure if you wanted him to.

“You ruined me,” he said, finally.

You let out a breathless laugh, still reeling.

“Says the guy who rearranged my guts like IKEA furniture.”

He grinned, lazy and smug. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t knee you in the face mid-thrust.”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time. No heat, just... softness. Dangerous softness.

And that terrified you more than the hate ever had.

You pulled back. “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

His eyes met yours. Too direct. Too serious. “Does it have to mean nothing?”

That question. You hated it. Because it cracked something inside your carefully-built armor. He wasn’t supposed to ask things like that. He was supposed to fuck you and leave you confused. Not… not care.

You looked away, slipping off the counter as he finally stepped back. Your legs trembled slightly. He noticed.

“Need help walking, Princess?”

You flipped him off while pulling your bikini bottoms back on. “I’m fine.”

“Sure. You looked real stable when you almost collapsed onto the shampoo bottles.”

You scowled. “Don't get cocky just because you got lucky.”

“I think I made you lucky, sweetheart.”

You grabbed the nearest towel and threw it at his face. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet you begged me to ruin you not five minutes ago.”

You opened your mouth to fire back—but footsteps echoed outside the bathroom door.

Voices.

Julia.

Briana.

“Oh, shit,” you hissed.

Erik’s eyes widened slightly. “They’re inside?”

You scrambled to fix your top. He looked down at himself, still half-hard, still glistening, and cursed under his breath. “I swear if anyone walks in—”

“Just act normal!”

“You’re glowing like a slutty Christmas light. What part of this is normal?”

You reached for the doorknob.

It turned.

“Wait—” Erik said, too late.

The door opened.

And there stood Julia.

Wide-eyed. Jaw dropped. Then a slow grin curled on her face.

“Oh… my god.”

Your face was crimson. Erik was flushed too, shirt halfway on, swimsuit still suspiciously low on his hips.

Julia blinked. “I was coming to check if you guys had killed each other. And instead—you killed her coochie.”

“JULIA,” you hissed.

“You’re welcome,” Erik added, smugly.

Julia burst out laughing. “Okay, that’s going in the group chat.”

“No, no, no—Julia, I swear to God—”

She turned on her heel and marched down the hall, cackling. “Erik and Peach just went biblical in the bathroom!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I’m never showing my face outside again.”

But Erik? He just leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching you.

“What?” you snapped.

“That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”

You squinted at him. “This doesn’t change anything.”

His smile faded slightly. “Doesn’t it?”

You looked away.

“Look,” he said, voice quieter, serious again. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. You know that, right?”

You stiffened.

He stepped closer. “You can keep calling me an asshole. I’ll keep calling you a brat. That’s our thing. But don’t pretend you don’t feel this.”

You swallowed hard.

“You’re not just some girl I fuck in a bathroom,” he added. “You’re the girl I’ve been trying not to want since the day you threw a beer at my head.”

You blinked.

“Twice,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “You deserved it.”

“I did.”

Silence fell between you again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was charged.

Unspoken things lingering.

“I’m scared,” you finally admitted, softly.

He reached up, gently brushing a thumb along your jaw. “So am I.”

And you both knew the war wasn’t over.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

You were done being enemies.

At least for now.

Later That Night

The house was buzzing. Julia had obviously told everyone. The group chat was in flames, and your phone wouldn't stop vibrating from notifications like:

“Bathroom battle ends in bang ✨”

“Y’all owe me $20. I knew they were gonna hook up first.”

“Plot twist: Enemies-to-lovers confirmed.”

“So when’s the wedding?”

You were mortified.

And pissed.

Mostly because Erik wasn’t helping. He was walking around like he owned the place, smug as hell, throwing cocky little glances your way every five minutes like he’d just invented sex and got a Nobel Prize for it.

You tried to act unaffected.

You tried.

But then he had to go and take his shirt off again at dinner.

“Put a damn shirt on,” you muttered under your breath as he passed behind you with a soda.

“Why? You’ve already seen everything,” he said with a wink that made your fork almost bend in your hand.

Julia, across the table, was no help.

“Okay, but why is the sexual tension still higher than my student loans?” she whispered.

You glared. “Because I hate him.”

Erik leaned in behind you suddenly, his breath brushing your ear.

“No you don’t.”

You shivered.

Julia just straight-up howled.

An Hour Later

You escaped to your room, needing air. Needing to forget the way his hands felt. The way he looked at you.

You stood in front of the mirror, brushing your hair, still scowling at your own reflection.

He had no right to kiss you like that.

Touch you like that.

Make you feel—

“Still mad at me?” came a low voice from the door.

You turned.

There he was.

Leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, no shirt, his swim trunks riding low on his hips like he did it on purpose. His hair was damp. His eyes were darker than before—like he knew what he’d done to you and was ready to do it again.

“Go away,” you muttered.

“You don’t want that.”

You hated how right he was.

“I didn’t say come in,” you snapped as he stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him.

“I’m not here to argue.”

You folded your arms. “Then what are you here for?”

His eyes dragged over your body. “To finish what we started.”

Your breath caught. “You finished. I’m good.”

He smirked. “Sure you are.”

“You’re cocky.”

“You like it.”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer.

“You gonna slap me again?” he teased, voice dropping an octave.

“Maybe.”

He was right in front of you now.

“Or maybe…” His hand slid to your waist. “You want me to ruin you again.”

You shoved his chest—not hard enough to move him, just enough to feel the muscle under your hands.

“Stop playing with me, Erik.”

He leaned in. His lips ghosted over your jaw, not kissing, just close.

“I’m not playing,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”

You swallowed.

His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

“You hate me, remember?” he murmured, voice velvet-dark.

“I do.”

“Say it.”

You locked eyes with him. “I hate you.”

His lips finally met yours.

And just like that—you were undone.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around him instinctively, and carried you to the bed like he already knew the way.

You were fire and gasoline.

His mouth was hungry, his hands demanding, like he’d waited years for this moment. Your shirt was gone, your shorts lost somewhere on the floor, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, grinding against you until you whimpered.

“You’re soaked,” he growled. “Again.”

“Your fault.”

“Gladly.”

He peeled off your panties and kissed his way down your stomach, biting, sucking, marking.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said against your skin. “Say it.”

You moaned. “Fuck, Erik—”

“Come on Peach say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

And then his mouth was on you.

Tongue circling your clit, fingers inside you again, slow and deep, curling just right. You were writhing, desperate, moaning his name like it was the only thing you remembered.

“You taste like sin,” he whispered. “And I’m starving.”

You came hard, hips jerking, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you cried out.

But he wasn’t done.

He kissed his way back up your body, lips hot and wet against your neck.

“You want more?”

You could barely breathe. “Please.”

He slid inside you again—deeper, slower this time. His lips brushed yours.

“I hate you,” you whispered, trembling.

He kissed you, slow and devastating.

“No you don’t.”

And you didn’t argue.

[hyperesthesias]

Nikto x Female Character

summary: nikto is being framed for a murder he didn’t commit. he turns to the only person he can trust -- the woman he planned to marry while in university, who is now an investigative journalist. but not all of nikto's alters want his name cleared.

author's note: this piece combines nikto's call of duty: modern warfare reboot lore, with his call of duty: mobile lore. i have included elements from both, and i have omitted elements from both as well. another half baked idea from yours truly.

content: canon compliant; canon typical violence; dissociative identity disorder; light stalking; terrorism; cheating; mentions of torture; mentions of child abuse and domestic violence.

words: 10,597

music: andre – pieces by sum 41 // sascha – away from the sun by three doors down // olev – daybreak by robin carolan // samantha – dangerous by sleep token.

AO3 LINK.

October 2022 ----

Nikto has landed in Russia with the rest of his KorTac unit. He is familiar with the area, but he hasn't been to his homeland in many years. He did not leave under positive circumstances, and he doubts he will ever be able to resolve what he left behind there. He has bigger, more current, issues to worry about. His two alters have been mostly behaving themselves, He's been able to keep them at bay enough for him to blend into his role the way he needs to -- he's an excellent liar, but he doubts he fooled the field psychiatrist and his superiors well enough for them to think nothing is bothering him at all. Eventually they'll find out, eventually he'll be diagnosed, and the ruse will be over -- his life will be over. Everything he's known and known how to do will be taken from him. He'll be deemed too unstable for the field, and he'll be discarded without so much as a second thought, or good enough benefits for him to survive on long term. He starts to spiral at the thought, and he can feel one of the other men in his head scratching at the wall he's put between himself and them. They've been more active, they've made themselves known more frequently since he heard that his unit would be returning to Eastern Europe. They're in Russia to capture a man named Petrov, whose dossier is longer than a novel. He was a lieutenant under Zakhaev, and while Andre has never encountered him, there's a stirring discomfort within him at the thought. There's a whole other life he left behind in Russia, a whole other lifetime ago, and he doesn't have the time, patience, or desire to sift through it all to get the voices in his head to settle down. All he can hope is that his unit is in and out of there quicker than he can spit, and that all three parts of him get back to headquarters without incident.

But he should've known that was too much to ask.

The job goes bad -- his team made a plan, the plan went wrong, so he made a new plan, and then he threw that one out the window, as he was actually being thrown out a window. He hesitated at the sight of Petrov, despite having him in his scope, and his teammates are ready to tear him to pieces. Everything is FUBAR, and he is barely able to catch his breath as his unit regroups at base. The plan changes for a third time: he and the rest of the men will lay low, and restrike before their target is scheduled to make his next move.

The rest of the men stay at the base, unfamiliar with the territory, but Nikto knows this area well. Things stay the same, as equally as they change -- signs change names, and carts and kiosks appear and disappear, and yet he can follow the streets and alleys with ease. His history as an undercover operative allows him to blend in anywhere, even when he stands out. There's a marketplace not far from the safehouse, and in weakness, he searches for a soft candy he used to find at its stalls when he was a child.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

He comes back into awareness as he's standing on a high bridge. There's a body on the ground beneath him – it’s Petrov, dead. A crowd is starting to gather. Even if he wasn't guilty, he certainly looks menacing enough for the blame to fall on him -- the balaclava, his backpack, and the .45mm on his hip are enough for the court of the people to convict him, whether he did something or not. But he can't remember.

He runs, not knowing where to go. There's enough heat on his team already, if he bolts back to the safehouse, he might lead people right to it. He's not sure he didn't kill Petrov anyway, and he has no way to explain that lapse of memory to his superiors -- no way to explain it and still keep his position at KorTac. Then again, disappearing altogether would only cement his guilt. He has no one.

Except for one person, someone he left behind a lifetime ago.

It's been sixteen hours after the incident at the bridge, and Nikto has tracked down a woman he once knew before he joined the military. She was a writer, an exchange student at the university he attended. At first, she wrote stories, and small pieces for the university's newspaper, but as time went on, as the world began to deteriorate, she developed a desire to pursue investigative journalism. He discouraged her from it at the time, but now her skills might be the only thing that can clear -- or convict -- his name. He wants the truth, regardless of what it is. He needs to know if he's unstable and volatile enough to black out and kill a man without knowing.

He seeks her out, and finds where she lives. The fact that she's alive at all is surprising, but Nikto has kept tabs on her since his time with the FSB and special forces. Occasionally he heard her name pass through the dossiers compiled by his superiors, and every time he saw her name and photograph, he hoped he'd never have to see her through the scope of his rifle.

He's using a scope now, to look at her through her bedroom window. She's as beautiful as the day they met. He suddenly has the crushing weight of realization that she won't recognize him. Certainly not in the balaclava, but even without it. He's different now -- in appearance, and in mannerism. To her, he would be a stranger. A sinking feeling hits his stomach, and he debates whether he should leave altogether, and take his chances back at the safehouse. But with each ticking second, he looks guiltier and guiltier, and his alibi gets thinner and thinner.

She starts to undress, and he knows he should look away, but a part of him wants to relish the sight of her before he disappears -- before he faces her and she screams. He remembers the feeling of her pressed flush against him, of her legs wrapped around him. He's never forgotten her, never moved on from her. The day he left Russia, time froze, and to him, she's still the love within him -- kept secret, stowed deep down where no one, and nothing can touch her. Not even himself.

He doesn't have the courage to knock on her door that early morning, nor the next. But he sits and watches her, follows her, hoping to get the willpower to shatter the fragile idea of the past he has with her. He learns about her -- her Russian has improved; she still smiles at the market vendors, and they still hate it; she has a tattoo now, even though she said she'd never get one, it's on the lower side of her left hip; she has a cat, who she loves, and he still thinks she would make an excellent mother. Thoughts come to the surface of his mind that he hasn't acknowledged since his life with her, and he debates on whether he should just fall on his sword and leave her be.

But her instincts are better than he gives her credit for, and as he follows her that afternoon, she makes him. He lets her.

Suddenly he has the barrel of a Beretta in his back, and he's being led to a blind, quiet alley around the back of her apartment building.

"Who sent you?" she asks.

He has his hands raised, and that pit in his stomach gets deeper as the moment becomes more real. She presses the barrel harder into his spine as he delays, and he grunts at the pain; his back is still sore from being defenestrated.

"Samantha..." he says, still trying to fight through his own thoughts enough to speak. "I'm not -- I am not here to hurt you. I was sent by no one." He feels the pistol fall, and there's a distinct, weighted silence that falls with it. He turns around, his hands still raised, and when he finally faces her, her eyes are starting to water. He feels like a boy again, standing in front of a girl who's crying. He doesn't know what to do.

"Andre?" she breathes. Instantly, she recognizes his voice.

They're back inside her apartment, sitting in the living room with a cup of chaya. It smells incredible, but he won't take off the balaclava, he won't even dare to risk lifting the edge. He is afraid of the look in her eyes -- that she'll see the scars, the missing pieces of his face, and that the love in her eyes will turn to horror. He wouldn't be able to live anymore. He prefers if she remembers him as that handsome, younger man from university.

"I heard about that," she says about the incident on the bridge. "The police are looking for a masked man, but they don't have many leads at the moment. They're still waiting for the lab to identify a blood sample they found at the scene."

"My blood?"

"You tell me. You said you don't remember anything about what happened, but do you have any unexplained injuries?"

"Unexplained? No. All of them are explained."

She almost chuckles. He always had a way of making her laugh, even without trying. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes," he says. "But not from the bridge. It was before that."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No -- no. I don't need...anything."

Another silence settles between them. Neither one of them knows what to say, what to ask, where to start.

He sees movement from the corner of his eye, and he goes stiff -- ready to pull his weapon.

"It's okay -- It's okay. It's just Mishka, my cat." Samantha clicks her tongue, and the black cat comes running to her; she picks her up and puts her in her lap. "She was a stray, I found her in the alley out back."

"The last time you took in a stray cat, you were almost expelled."

She weakly smiles, but she doesn't look at him. "You remember that?"

His eyes are fixed on her, he studies her, like a pane of stained glass in a chapel. "I remember everything."

Her eyes are starting to water again, and Mishka jumps from her lap. "Why did you leave?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"I've gone over it, in my head, for years--"

"I only want to talk about now."

"You don't think I deserve at least half an answer?"

"I said no!" he yells at her, he's on his feet, his breath his harder through his mask, and he sees that fear in her eyes -- the kind he dreaded seeing. He turns away from her, with his head in his hand. The scratching at that wall inside his mind is getting more intense, and he can feel it starting to give way.

"I will help you, Andre," Samantha says, and he can hear her pushing down the tears that threatened her before.

He's trying to keep the wall in his mind upright, he's trying to hold whoever is behind it at bay. "Samantha -- I am different...now," his voice wavers at the confession of weakness. He doesn't have time to explain everything to her -- he doesn't want to explain what Zakhaev did to him. But he knows he should at least warn her before he switches, and someone else comes to the forefront. The only thing he can think to do is leave.

He always leaves.

He's starting for the door -- everything goes black.

Samantha watches her former lover wrestle with something inside of him, watches as he keeps his head in his hands, and watches as he puts his hand on the doorknob to leave, then suddenly stop. He looks up at the door, looks around the foyer, and the living room, he looks at his hands, and then turns around to look at her.

There's a blank confusion in his bright blue eyes. He's staring at her. Trying to put pieces together.

"...Andre?"

The name gets a response from him, but it isn't the one she expects.

"Andre brought us here?" His voice is lighter than before, unlike the voice she remembers.

A coldness runs through her, and his warning to her begins to make sense. She nods, cautiously. "Yes, Andre came to me, to ask for my help."

"Who are you?" he's pointing at her, that confusion still churning in his eyes as he starts to approach her.

"My name is Samantha," she stands, with her hands plainly visible on the kitchen table.

He snaps his gloved fingers. "Ah! Yes, Samantha! I knew you looked familiar."

"Do you...remember me? Do you remember how we met, at the university?"

"No, no," he says, and brings his backpack around to reach for something inside of it. He sees her put her hands up, and flinch. "No -- No, no. Samantha, no. You are from the photograph." He takes out a worn and feathered photograph and hands it to her. "See? He keeps it here, with us."

"'Us'..." She takes the photo -- it's her official portrait from when she received her first award for journalism. "You and Andre?"

"And Olev. I don't think there is anyone else."

Samantha takes a deep breath, and returns the photograph. "Okay. Well, who are you? Let's start there," she invites him to sit.

He does as she instructs, and briefly lifts the balaclava to take a sip of chaya, it's still warm. "I am Sascha."

She can see the discoloration of scars as he lifts the mask, and she pretends she doesn't notice as he replaces it. "Do you know why Andre came to me, Sascha?"

He frowns and looks around again. "No -- I don't know anything about this place. I only know you from the photograph."

"Are you aware of the incident on the bridge?"

"The bridge!" he snaps again. "I remember the bridge. I was in the market, Andre brought us there. It took me some time to understand where I was, I got...confused, lost. But I saw our teammate, he found me. He said he would take me back to the safehouse, so I walked with him. But..." he pauses and shakes his head, "something did not feel right. I told him I wanted to go back to the market, and then he attacked me."

"Your teammate?"

Sascha grows quiet, mulling over what happened, still trying to put pieces together with half the puzzle.

"Does he know you have alternate identities?"

"No, I don't think so. We are careful. No one can know. If they find out, we are going to be discharged. Andre is careful, and so am I. The only one who might have compromised us is...Olev. But I don't -- I don't think so. He knows the consequences."

"May I speak with Olev?"

"No," he replies emphatically. "No, you do not want to speak to Olev. He is...not nice. He does not like to talk. Olev talks with his fists."

She takes another deep breath, and agrees. "Alright. The man at the bottom of the bridge, the man who died, was it your teammate?"

He points again, and a light of recognition flicks on in his eyes. "No -- he killed that man! He tried to kill me, but we took the gun from him. We fought. Petrov was there -- the target from our mission. I think, I think maybe I was following him. Or maybe Andre was. I don't remember. The mission was to capture him, but our teammate, he killed him. I tried to stop him, but he made it look like I was the one who pushed him. People started to come around. What people saw, was not what happened."

"This teammate of yours, have you had conflicts with him in the past?"

"I...don't know," he says, somewhat defeated. "I cannot remember what Andre sees. But from what I have witnessed, I thought we were on good terms. I don't know why...Why? Why did he betray me?"

Samantha keeps him at her apartment as she goes to the scene of the crime, as well as the lab to get an update on the sample results, hopefully before the police receive them. Sascha does not protest, a part of his mind feels safe with her -- as if he knows her from a dream he once had. He stays on the couch, and spends most of the day trying to coax Mishka out of the dark hallway.

She has a connection in the crime lab, a man she's been seeing for the past two and a half months. His name is Nikolai. He's sweet, a little naive. He's a scientist, not an officer, he's never been exposed to the field like she has. His innocence is refreshing. It's also the reason she can get him to tell her about the bridge case. The irony isn't lost on her that she's asking the man she's currently seeing to help her lover from a lifetime ago. But he doesn't have to know that.

Nikolai tells her that the blood sample returned a match earlier that day. It triggered a military file for a man named Andre Volkov, however the file itself was sealed. He asks her to dinner this weekend.

She tells him she'll check her schedule.

While she is gone, Andre returns to the forefront. The apartment is empty, and the cat is running away from him again. He finds a note on the side table: 'Samantha went out, she will be back. She is helping us.' It's written in Sascha's handwriting, and Andre once more considers leaving without a trace. Samantha didn't ask for this. But then again, neither did he.

Before he can make up his mind, Samantha comes through the front door. He stands, unsure what to do with himself, what to say.

She can immediately tell his body language is different. She stops.

"It's me," he says. "Andre." He awkwardly pauses again, with the paper still in his hand. "Sascha -- he left me a note. Did you find anything?"

She tells him Sascha's experience on the bridge, and that the lab results have confirmed his blood was at the scene.

"I don't even have a scratch from the fight Sascha had with him. I don't understand how my blood was found there."

"If Sascha was fronting at the time of the attack on the bridge, how do you know for sure that you were uninjured?"

He squirms nervously, already anticipating her next idea. "I checked."

"You need to check again," she tells him, softly persuading him.

He disrobes, piece by piece. He feels more vulnerable than he ever has in his life, naked in more ways than one in front of her. He's down to only his underwear and his balaclava, which he still hasn't removed. She helped him take off the jacket, and the shirt. He's sore, he says, his back hurts. It's covered in blue bruises, while older white scars lie beneath, they look like whippings. Feathered scars map the entirety of his body, from knife wounds, to healed bullet holes. Some scars she knows and remembers from when he was younger: burn marks made by cigarettes, left on his skin by his father. She touches him gently, running her hand along the newer impressions she doesn't recognize.

"Don't look at me like that," he says.

She doesn't say anything.

"Like with pity," he growls.

But she's as stubborn as he is, and she looks him right in the eye.

He backs down.

Slowly, she reaches up to remove the balaclava. He watches her do it, he waits for it. He grabs her hands before they touch the fabric, and he attempts to push her away. She pushes back, and keeps willing her way to his face. They both know he could overpower her easily, he could snap her wrists in half if he wanted. But he doesn't. He lets her struggle, makes her work for it, waiting for her to change her mind -- that he's not worth the effort, he's not worth the fight. Their eyes haven't left one another's, and she keeps her hands strong and steady, until eventually...

He lets go.

He braces for the impact of her scream of horror -- of her turning the color of nausea at the sight of him.

She lifts the balaclava, and it falls to the floor.

His face is bare in front of her, and he keeps his eyes on her -- present, but not.

She doesn't scream, she doesn't turn away from him. Her eyes take in the sight of his injuries -- pieces of his face are missing, as if they were shorn purposefully. Half of his nose is gone, a portion of his upper lip is gone, the entire left side of his cheek has been cut, as if peeled by a knife, leaving only the thin lower dermis to heal. A 'Z' is carved into his flesh from the top of his brow, to the bottom of his jaw.

The static feeling of shock resonates at the top of her skin, but she keeps her face still. She can't prevent the water at the edges of her eyes, but she keeps it from falling. Her breathing is heavier, and the shock gives way to the heat of rage.

It's a long, long time before either one of them speaks.

"Who did this to you?" she finally pushes the words out of her mouth.

"Zakhaev."

She knows exactly who he is. "I will kill him, myself."

The vengeful sentiment snaps him out of his dissociation, and he swallows, finally breaking eye contact. "You always surprise me, solnyshko."

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him. He leans into her, he doesn't fight back; his hands cup her head, his fingers in her hair. Every moment he imagined in secret, every night he longed to be beside her, it suddenly becomes a reality. He pulls away only to take a breath, and to look her in the eye, to make sure she's really there, to make sure he isn't dreaming -- that he hasn't lost touch with reality completely.

His thumbs caress her cheeks, and when he convinces himself she's real -- when he convinces himself it wouldn't matter even if she wasn't -- he nudges her lips again. And again, and again. He wants to make love to her, right then, right there. He wants to make every fantasy that's put him to sleep for the last decade come true. But he doesn't. He stops. Again, he thinks about leaving.

She doesn't push him.

There's a knock at the door.

Andre grabs his clothes, and retreats to the hallway, away from the door's line of sight.

"Get rid of them," he tells her.

She shoos him, and regathers her composure. She looks through the peephole -- it's Nikolai.

"Nikolai --" she opens the door, blocking his path inside. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes -- I am alright, but I am...confused," he says. "That case you asked me about today, the one with the sealed military file, someone just came to my office and took all of the evidence. The blood, the fibers, all of it. Whatever you are investigating, I think someone does not want you to."

"Well, this certainly isn't the first time someone has wanted to stop an investigation of mine. It's part of my job, Nikolai," she smiles in an effort to put him at ease. "It will be alright."

"Be careful, milaya. I worry about you, you know.” He takes her hands and kisses them. “I was sent home early because of this mess. Why don't we have some tea together."

She touches his face, and pulls away. "I wish I could, but I am very busy right now. The harder they work to put me off the case, the harder I have to work to stay on it. You understand."

He sighs and nods. "Promise me you will be careful. You still owe me dinner."

She laughs and agrees.

Andre is in a million pieces in the hallway, half dressed. He hates himself, he hates himself for wanting her -- he hates himself for thinking it might have even been an option, if even for a brief moment. She has her own life. She has men falling at their feet for her, ready to provide for her, of course she would. She moved on. It was him who was the fool. She closes the door, and his head lands on the wall behind him with a dejected breath.

"KorTac is going to burn me," Andre tells Samantha later that night. "They will move the investigation in-house, and then bury me."

"Then we need to move fast."

He shakes his head and stops her, as he begins to collect his things. "It was a mistake to come here."

"I need to know more about this teammate of yours. What your encounters have been with him, Sascha said --"

"No."

"I won't let them accuse you of something you haven't done. I'm looking into this with or without you."

"Then it will be without," he says, and lifts the backpack onto his shoulders. "You will not get far." He once more starts for the door.

"Then you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

He stops, grinding his teeth -- he knows she's baiting him. Trying to get him to stay by way of conflict. She's done it once before, the night he left all those years ago. "I know you, Samantha," he says. "And I know that you have, in front of you, better than me. Whatever we had, when we were young..." he glances behind him and shakes his head, "it was only a dream."

He leaves, and disappears. He doesn't return to his unit, knowing that he will be caught and crucified by the very people he was supposed to trust. It was better to restart somewhere else entirely, to blend in, and create a new version of himself somewhere else. He plans on leaving the country within the week, but it will take time to find someone who can forge documents.

That weekend, Nikolai picks up Samantha for their dinner date. She is distracted, but he does what he can to alleviate her mental burden. He knows her job is difficult, she has told him briefly of the horrors she has seen, but she never shares much. He figures the past is haunting her, he can see it on her face. They finish their dinner with little conversation. He drives her home.

"I wanted to tell you something," he says while they are travelling. "I did not want to share it around all those people."

Samantha braces herself for an ill-timed confession of love.

"That case you were working on..."

She braces once more, this time for his improbable discovery of her past with Andre.

"...Before those agents came and took all of my work, I put in a requisition for any files relating to the sample from before the man, Andre, joined the military. I got a hit yesterday. It was not digitized, it was a paper file, that is why it took so long to find. I brought it for you, it's in the glove box."

Confusion, trepidation, and relief all at once smother her, and she cautiously opens the glove compartment without a word. A manilla folder sits right on top, with the name 'Volkov, Andre' on its tab. She opens it, and staring back at her is a photograph of the man she once knew: that beautiful boy, with bright blue eyes and soft skin, sharp features, unmarred by evil. A pain tightens in her throat, and she begins to read the file. The photo isn't a mugshot, it's an identification photograph from the foster care system, taken a few months before he became an adult — from two years before she met him.

The file details the brutal murder of Andre's father. Something she did not know about. He was killed right before Andre left her, before he joined the military. It was a particularly vicious crime, and investigators noted that there was a distinct presence of anger in the act. There were no suspects, but Andre was the person of interest. It was no secret his father had abused him and his mother for years, and investigators assumed Andre finally snapped and killed his father in an act of revenge. His mother had been missing for a week, and Andre filed a missing person report earlier that day. She was never found. However, Andre's blood was recovered from his father's knuckles. This did not immediately make him a suspect, as the investigators at the time found separate DNA beneath his fingernails, which was not a match to Andre. The leading theory was that his father's gambling habit caught up with him, and a warning from his bookie went wrong.

She spends the rest of the car ride reading in silence.

"Milaya, I need the file back," Nikolai tells her softly.

She finally looks up to see they've been parked in front of her apartment for some time. "I'm sorry, of course."

"Or, perhaps, you could take it inside, and you can read it while I make you tea. You need to relax, you need time to rest, too."

She smiles weakly, and hands him back the file. Guilt starts to gnaw at her that she wishes the man beside her was Andre instead. "Thank you. You are right. I think I will go to bed early."

"Another time then. I will make you tea, eventually."

"Sometime soon."

Samantha goes upstairs, and enters her apartment. There's a draught coming from the bedroom window, she hears a noise coming from the master bathroom. She reaches for a gun taped beneath the entryway table, and cautiously makes her way to her bedroom. She hears panting, shaking breaths, and quiet cursing coming from the bathroom.

She rounds the corner, and faces the open bathroom door with the barrel pointed directly at Andre.

He's covered in blood, there's panic in his eyes. He's shakily trying to patch a knife wound in his side.

She holsters the weapon, and immediately puts pressure on the wound. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he groans, trying to catch his breath. "I woke up like this. I don't know what happened." He stifles a yell as she starts packing the wound with gauze from his med kit.

"Tell me what you remember," she demands.

He's trying to focus on something other than the pain and the looming darkness that's starting to encroach on his vision.

She smacks his masked face a few times. "Tell me what you remember," she says again.

"I went -- I went to get papers. To leave the country. But the forger, he was dead. I found his body. My teammate was there, but that's it -- that's all I remember." He leans on her a little more heavily, balancing himself on the counter.

"What happened after you woke up?"

"I woke up -- my teammate -- he was dead. I...stabbed him. I think. The knife, it was in my hands."

"Where's the knife?"

"It's here," he points to the sheath on his belt.

She continues packing the wound tightly, and putting pressure once it's packed. She once more reaches for his medical kit, and places the high pressure bandage around his wound.

"I...I had nowhere else to go," he apologizes without saying it.

Over the course of the night, Andre stabilizes, and he's keeping himself awake on the couch. Samantha makes him a cup of chaya again, this time he drinks it. There's nothing left to hide from her. Somehow, she always seems to see him at his lowest.

"It wasn't just a dream, you know," she tells him. "It was real. To me."

He doesn't say anything for a while, staring at the nothingness in the hallway in front of him. Two little green eyes stare back. He has no excuses to give her, but he could lie to her -- he could lie to himself. But lies matter as little as the truth does at this point. "I dream of you every night. You are a dream to me. Something I cannot have."

"You left. I thought you and I were going to get married, have a family. Then you were gone." She doesn't mean to guilt him, she can see the pain in his face. "I would have helped you," she says.

He looks at her, uncertain of her meaning.

"I know about your father."

He looks away again.

"You never told me."

"I did not want you to think differently of me."

"I don't. I never have."

He sighs, struggling to believe it. He shakes his head. "But you will. You do not now. But...you will. There are things I did. There are things...I don't remember. Things that were done to me. It will change you, as it changed me." He sighs again, squirming uncomfortably, and then wincing in pain as the knife wound stretches with his body. "I don't remember...what happened to my father. But I knew that if I stayed, they would make me guilty, no matter the truth. All I remember of that night, is seeing my mother for the first time in a week -- she and my father were in the kitchen, he was beating her. She fought back. But then, I remember nothing. I thought she killed him, and that she left. I thought the truth was too terrible to remember." His eyes become distant again, and the void of shadows in front of him starts to whisper at the back of his mind, as if something wants to be let out. "But...after what happened -- with Zakhaev -- after I started to lose time, after I realized there was someone else, in my head..." he trails off, he doesn't say anything for a while, unsure of what it is he's trying to convey exactly. "They said it was acute, temporary, that it was the way my mind processed what he did to me. That my mind created someone else to take the pain: Olev. They said it would go away. It did -- it did go away, the voices, the losing time. I was myself again. They cleared me, for the field. But then...it came back. And when it came back, I told no one. And then, I started to think that maybe...if it came back, maybe it was always there. Maybe...it was me who killed my father, all those years ago. Maybe it was...Olev."

"Do you think Olev killed your teammate?"

"He is capable of anything," he looks at her again, that pain twisting his face again, of a torment not physical. "It can only be a dream, you and I. It is safer there, it is better there -- in dreams."

"If we cannot be together as we once were, then let me only help you now -- let me help you leave the country."

"No," he shakes his head again, and once more turns away.

"Let me help you this time."

"No," he insists more heavily.

"Why? Why do you come here for my help, and then push me away all the same?"

"Because I am a coward! Samantha," his voice breaks, and he stands, ignoring the pain in his side. His fingers dig into his chest. "I am a coward! -- and a killer. Who cannot provide for you. Who cannot give you a home, and children. Who can give you nothing! I am a coward who takes! Who takes and takes! Because I am a man who loves you, and a man who has nothing to offer." He turns around, not wanting her to see the weakness in his face -- in many more ways than one.

"You have always been many things, Andre. But a coward has never been one of them."

A whisper once more slithers its way through his mind, and he tries his best to push it back. But the stress of his vulnerability with the woman he loves, and the conflict he endured earlier in the night, the pain from the wound in his side, it’s broken down his ability to hold it off. His consciousness slips into the abyss of his mind, and something else emerges.

"Andre was always a coward," he speaks.

But it is not Andre's voice.

"Olev..." Samantha takes a breath and stands, the gun is still in her waistband. She doesn't know if she has the courage to use it against him, if it comes to that.

"Ever since he was a boy. Too weak to face his father, too powerless to save our mother. Too afraid to show his face, to close his eyes at night — to see what I saw." He turns to her, a darkness in his eyes, a weight upon his shoulders, he watches her carefully. "Too afraid of losing you. You are his weakness. And so you are mine."

"You know who I am."

"I know...everything," he growls. He approaches her, unfazed by the blood that's leaking down his side. "I watch everything -- from the corners of his mind, I watch as he tries to hide, tries to run from himself, his past. From you. It makes me sick."

"What happened on the bridge?"

"I took care of us. As I always have."

"Did you kill your teammate?"

Olev scoffs and takes another step towards her, revelling in her confusion. "He always finds a way to shift the blame. Even onto people who were never there."

The rush of fear and adrenaline begins to course through her, and she keeps her hands at her sides, ready to pull her weapon. "What do you mean?"

"Andre and Sascha remember what they need to. And I let them. Even if it means they imagine things. Even if it means...we struggle against each other," he writhes and the wound at his side gushes.

“There was never a teammate. You...You framed Andre. You killed Petrov. You planted your own blood at the scene. You killed the forger."

"I promised Petrov that he would pay for what he did to us. I always keep my promises," his voice is dark, and he fixates on her.

"Why frame Andre? You could have killed Petrov quietly. No blood, no witnesses. We both know you could have gotten away with it."

"I had to make sure he could never go back to KorTac."

Anger sets in, and Samantha stops, she plants her feet on the floor, waiting for Olev to meet her — face to wretched face. "KorTac is all he has."

"But it is not all he can be." He's standing in front of her now, they are mere inches apart. She can feel his breath wash over her face, it's calm and even, yet hot as his eyes run over her features. "I have waited...so long...to meet you, tsaritsa." He coils a lock of her hair around his finger, and pushes it behind her ear.

Her blood is racing through her veins, she can feel her heartbeat in her throat. She keeps her eyes on his, barring away the fear within her. "What are you going to do?"

"I...am going to do what I have always done," his voice is barely above a hoarse breath, his hand still caressing her hair, her neck. "I will level the scale of justice. I will take power from the powerful, and protect those who are weak." He holds another lock of her hair between his fingers, and places it to his lips. "And I will not be a coward -- like him. I will not abandon you. Like he did."

She doesn't flinch, but she can't keep her nerves from trembling. "How many people will die? To balance the scales?"

"You know as well as I do, tsaritsa, the price of slavery is its weight in blood. And so it is with liberty."

She encroaches on him, closing what little space there is between them. "Give him back to me."

His eyes narrow, and his jaw tenses as a breath seethes from him.

"I know that you can."

"I will not." He lets go of her hair, putting it behind her shoulder. "I am jealous of his years with you. And I will not release him until I have shared with you those same number of years."

"I will not go with you."

"You do not need to. You are of better use to me here. Here, your work will provide me with valuable intelligence about those who mean to oppress the People."

"What makes you think I won't go underground?"

"You forget, tsaritsa, I know you as well as he does. I know that you cannot keep injustice quiet. And you know — that I will always find you."

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

TWO YEARS LATER ----

Samantha has kept tabs on Olev's actions — a bombing in Lisbon, a Nova gas attack on a gang of mobsters, the rumor that a pilot by the callsign Nikto took down members of Task Force 141. She knows that as carefully as she's kept an eye on him, he's done the same to her. He was right about her -- she has continued to pursue investigations into the corrupt and powerful. She lives with the knowledge that her intel has helped him kill a group of crooked financiers in Germany, and along with them, other innocent lives who happened to be in the wrong place when Olev exacted his justice.

He sends her letters with no return address. He writes her poetry, he sends her sketches of buildings and animals he has seen in his time away from her, he recounts memories she has with Andre, but from his own perspective. He tells her that he loves her. In one letter, he assumes she has not given over his writings to the authorities, as no one has followed their trail back to him. She hates that he's right. She hates that she can't bring herself to do it. If she condemns Olev to prison, she dooms Andre with him. More than that, she confesses only to herself, on a quiet winter night, that she is enamored with Olev. There is a clear part of him that loves her. To be loved so thoroughly by a person -- that every facet of him desires her -- it enthralls her. But it is as Andre told her the last night she saw him -- their love could only ever be kept safe in dreams.

A year after he vanished, Olev appears to Samantha. She moved to a different place, a house in the suburbs, and yet he and his letters still find her. He gives her a USB drive filled with the information of brokers who are fixing the market, proof of their treachery. She almost refuses his gift, but she can't deny that his brutality has been making an impact -- the scales are slowly shifting as the greedy are becoming scared. She's conflicted on whether she should endorse his actions.

He is a looming shadow over her and her work, over her heart and mind. And yet, his presence fills her with relief -- relief that he is alive, and relief at the sight of adoration that still lingers in his eyes whenever he looks at her. He kisses her hands as he gives her the drive, gently putting her knuckles to his mask. She is alone at home, Nikolai is at work, she doesn't hurry Olev to leave.

She tells him she should turn him in.

He tells her he knows she won't.

"How do you know that?" She's standing in front of him again, once more inches from him; his face is veiled, but she can hear his breath heavy and quickened beneath it.

"You are our fortress. Our shelter. Always." His gloved hand caresses her hair, and this time that sense of relief replaces the apprehension she once felt at his touch.

She reaches for his face, and delicately removes the buttons and belts that hold his mask together; she slides the balaclava off. He does nothing to stop her. He trusts her implicitly.

"I am a bird within your palm, tsaritsa. Have care."

Her heart softens, seeing not a villain, but a man. "You would have me love you."

"You do."

"You would have me forsake Andre."

"You can no more forsake him, as you could forsake me. I am not his murderer."

"You are his warden."

"I...am his protector. And I protect that which he loves. I protect...what I love." The rough fabric of his gloves smooths against the frame of her face. "...What you love. That you love him, you must also love me."

"And is this love a betrayal, of the man we both want to keep safe?"

"Zhizn moya, I told you -- you could never forsake any part of me."

Samantha rests her hands on his chest plate, as he continues to wander against her: her arms, her back, the dips of her waist. She falls into his embrace, wrestling with herself and her desires. Olev’s body aches for her as she steadies herself upon him, as she is nearly flush against him. He cradles her head within one palm, and makes the decision for her -- he takes her lips in his, and thus seals their fate.

"Andre is going to kill me," she breathes.

He smirks. "I know the feeling."

He is ravenous. Every fiber of his strength and energy is spent ensuring she remembers who he is, even when he is gone from her. That she feels him, even when they are parted. He leaves gentle imprints and bruises along her soft skin. Yet, when he is beneath her, he is as pliable as a doll -- to be used by her, to be fettered by her want, he is tamed and awakened by his love for her. Every moment he lingered, locked behind the wall inside Andre's mind, watching her, loving her from behind a pane of glass -- every moment he longed for her, pours out of him, as her satisfaction comes in waves around him.

She sleeps beside him. His dreams are quiet that night. There is only the black, and silence.

He leaves before dawn, she watches him ready himself, layer by layer. His underclothing, his flight suit, his armor, and every weight that is strapped against his waist and shoulders. Olev is a weapon. He's never known how to be anything else.

"You will live your life however you please," he tells her as he departs, his voice is calm, and yet there is grief and anger within it. "But you will always be mine. You will always belong to us."

His letters become less frequent, he sends her blank postcards instead -- and yet the attacks on the wealthy are getting more coverage.

A year after Olev appeared to her, Samantha is engaged to Nikolai, and a week after their engagement party, she receives a blank card in the mail with no return address, congratulating her on her upcoming nuptials. She says nothing of it to Nikolai. As far as he knows, the case about Andre Volkov, the case about the man who was killed on the bridge, was a dead end. She never spoke about it again.

Her wedding is in a month, and Samantha is asked to report on the terrorist named Nikto. She can't give a coherent reason of refusal -- not without incriminating herself. She does what she can to fulfill her duty, and yet protect information that might be vital to his capture. She is informed by her editor that Nikto has agreed to a one-time interview. Many news outlets, both domestic and international, are being censored from showing his transmissions, and some outlets are censoring the videos without being instructed to do so. According to her editor, because of this, Nikto has chosen them to give the interview  -- their outlet has circumvented censorship, and is broadcast in his mother tongue of Russian.

She knows more than well the reason he chose them is because of her. Samantha is tasked with the interview. It will be broadcast live on the internet.

Nikolai begs her not to do it. It's too dangerous, he tells her. They have their whole lives ahead of them, and she shouldn't tempt fate by putting herself in the lion's den. The man is a terrorist and a predator -- a perverse example of authority. She asks him to trust her -- even though, silently, she knows she does not deserve it.

Samantha is sitting across from Nikto, in a room that is empty, except for a camera and two chairs. It is an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, a mutually agreed upon location, chosen by Nikto. Besides them, only her cameraman and two of his guards are present. The pair sit near a window for natural light. He makes no indication that he knows her -- and for a brief moment, she wonders if someone else is behind those eyes, if someone else is fronting. But then he speaks:

"Shall we begin, tsaritsa?"

Samantha introduces herself, as well as Nikto, to the camera and begins her questioning. Pretending she knows nothing of him is more difficult than she anticipated. She hides the desperation inside of her, the desire to reach out and touch him, to speak with him as she used to -- she draws on every ounce of professionalism within her, and keeps to her notecards.

"You and I want the same thing, Samantha. You with the pen, and I with the sword." They are at the halfway point of the interview. "And it is true, your work is more important than mine -- I could take down an empire, but if there is no one to witness the People's power, ignorance can only remain."

"Is that what you mean to do? To take down an empire?"

"I have said it."

"To take down Russia?"

"To take down the evil of the oppression -- the oppression that keeps the poor hungry, and the rich fat. Oligarchs rule my homeland, and yet my people have never suffered more. If they deny their greed, why are they afraid of me? If they are so righteous, why should they have anything to fear?"

"I think even the righteous fear death, wouldn't you agree?"

"I do not fear death," he says, his eyes piercing into her as he does. "I fear nothing."

"Not even capture? Or failure?"

"I cannot fail. Even if I am captured, I have already won. And if they kill me, still others will know that these men are not gods. They are cowards. Fat, hungry cowards. Who will take, and take, until nothing is left."

Samantha swallows, hearing Andre's voice buried beneath Olev’s. She briefly pauses, and takes a moment to regather her composure.

A flicker of light from beyond the window catches Olev's eye -- he can see the outline of a red laser sight, but when he follows its path, it's not trained on him, but on Samantha.

Without warning, he tackles her to the ground. An explosion of glass erupts from the window, and a bullet whizzes through the scene. The sound of its impact, along with a yell from Olev, resound in Samantha's ears. She's suddenly flat on the ground, and the weight of his body and his armor are crushing her. Something hot is leaking onto her chest, and pooling beneath her. More gunfire breaks out, as his guards return fire in the direction of the window.

With all of her strength, she pushes herself out from underneath him, and pulls him out of the line of fire. She shelters them with the cover of a partial wall, drawing her own weapon; her cameraman is filming the firefight from a corner on the opposite side of the room.

More sniper fire rains down on the building, until it briefly stops, and the room is hit with a smoke bomb. One man infiltrates from the broken window and takes out the cameraman, and one of the guards.

Olev is slumped against her, in her arm; he opens his eyes and takes in the blurry image of her returning fire as a cacophony grows on the other side of the wall. The bullet tore through the weak point of his armor as he dove onto Samantha, it went through his shoulder; he's losing blood fast, but his first instinct is to sit upright and reach for his pistol. He's about to fire off a shot into the smoke, when Samantha stops him. She slings his arm around her, and pulls him onto his feet. The attacker is following the blood trail from the initial point of contact to her hiding place, and she needs to find an exfil now.

They exit the rear of the building, where there's nothing but trees and plenty of places for cover. She drags him, his feet moving as fast as they can, until they reach the copse. There's quiet for only a moment before the gunfire starts again, and bullets fly by their heads. She pulls him behind a large pine out of the attacker’s eyeline.

"Fuck, I'm out of ammo," she checks her magazine.

He's leaning on the trunk, trying to put pressure on the wound, but the blood is draining too quickly. It seeps through his fingers like a waterfall. "Take it," he hands her his pistol. "Leave me. Go -- run."

"No," she says, and chances to peek round the tree to see where the gunman is. She can't see him.

"I'm too much weight. You'll...be faster -- on your own."

"Not an option."

He shoves her and growls. "Go."

She takes the push, and settles back beside him. The gunman is stalking them, he's starting in the wrong direction, but he crouches to see the droplets of blood left on the leaves. "I'm not letting you off the hook that easy." She looks at him and taps him on the face, bringing his eyes to hers. "Stay with me -- all of you. I have a plan that may get us out of this alive.”

Something deep inside of him breaks. He sinks to the bottom of the forest floor as she tells him what to do; his back leans against the pine tree as his body starts to give out. He’s placing the entirety of his trust in her.

Samantha emerges from behind her cover, and aims the barrel of her empty weapon at the gunman's head. "If you were aiming for Nikto, you got him. But you killed my cameraman, and you almost shot me."

"I was aiming for you," he says.

She takes several steps back, with her pistol still raised. "I've made a lot of enemies, forgive me if I don't remember how I've wronged you."

"You give that sick fuck a platform -- you listen to him as he spews his lies, and all the meanwhile, people suffer because of him. You're no better than him, to let him be seen in the daylight, instead of rotting in the ground where he belongs."

"And if I'm no better than him, then I deserve the same fate -- is that right?"

"We understand one another. I killed that terrorist, Nikto," he glances at the motionless body of Olev, slumped against the pine tree. "And now I will kill you."

Samantha lures him only two steps further --

Olev springs to life again, and fires three shots into the man's head. Blood and matter spray across the greenery, and his lifeless body falls to the ground with a quiet thud.

Samantha takes the man's weapon, and kneels at Olev's side, trying to put his arm around her, to get him to his feet again.

"Samantha..." he breathes, his voice filled with an uncertainty she's never heard within Olev before. His blue eyes look into hers again, searching them for something. His eyes are duller, dimmer -- greyer than they should be. "...I am not going to make it."

She starts to protest, but he stops her.

"Listen to me —” he pulls her close, his breath straining and wavering. “You must live your life, Samantha. Marry that idiot who loves you. Make children. Do all the things I cannot give you.” She starts to protest again, still trying to pull him to his feet, but he holds her still by the shoulder. “Do what you have always done: Listen, and speak. Others need you…to speak. Others need you…But do not forget me. Do not forget...any of us. All of us -- we have loved you." His hand moves from her arm and he touches her face, his glove leaving behind a thick trail of blood. "Zhizn moya...my life…I have given it for you." His hand falls from her, and his body falls entirely slack.

Her tears finally fall, staining and mixing with the blood on her face. She touches him, expecting him to brush away her hand, or to pull her close. But he does nothing. She is alone in the forest, the only sole survivor of the attack, and she knows the military will converge on her location soon. But in those brief moments of quiet before they come, she allows herself to break, to fall to pieces entirely.

Samantha leans on him, holding him and his shielded face to her body, placing a kiss on the metal of his helmet. It would be the last time she sees him, and she wants to keep the image of him, before the world mutilated him, intact within her mind.

She holds him as long as she can, until she notices a familiar feeling against her chest. He's breathing. His body is rising and falling against her. She digs two fingers past his gorget and past the fabric around his mask, until she can feel his pulse. It's thready, but it's there. Helicopters are approaching in the distance, and they'll search high and low through the brush to find him in the forest, once they see his body missing from the building. She packs his wound as quickly and tightly as she can to quell the bleeding, and then she pulls him through the copse.

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

He's in a medical facility, but it doesn't look like a hospital. He's lying in a hospital bed, and there are IVs through both his arms. There is clear tarp all around him, and through it, he can see that he's in some kind of warehouse.

Andre remembers flashes of what happened, of their life throughout the past two years. The last thing he remembers is Olev saying goodbye to Samantha -- on behalf of all of them. Suddenly, his body reminds him that he‘s been shot. Nurses and a doctor swarm his makeshift hospital room at the sight of him being awake.

Hours go by, and Andre is still trying to piece together what happened. Olev is unsettlingly quiet within his mind -- not in anger, but with what feels like sadness. Sascha is relieved to be alive. So is he.

A nurse brings him broth and other liquids, he drinks them with the one arm that isn't in a sling. A familiar face emerges as the nurse exits. His breath stops, and his body goes numb.

"Samantha..."

She fixes on him with that distinct look -- of trying to figure out who's talking, exactly. "Olev?"

"Andre."

She sits on the corner of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like the morphine is working."

She lets an amused breath. "How much do you remember?"

"Pieces. Like...a painting out of focus."

"You'll have to go into hiding."

"That much I guessed."

She doesn't say anything for a while.

"Did he hurt you?" he asks. "Olev?"

She shakes her head, finding she misses that facet of him, despite seeing the same face in front of her now. "No. The opposite, really."

Andre remembers a moment of passion between her and Olev, but he can't quite put together the whole memory.

"I called in a few favors," she says. "This is one of them," she looks around at the haphazard triage. "The other will fly you out of the country in two days. I've got you papers."

"You didn't have to do this."

"I did." She looks at him, the life has returned to his eyes, and the lighter presence of Andre now shapes his features. "I love you. Every one of you. Olev was right..."

He scoffs. "I wouldn’t recommend letting him in your head."

"But he was right.” She remembers the morning he left, after the night they spent together. She thought she’d never see him again, at the time she thought he meant to threaten her. But she realizes now it was never a threat. It was simply the truth. “I will always love you. And a part of me will always belong to you.” She can see him searching his mind, as if he can nearly recall what she means, but not entirely. “This is what I needed to do."

Andre falls quiet. "I am not worth the trouble, solnyshko."

Her sights settle on him. He's not looking at her, but at the folds in the sheets -- he's thinking, she can see it. His eyes are darting back and forth, as if his thoughts are quick. She wonders if all three of them are talking in that head of his. She wonders if they had known about the complexity of his mind when they were younger, if things would have been any different. If things might have turned out better for him. "You always have been."

He looks up at her, his lips parted in both uncertainty and surprise.

She caresses his face. "You always were." She stands to leave.

"Samantha..." he calls after. He watches as she faces him, and water lines his eyes. "I owe you my life. All of us."

"I love you, Andre."

"I love you. Dusha moya."

She disappears through the maze of vinyl, and he watches her until he can no longer see her figure.

He owes her everything, and he knows it. And he will work for the rest of his life to give it to her. To earn her. Even if he never sees her again.