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guiltyasdave · 3 months

Text

like snow on the beach

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~2.8k

summary: You're on a work trip with your boss, who you don't like and who you're convinced doesn't like you either. Unfortunately, there's only one bed.

tags/warnings: only one bed trope (ayyyy), fluff, idiots in love, alternating povs, reader has hair that drips down her neck after showering at one point but there are no texture or color descriptors, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, my nonexistent knowledge of colombian geography which i'm asking you to ignore for the sake of this silly story THANK YOU

a/n: my entry for the summer lovin' challenge brought to us by queens @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i got the moodboard you see in the header and the location by the water. i'm also posting a little early but i'm too excited and it's almost midnight here so i think it's gonna be fine hehe

biggest love to @sizzlingcloudmentality who held my hand through writing this and patiently listened to all my complaints lol. i love drinking more caffeine than pedro and writing with you while getting distracted by cats <3

dividers by @plum98!

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs to get notified when i post a new fic :)

You’re hot, too hot.

It’s disorienting, as you blink awake, slow to get your bearings. Arms are wrapped around you, caging you in, engulfing you in the warmth of the body pressed against your back. Hot air is fanning against your neck, accompanied by a scratching sensation on the sensitive skin.

Your surroundings are unfamiliar, faded wallpaper in an unappealing shade of green and light filtering in through the battered up blinds. It comes back to you in pieces, the motel you’re staying at, the small Colombian town where you’re hoping to get a hold of one of the Cali cartel men.

The obnoxious scent of Peña’s aftershave is flooding your nostrils, paired with the traces of tobacco that follow him everywhere he goes. It’s honestly embarrassing, how easily you recognize it.

It clicks into place now. The arms around you, the warmth. The scratch that you now realize is his mustache as he’s breathing against your neck.

You start wriggling around, causing the man behind you to stir, a confused groan coming out slightly muffled, his mouth still so close to your skin. He lets go of you after a second, allowing you to turn around and glare at him.

His face is already forming his signature annoyed scowl, an expression that you’re more than well acquainted with.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

He sounds different like this, voice still thick with sleep, a hint of the disorientation that you’ve shaken off by now.

“What am I doing? I woke up with your arms around me, Peña.”

He blinks, shifting to sit up and lean against the headboard. You mirror him, putting as much space between you as the rather small bed frame allows.

“Sorry,” he allows after a beat, running a hand through his hair, tousling the mess of black strands that has formed in his sleep. “That wasn’t… appropriate. I apologize.”

If you weren’t as annoyed right now, you’d probably think that he looks adorable like this. The you from a few months ago would most likely go wild at seeing Javier Peña right after waking up, after he held you in his arms no less.

The you from a few months ago hadn’t experienced what an asshole of a boss he could be yet, hadn’t been taken off investigations again and again, because Peña thought you weren’t ready. She also hadn’t heard about his terrible reputation with women, hadn’t been subjected to all the office gossip that surrounded him yet.

Now, after days of practically begging him to take you along on this trip because the whole investigation was based on information that you had gathered, you’re stuck in this motel room with him. Something about your booking of two single rooms accidentally having been processed as one double room, with no other rooms available because of course there weren’t.

Peña had offered to sleep on the ground, or in the car, but you had waved him off, thinking about how often he had complained how his back was getting worse the older he got on the drive here. You hadn’t expected to wake up to him all but wrapped around you.

Maybe a small, very small part of you is still going wild about it. A part that you can easily swallow down though. He’s objectively attractive, yes. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s an asshole.

“Just forget it,” you mumble, heat rising belatedly in your cheeks. Gathering your clothes for the day, you flee to the bathroom, eager to wash the whole decidedly weird situation off your body and out of your mind. You’re here because you have a job to do, not to get flustered around your boss.

When you reemerge, wet strands of your hair dripping down your neck, he’s already dressed, clasping his hands in a way that almost seems nervous. If you weren’t pretty convinced that Javier Peña isn’t physically able to get nervous.

“I– I’m really sorry,” he repeats, raising from the worn down arm chair he’s been sitting in. “I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. I’m not– I’m not exactly used to sharing a bed.”

A scoff leaves you at that. Sure, Agent Peña, who’s notorious for sleeping with his informants and with at least half of the female staff of the American embassy, isn’t used to sharing his bed.

“Don’t worry about it, Peña.”

You turn away before he can reply, collecting your notes on the investigation that you hope will come in helpful eventually. You don’t catch the remorseful look in his eyes, or the way they linger on you as you open the door, the early morning light illuminating your figure.

It’s another day filled with nothing but waiting and growing frustration, just like the one before. The sun is beating down on the car that you’re occupying, the heat suffocating even with the windows rolled down and the cool bottle of water that you’re pressing against your neck.

Minutes tick by, turning into hours that go by too quickly and seem to last forever at the same time. Peña is surprisingly quiet, not goading you in the way you had expected him to.

“Maybe the information was bad,” you mumble eventually, sinking deeper into the car seat. The leather is sticking uncomfortably to your skin and you can’t shake the growing feeling that you’ve insisted on coming out here for nothing.

He slowly turns his head in your direction, regarding you through the dark tint of his aviators.

“I looked at it. We wouldn’t be here if it was bad.”

You huff, your patience running short and shorter at the subtle indication of his superiority, his quiet arrogance, always so fucking sure of himself.

“You weren’t exactly thrilled about coming here, remember?”

He raises a brow, a hint of impatience on his own features.

“I wasn’t thrilled about you coming here.”

You roll your eyes, openly scowling at him now.

“It’s my intel.”

“Doesn’t make it less dangerous, does it?”

Biting your lip, you force your blood to not boil over. He’s still your boss, at the end of the day, someone you probably shouldn’t start cussing out, no matter how openly he underestimates you and how badly it annoys you. And you’re gonna have to share that wretched bed with him again tonight.

Javier watches your face, watches you swallow down your anger, watches your teeth digging into your plush bottom lip. He understands your frustration, understands that no part of this trip is turning out the way you expected it to.

You’re still new to the workfield, not yet experienced with the hours upon hours of waiting, more often than not without a satisfying result to show for it. If he’s being honest with himself, he isn’t mad about it this time. He’ll rather have you frustrated than in danger.

You want to prove yourself, you’ve made that abundantly clear. You work hard, determined to bring in results, hungry for praise. It’s not that he doesn’t see that, doesn’t think that you’re capable. But he’s seen enough, enough injuries, enough psychological trauma, enough deaths, to know that he wants you far away from that side of your work.

Even if that means you’re angry at him more often than not, a glint of bitterness in your eyes every time he refuses to send you out yet again.

After another few hours, accompanied by the increasing rumbling in both your stomachs, he finally calls it quits for the day.

“We can drive back to Bogotá tomorrow,” he quietly offers on the way back to the motel, after picking up food for the both of you and refusing to let you pay for your share. “Gather more information, see why we didn’t find anything.”

You huff in return, irritated about the whole situation. The one chance you had to convince him to take you seriously, and this is what you get. “Fine,” you agree, gritting your teeth. Maybe your intel was bad. Maybe you just aren’t that good at your job.

“Keep to your side of the bed tonight,” you grumble later, after the bored woman at the reception told you that there still aren't any other rooms available.

“Of course,” he sighs, sliding under the covers with the biggest possible distance from you.

You nod, closing your eyes and willing for sleep to take you, but it’s a losing game. You toss and turn, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time, unable to find a comfortable position and to get the voices in your head to shut up.

When you roll over yet again, his voice rings through the dark, somewhat agitatedly asking what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” comes your frustrated reply, pressing your face deeper into the cushion, your eyes squeezed shut. After a few more breaths and zero sign of your brain slowing down, you turn towards him, only able to make out his silhouette in the dark. Your judgment is probably hazy with how tired you are, but the words are out of your mouth before you can think them over.

“Can I ask you a question, Agent Peña?”

“Javier is fine.”

Your heart gives a tiny flutter, despite your conflicted feelings about him, despite the question that you’re about to ask.

“Why do you not like me?”

It’s inappropriate, especially right now, lying in the dark and sharing a fucking bed with him. But you think that if you don’t ask now, you probably never will, and you need to know.

“Why would you think that I don’t like you?”

You huff, squinting at him. “It’s pretty obvious. You don’t trust my work, you never send me to go out, dismiss my intel most of the time–”

It’s silent for a long time, safe for his quiet breaths.

“That’s not–” He sighs deeply, turning his head towards you as well. “That’s not true. You’re making it about yourself when you shouldn’t. I treat you exactly like your colleagues, you’re the one taking it personal.”

It’s curt, dismissive. Laced with carefully feigned indifference, bordering on coldness. Too carefully. You didn’t think he’d lie to you if you asked him this directly, but here you are.

Blinking back angry tears, you roll onto your back again, unseeingly staring at the ceiling. You don’t understand why it hits you like this. You’ve had shitty bosses before, far worse than Peña. You’ve just never wanted them to like you the way you want him to.

“Good night, Agent Peña.” You turn onto your other side, your back towards him.

“Good night,” comes his solemn reply.

You don’t wake up with his arms around you again, thankfully, but he hasn’t exactly kept to his side of the bed either. One hand is curled over your shoulder, like he had to reach out and hold onto you in his sleep.

You’re the one taking it personal.

Clearly he hasn’t been reaching for you specifically. It’s probably just second nature for him, something that usually goes well with the women sharing his bed.

You’re able to shake his hold off without waking him up, something that you’re grateful for.

When he wakes and repeats how he thinks you should abandon the investigation, you don’t argue. It’s a quiet affair, packing up and getting ready to leave.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, he turns to you, his brow furrowed into that moody expression you’ve gotten used to. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, eyeing you warily. “We’re not far from the ocean right now. Have you been to the beach since you came to Colombia?”

You raise an eyebrow in mild suspicion, curious where he’s going with this.

“I haven’t been out of Bogotá since I landed there. But–”

His eyes grow softer, his hand twitching like he almost reached out towards you.

“No buts. At least then it won’t have been a total waste of time to come here, right?”

The dig towards you, towards the reason you drove all the way out here for nothing isn’t lost on you. You don’t have it in you to argue against it, so you just nod, staring straight ahead.

Javier realizes how badly you misunderstood his words as soon as they’re out of his mouth and he sees your face. He doesn’t know how he consistently manages to fuck up his interactions with you like this. It’s not him, the blundering, the words constantly coming out all wrong, but you make him nervous in a way that he hasn’t experienced in years.

He starts driving, hopeful to somehow still be able to turn this trip around. There’s a whole day on the road ahead of them, and he’d much rather spend those hours without feeling like he’s made you hate him.

You do soften at the sight of the ocean, the sound of waves rolling against the shore having a soothing effect almost instantly. It’s beautiful, the water a brilliant blue, the sun glittering on the surface. You can’t be mad right now, not even at Javier, who’s keeping his distance, letting you wander along the shore by yourself.

You focus on taking in the scenery, hoping to somehow take it with you to when you’re back in your bleak, government issued apartment, staring at the vastness of gray buildings that is of Bogotá.

When you turn back to him, his eyes are already on you, less tense, more open than you’re used to. You don’t know how long they’ve been lingering on you, how little attention he had been paying to the nature surrounding you. How good it had felt, to see you like this, without the usual distaste in your face that you have come to regard him with most of the time. The silhouette of you against the bright sky, your skin glowing under the beaming sun.

“Thank you,” you say, actually smiling at him. A spark of warmth grows in his chest. “This was a good idea, I– I enjoyed it.”

“I’m glad.” He eagerly returns the smile, allows himself to reach out and graze one finger against the soft skin of your hand. Finding himself unable to stop touching you, now that he’s had a taste of it.

Confusion crosses your face before you quickly avert your eyes, but you don’t pull away. It gives him a sliver of hope, that maybe you’re starting to understand what he doesn’t know how to tell you.

After a mostly quiet drive back, both of you too exhausted to talk much, Javier drops you off at your apartment, his hand once again hovering over yours before you get out.

“Good night,” he breathes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he continues on. “You– you’re doing good work. Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”

You manage a nod, murmuring thank you, Javier before opening the car door and stepping out onto your street, illuminated by the glow of yellow lights. You only realize that you used his first name by the time that your apartment door falls shut behind you. It doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would.

Breathing in the familiar scent of your own place, a deep relief washes over you, reveling in the knowledge that you’re gonna sleep in your own bed tonight, alone. You turn on your shower, eager to let the warm water soothe your muscles, stiff from spending the entire day in a car.

When you exit the bathroom, wrapped into a towel and with a cloud of steam accompanying you, your answering machine is blinking. You press the button to let the message play, moving through your apartment to put on your comfiest sleepwear and ready to fall straight into bed.

You stop in your tracks when Javier’s voice rings through the room, tripping over the words in a way that’s difficult to associate with the calm, self-assured man that you know.

“Hey, it’s Javier. You– you’re probably showering, or already asleep. I just– I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings these past days, or– or any day, really. I wanted you to know that. You’re good at what you do, you really are, but– I worry about you, I guess. And I know that I shouldn’t, that I shouldn’t treat you differently. It’s– it’s not because I don’t like you. I like you too much, if anything, and– and now I know what it’s like to sleep next to you, and– anyway, I’m– shit, I’m making a fool of myself. Just– just call me back. Please.”

Your hand finds your phone as soon as the recording ends.

thank you for reading! as always, reblogs, comments and asks are love and absolutely make my day <3

#SummerLovin24 #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #janas fics

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runningfrom2am · 10 months

Note

Hi, how’s your day been going? Hoping it was amazing. I just saw your post about needing inspo for Coriolanus fics! I’m not sure if you are taking requests but if you are Could you maybe do a touch-starved Coryo fic? Something fluffy/angsty where Coryo can finally fulfill those needs and be himself and vulnerable with the reader. Thanks!

as long as you need me - c.s

pairing: coryo x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, he just needs you and you just want to help.

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav / coriolanus snow masterlist

a/n: ahhh thank you for sending this in! it was so fun to write like stopppp i just want to give him a hug omg. also thought i'd post this to hold y'all off until i post the next part of LTPF. anyway, enjoy!

You had a very stable grasp of the limits of your relationship. What was appropriate, and what was not. You were quite shy, and Coryo always carried himself with a high level of decorum. You would eat together at lunch, and he would walk you home most days. The weekends, your study dates, were always your favourite. He was significantly more relaxed, but you could still tell he was just a little tightly wound. By now, you've just learned that's who he is. Not overly affectionate, but he cares for you and you care for him.

"I can't stay late today, I'm sorry." You said, genuinely feeling bad for having to turn down the request. In your junior year, you started tutoring for younger grades at the academy and it is something you thoroughly enjoyed.

"I have a test tomorrow! Why can't you stay? Just for a few minutes- I just have a couple of questions." The first year, Aelia whined.

"My boyfriend is supposed to walk me home and he has a tight schedule, but I'll tell you what, I can meet you in the library in the morning before class. That way it will still be fresh in your mind, yeah?" You grinned, and she seemed satisfied as you agreed on a time, not knowing that a few of the girls in your grade were listening in.

"Y/N," Clemensia decided to approach you as Aelia walked off, Arachne and Livia following close behind. "Did I catch you telling someone that you have a boyfriend? Did I hear that right?"

"Oh, well, yes." You answered sheepishly, gathering your things to put in your bag before your next class.

"Really?" Livia chimed in, and you just nodded. "Okay, well, spill. Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Um..." You looked around, deciding what to say. You weren't necessarily keeping it a secret, but you just hadn't felt the need to tell anyone you went to school with. "It's Coriolanus. Snow." You cleared your throat, unsure why you even added his last name. It's not like the name Coriolanus was abundantly common.

"Shut up." Clemensia laughed slightly, eyes widening at you. "You're joking, right?"

"No... We've been together for almost seven months now."

"I just... wow. We had no idea. Seven months! I feel like I've never seen the two of you get closer than two feet apart." You weren't sure whether to interpret this response as teasing or genuine shock- so you just gave them an awkward smile and a small nod before walking away.

At the time, you had never considered how your lack of affection in public could be confusing to people- not that it mattered. Rumors had spread quickly after that, which was to be expected when Livia and Arachne were involved. However, PDA just wasn't your thing. General displays of affection weren't really your thing, either. Both of you always had a lot going on, and having been together for almost a year by now, you knew that you loved him and he loved you. You didn't have to prove it to each other or to anyone, there was no pressure for anything to change. On your end, anyway.

Coryo, on the other hand, was feeling something shift. Leading up to the reaping and more importantly, to the prize. You both were in the running, being in the top twenty-four of your class, and you had no doubt that Coryo was a shoo-in, but you didn't know how extremely anxious it was making him. The now constant thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest and his shaky hands were always less around you, and he can only dream of how much better it would be if he could just hold you.

These days, he'd wake up expecting you in his arms due to a particularly calming dream only to be disappointed. He respected you a great amount and wouldn't want to push your boundaries, however unspoken. Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could go about his day-to-day without testing his theory that holding you could cure his fears, or at least let him forget about them for only a moment. He would happily take just a second of peace.

Coriolanus usually greeted you outside of your unshared classes, seeing that you tended to stay a few minutes late to ask questions or polish off your notes. He couldn't wait to see you, he needed to.

"Coryo." You smile, walking out of your lecture hall to see him waiting.

"Hi, Love. How was class?" Your boyfriend greets you, joining you on your walk towards the exit of the school.

"It was good. Though, I find the topic of the rebellion kind of redundant at this point." You say, books tucked against your chest under folded arms. "Is it not too soon to discuss it in a history class? I mean, I literally remember what it was like to live in a bomb shelter."

Your joke seemingly lands on deaf ears as he just hums, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you out of the building. This wasn't totally unusual, but with the way he was pushing you, albeit gently, was telling you that something was wrong.

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, looking up at the boy next to you as you reach the bottom of the academy's front steps.

"Fine." Coryo nods, attempting a reassuring smile that he isn't aware falls short.

"Okay, well... If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, you know. Always."

"I know. Thank you, Love." He drops his hand from your back to hold your free one, turning in the direction of your apartment.

The next afternoon, you're in the same class, one of the rare ones you don't share with Coryo, taking down notes from the lecture when there's a knock on the door, followed by it creaking open. You pay no mind, taking the opportunity to catch up on everything written on the board.

"May I borrow Y/N, please?" Your boyfriend's voice is scratchy and shakey in a way unfamiliar sounding to you, making your head snap up. You'd never seen him cry before. "Only for a moment."

Your teacher dismisses you, likely on account of your and Coriolanus's mutually spotless records and his red-rimmed eyes. Clearly, you were needed urgently. You leave your bag and your books, ignoring the whistles and heckling of some of your classmates as you rush to the door.

Coryo had reached his breaking point. He was writing his third paper of the week, unable to focus on that and get his mind off of how unlikely it was he would get the prize if the Dean had any say. Sitting in the library, the world had started turning around him. People were talking, laughing, even, and he couldn't take it anymore. The floodgates opened and he had rushed out of the room. He couldn't go home, his attendance would be affected and he'd be throwing away the prize most definitely. He had nowhere to go, except for to you.

You close the door behind yourself, thankful that the hallway is completely deserted during class time. "Hey, what's going on?" You ask, and before you can get a good look at him he's pulling you into a crushing hug, shaking around you.

You're shocked for a moment, pulling yourself out of your head to hug him back. Whatever is bothering him must be bad. He'd hugged you before, but never like this. "Hey, it's okay..." You whisper, rubbing his back. "Let's go outside for a second, yeah? Get some air?" You offer, gently prying yourself from his grasp to look at him.

Coryo can't speak, overtaken completely by the tears flowing down his cheeks and the anxiety flooding every inch of his body. He feels like he could be sick, all he knew that he needed was you. He just nods, trying to regain his composure, if only for the couple of minutes it takes to get outside.

"Okay. Let's go." You smile, trying not to show how worried you are as you wrap an arm around his back, still holding him close to you as if he has a broken ankle and you have to carry him. So far, his theory was proving to be correct. Just having you at his side was calming to him, and mentally he's cursing himself for not voicing his fears to you before they broke him.

As soon as the door of the rarely used back exit to the school is closed, he's essentially collapsing onto the ground, tucking his knees up to his chest and crying into his hands. You're quick to join him, draping an arm over his back and trying to grab one of his hands to hold. Your brow is knit with worry, rubbing his shoulder as he allows you to take one of his shaking hands. "Coryo..." You say softly, trying to get him to look at you but he won't. "What's happening? Talk to me, you can trust me. I just want to help."

He sniffles, looking up at you. "What is it?" You ask again, hoping to prompt any kind of information out of him. When he doesn't answer, you curve your approach to yes or no questions, hopefully, to make it easier on him. "Is someone hurt? Is it Grandma'am? Did something happen?"

He shakes his head slightly with every question, once again avoiding your eyes as he looks down at the ground, occasionally trying to cough out the knot in his throat.

"...Do you want to talk? Or do you just need a hug?" You realize, leaning in so he would look at you again.

He pulls you closer, wrapping both his arms around you awkwardly due to the way you are both sitting. "Just need you here." He mumbles, hardly audible as he buries his face in your shoulder and neck.

Relieved to hear his voice again, you place a hand on his hair and on his back, holding him tight. "I'm here, Coryo. As long as you need me."

taglist: @keziahcore, @soulessjourney, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @splxtscreen, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @rororo06, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @slytherinholland, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @darlingisntit, @roosterschanelslut, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world,

#tbosas #tbosas fic #thg series #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow #coryo x reader #snow lands on top #the hunger games #tom blyth

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hoshigray · 1 year

Text

random thought, but like Gojo getting a little handsy while the two of you are out together with your friends.

a/n: yeahhhhh I have no excuse, this literally just popped up in my head two days ago, just read lol

cw: Gojo x fem! reader - nothing too sexual, but very suggestive, so minors stay away!! - fingering (f! receiving) - sexual acts in a public area; in a café - other people present but they don't know what's going on - pet names (angel, baby, princess) - Gojo putting you through hell but you get your getback :3 - you may [or may not] feel second-hand embarrassment, we shall see.

wc: 1k

"...Then I turned to him and said, 'I know you don't think I'm going to have sex with you after you've done thrown up on my dress.'"

"Nooo, after the dress was how much—"

"Right!! So I nicely shoved him off me and called an Uber to..."

It was a pleasant sunny hour to spend with your friends at a local café not too far away, mingling and catching up with them from the last meetup. It was always a splendid time having moments like this with them.

But what made this time a lot more striking was you bringing your boyfriend over! After many weeks of your friends wanting to meet the guy — not to mention him bugging you about also wanting to see your close buds — you promised to have him tag along for the next in-person meetup. And, low and behold, your partner, Satoru Gojo, wasted no time having your mates attracted to his sociable charisma.

Not that you'd think he'd be out of place — if anything, you knew he'd be able to swoon into their sweet graces. With his dashing smile, alluring sky-blue eyes, and engaging conversations, it was only a matter of seconds before the white-haired man could take your spot and engage with your pals. Shit, it's practically happening right now as you sip on your iced tea while he's listening to one of them reminiscing about a terrible night they had last night.

Nevertheless, you're not complaining. A boyfriend who gets along with your friends is better than not, right? That's why you watch and listen to your friend's story with a smile, happy to know that combining two parts of your world results in new companionships.

That is, until, you feel someone's hand land on your thigh. At first, you paid no mind to the action since it's nothing you're not familiar with when it comes to Gojo. But then that exact hand ventures further down and slowly sneaks past your skirt. Your brows furrow with your inner thoughts. I know this man is not trying to start something right now...And when you feel his slender fingers brush your inner thigh, you get your answer.

Your lips release the straw to your iced beverage, and you slowly lean toward your boyfriend. "Gojo," your tone hushed only for him to hear as your companions seemed preoccupied with a talk of their own.

"Hmm?" The tall other leans a bit for his ears to properly hear your whispers, his face still facing front to your friends.

"Can I ask why your hand is up my skirt in public?" You knew by the playful snicker rumbling his chest that his answer would be far from appropriate for the situation.

"Whaaat~, can't touch the love of my life?" He whispers back to you.

"Can't if we're out in the open at a fricken' café," you hiss with a glare from your peripheral. "Especially with others within—Hmmm." Before you could finish that remark, two fingers brushed on your panties, rubbing gently between your clothed folds. He snickers — both at your stifled response and as a faux reaction to a part of your friend's storytelling.

"Sorry, but I can't help myself when I wanna touch my princess." You notice him peeking at you from behind his dark shades. His fingers form a curling motion, causing your body to slightly jerk and prompt your legs to a further spread. He brings his chin down to your ears, his chuckles easier to interpret their mischievous connotation. "Plus, when did I last see you wear that skirt? Had my eyes on it since you looked at the mirror before we left."

God, I hate his ass so fucking much. "Who said I was wearing it for you?" You retort, wanting nothing but to wipe that dumb smirk off his handsome face. "I wore it because of—Ohhh!!" To your surprise, he swiftly puts his digits inside your panties; the sudden warm contact on the folds of your chasm prompts a sneaky cry.

...A cry so sudden that, of course, your friends stop talking to look in your direction with perplexed expressions. Of course, they would look. Oh, for fuck's sake...

"Uhhh, you okay, Y/n?" One friend blinks while surveying your body language. The other chimes in. "Yeah, you don't look so good; ice tea went the wrong way?"

Quick with your feet, you cough up your answer. "Ahem—Y-Yeah, I'm fine, guys. I was just thinking, ya know," your hand snakes down to Gojo's to pinch the skin, the tall other jolting his hand away from you. And you know he looks to you with pain, yet serves him right. "Since you two are getting along with Gojo, why don't we take him to the mall and show him our favorite spots? He has a good eye on clothes, plus I'm sure he'd like to try the crepe stand in the food court."

The look on your buddies' faces expressed nothing but delight at the idea you pulled out your ass. "That's a great plan, I'm down!" One says while the other nods frantically. "You up for that, Gojo?"

Rubbing his pinched skin, Gojo sends the two a smile. "Sure! I'd love to spend more time with my baby and their friends." He then leans to kiss you, but with a kick to the shin, you turned his face from a lovestruck fool to that of a hurt puppy. Your friends watch as the snow-haired man quivers and puts his forehead on your shoulder for support.

"Hmm? What happened?"

"Don't mind him; he was rocking his chair and probably hit himself with one of the legs." You speak for him as you watch your boyfriend tremble in pain with a smirk on your lips, the two others giggling at your seemingly clumsy man. It's your turn now to whisper to his ear. "That's for that little stunt of yours."

Gojo's laughter seethes through gritted teeth. "Are you really my angel? You're such a meanie...Don't think I won't do it again, princess."

2K notes · View notes

bindeds · 7 months

Text

[ DON’T BE SORRY. ] : 5.1k words. 𖤐 LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM READER. — you’re dating the big boss of hell himself, but it’s a sticky situation when you’re also good friends with a tech-savvy overlord who believes the cause of your boyfriend’s daughter is absolute bullshit.

#tags. slight hurt/comfort, slight jealousy, nsfw (+18), fluff, smut, vox being a hell of a friend, lucifer being vulnerable as hell,

a/n. fuuuuck i forgot to post this under the request but this was the request that i wrote this for <33 didn''t even remember they wanted fluff which is lucky bc i suck at fluff so i don't write it too often but i ended up writing in fluff anyway bc it felt appropriate for the fic SO

masterlist. request something :>

“Sir, someone is here to see you.”

Vox growled. His office would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the multitude of tv screens that stared right back at him, boring holes into his screen. They buzzed and whined with a cyan glare bright enough to light the entire pentagram. Claw marks left the edges of his head unpolished, his bowtie askew as his teeth grinded so hard he wanted to encounter a system error.

“Tell Val I am not in the mood for sorting out whatever’s got his panties in a twist this time—”

“Someone else, sir.”

“Well don’t just stand there you useless fuck! Who the fuck is it?” Static shocks ruptured from the wires on his head as he jumped out of his chair fuming.

The employee pulled one of the handles of Vox’s grand doors. In pranced a sunlit woman with a grin that stained her cheeks red. On her arms were shopping bags lined all the way down their forearms, marking their weight on her flesh.

You pulled your rose-tinted sunglasses away from your face as you cocked a brow.

“What, are you not happy to see me Vicky?”

“When are you gonna stop calling me that, you absolute slut!” Vox beamed, and as if a new line of code had entered his program, he shedded his jacket off to peel your shopping bags off you as he set them on his couch.

“What brings you back here after all this time, whore? And whose money are you wearing because I know there’s no goddamn way that’s all yours,” Vox laughed through his clearly lighthearted remarks.

“Whatever. Whore is right because you’ll never guess who I’m fucking.”

On the edge of the pride ring resided halls and halls of vintage red wallpaper and intricate gold decor. Knocking frantically at her father’s door just to ask where his partner had gone was never how Charlie would have imagined her morning to go, ever, but here she was, knees wobbling with her hands clasped together as she waited no longer than a second before she had her fist in the air again to—

“Charlie?”

“Dad!”

When Charlie had asked of your whereabouts, Lucifer simply frowned, though a hint of terror struck his shrunken pupils.

“Uh—I thought she was with you? Don’t you guys have that trust building exercise thing on today—”

“Yes! Yes that is precisely why I am panicking—she’s not in her room and she never misses our gatherings! Dad, how do you not know where she is?” Charlie screeched anxiously.

“Relax, Charlie I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for—”

“For her not to tell her own boyfriend where she’s going?” Charlie seethed with dirt kicked into her tone.

“Let me call her, okay?” Lucifer pulled his phone out and speed dialed you.

Something in his room buzzed intermittently.

Charlie peered into her father’s room, only to find another phone rattling on the further bedside table.

Lucifer looked over his shoulder to the same view. His shoulders dropped.

“Ohhh no.”

“Face it baby, I got bigger bucks than daddy could ever conjure up.”

“Vox!” You punched him in the shoulder, unable to hold back laughs that pulled at the bottom of your stomach.

“What? Oh my god, you actually call him that in bed don’t you, you bitch? Holy shit, you really are a slut!” Vox cracked up after you both had left his building. “Where to?”

“A few blocks away I got something to show you in the ma …”

Your lips fell numb when your gaze fell on a certain man with a white overcoat tailing in the wind as he approached your direction with a storm in his steps. He had been looking at his sides—your hand moved to shove Vox even before your body could follow.

“Ow, what—”

“Go.”

“Babe, what’s—”

“Vox go GO! Back in now!” You spun him on his heel and elbowed him back into the glass doors of his building lobby.

“Honey?”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—”

He called your name, loud and clear as day that even the ruby skies of hell echoed it.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Vox deadpanned.

“Hey!”

Both yours and Vox’s heads turned to the sound, Lucifer just a few strides away from possibly opening a portal down a ring.

“You!” Lucifer barked, gaze locked with Vox’s. “The fuck are you doing calling my girlfriend ‘babe’?”

“Oh, that’s not—”

“Lie to me and I swear to fucking god I’ll make sure they’ll be prying you for parts.”

“Luci.”

“What?” His head snapped in your direction.

A silent gasp escaped you.

His shoes hadn’t nearly been dragged through as much gravel as his voice had been. It was something he’d dug up from the depths of his chest like it was nothing—and it brimmed with the filth of his own disdain.

Lucifer blinked hard as he shook his head. “Honey, I didn’t—”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know that but—”

“It’s an expression.”

Lucifer blinked a few times again, and with each blink he lost more and more tension in his brows, his shoulders—even his lips parted, perhaps to say something, perhaps not.

You and Vox were frozen halfway through the door so Lucifer kicked him in and shut the door quickly to leave you and himself out on the street.

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” Lucifer asked, and it was like he placed a pillow to your head with the way his tone softened. His thumb had somehow ended up stroking soft circles on the back of your palm as he held your hand.

Vox stayed inside but his prying eyes stared through the glass nonetheless. He crossed his arms.

“Don’t look at him, darling,” Lucifer consoled with a lowered voice. He delicately took your chin and pivoted it back to him. “Look at me.”

“Look, can we talk about this back at the hotel?” You asked, but with the tone you used, you were teetering on the edge of pleading. “I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey,” Lucifer cooed, tucking away any small pieces of hair that hung over your face. “Of course we can.”

All you could do was give Vox a weary glance before you ducked down into Lucifer’s car and disappeared in the distance.

The ride back had not been short of thick silences that hung in the air. Everytime you looked to him for some sort of emotion, there was nothing for you to read; his complexion was a still pond resting under the moon’s grace. Not even anger bubbled up the surface—and this is solely based on your assumption of what he must have been feeling, because he was a blank page. It’s only reasonable.

Lucifer stopped at the newly built hazbin parking lot but didn’t pull out the key.

He looked at you expectantly, turning even his upper body to face you.

You bit your lip.

“You don’t wanna go inside first?” A squeak of a voice was all you managed.

“I don’t want Charlie to see us upset,” Lucifer reasoned solemnly as he frowned at the floor before he returned his attentive gaze to you. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out in here.”

“I’m … ashamed, okay,” you exhaled, folding your arms over your chest as you slouched forward. “I’m in hell for a reason. I know it looks bad but I’ve known Vox since he was alive. And I still believe in Charlie’s cause! I’m doing better … you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do, sweetie,” Lucifer blurted immediately, holding your arms like he was the glue to keep you from crumbling apart. “But why did you … did you think I wasn’t going to understand if you had told me?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “Even I wouldn’t have understood if I were in your shoes. I mean, I act like a completely different person around him. And I know what Vox has done, trying to send in Sir Pentious as a spy. It’s horrible. But he wasn’t always like that. Or, maybe he was but—never with me.”

“Honey, I trust you more than just about anyone in this hell. And fuck, that’s difficult in this side of the world, right? I mean—I just … you had me thinking the worst. Well, maybe not the worst but—”

“You thought I was cheating on you, didn’t you?”

“No, never,” Lucifer denied immediately as his eyes widened but his brows furrowed. “I knew it was some kind of mistake. I know you’d never do that to me. But you know … catching up with an overlord like it’s a regular tuesday still raises a few questions if—”

“I know that. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’m sorry,” you repeated rigidly, curling into yourself so much that your head landed on his shoulder as he still held your arms.

Lucifer pulled back to hold your face by the cheeks, and you didn’t struggle against him as he pressed his forehead on yours, his hat tilting up to accomodate you.

“How about a kiss and we’ll call it even?” He smiled, and you felt his warmth spread to your cheeks.

You grinned back. “Okay.”

You tilted your chin up and gave him a kiss, and both of you had sustained it longer than either of you had expected. Your hand cupped his own over your cheek.

Your lips finally parted, but not much before you both reconnected again, then again, and the third time your mouth was a little more open—and Lucifer’s tongue slithered inside.

Your tongue met his, and they rolled over each other every time you kissed him. A few more kisses, and suddenly you were biting his lip lightly. He chuckled.

“I can see you’re eager to make it up to me, princess,” he said in that voice he knew drove you up the wall.

“I am,” you hummed, a little more innocently than you had intended.

“Well, what are you gonna do?” He asked, genuine curiosity brewing in a higher tone.

You slipped away from his flowerbud grasp and pulled the lever of your seat. The backrest declined all the way backwards, and you laid down comfortably while your thumb slid under your dress and hooked around something that was already mildly damp.

“I’m gonna sit back …”

You chuckled as Lucifer’s eyes followed your every movement like a moth to a lamp; he followed the way your underwear slid down your knees before you folded your legs up to your chest to fully rid yourself from the garment. You tossed your underwear in his face before he could get a good view of what he’s getting himself into.

He shook his head in a jolt, crumpling your panties and stuffing them into his pocket anxiously. But by then you were modest again, with your dress covering your thighs but still riding up dangerously high.

“And let you decide the rest,” you finished in a thin breath.

“Goodness, okay, woo! Okay—” Lucifer sputtered and fanned his overcoat as he averted his gaze. It didn’t last long when his gaze gravitated towards your core that had been concealed but outlined your dress.

You bit your lip. “Well?”

Lucifer’s shoulder emerged from his coat as he shrugged one side of it off, and your gaze magnetized to the view as it slipped down him like a snake traversing down a tree.

He planted his knee on the closer edge of your seat and it didn’t take long for him to shift your legs closer together, allowing space for his knees on either side of your thighs. Though, steadying himself naturally had his chest protruding as he held onto the car ceiling for support. His muscles peeked through the folds of his dress shirt, and the same can be said with his chest under his waistcoat. But that—that was no complaint.

He finally fell to you with only his forearms to keep him up. His eyelids sank, his gaze indecisive between your eyes and your dry lips.

He settled on neither when he ducked below your jaw and planted kisses along it before he strayed downwards.

The spaghetti string of your dress slid down your shoulder the more your squirmed at Lucifer’s nibbles. You knew the moment he caught sight of this because he hesitated for a tenth of a second.

He grinned. He took it between his fingers delicately and slid it down further.

“Whoops,” he grinned.

Glossy silicon mocked him as it peeked out from what had been peeled off you.

“Luci, careful with that, I’ll need to put it back on later—”

Lucifer tore it off you anyway, tossing it to the back with his overcoat. “I’ll give you my coat when we go in, you’ll be fine.”

“Luci!” You laughed as he did the same with the other, your nipples stiffened from the cold air of the car.

Lucifer sat on your pelvis, his hands traveling under your boobs to cradle them.

You both have had sex multiple times together, and yet every time he removes undergarments off you, he enters a dazed trance like it was something new. Something to bask in the wonders of.

He massaged your breasts gently, and it didn’t take long before he ducked down and had his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, one hand twisting and playing with the other.

A noise bubbled in your throat but you held your breath and bit your lip. Watching Lucifer hadn’t been any help; he cocked a brow at you, and a cheeky grin still made its way to the red circles on his cheeks as he quicked his tongue’s flicks against you. You gritted your teeth, a squeak making it past your lips.

His hand abandoned the other nipple, but before you could whine in protest a new sensation rose in your lower stomach as Lucifer shifted his entire body further down.

His fingers had already been deep beneath your folds, your clit sitting pretty between as he pinched it and rubbed it in his grasp.

“Luci … fuck …”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled. Hell, you hated just how raspy his voice gets when he’s worked up. That by itself had been a leg-opener all on its own. “That’s it. Let me hear you sing.”

Your legs flinched at the jolt of pleasure his fingers brought, and Lucifer took this opportunity to lift the hem of your dress for easier access—and perhaps, a pretty view.

Every so often, he’d bring the threat of pushing his middle finger past your walls, but through the haze of pleasure, it was impossible to read his intentions when he easily could have been using your juices to lubricate his ministrations on your clit.

It had been like the wave of a wand, the way his free hand undid his tie. It dangled loose below his collar that he used to straighten out so diligently; something once so clean soon turned into a crumpled mess in your name.

His wrist pivoted down to the buttons on his waistcoat. The faintest flick of his thumb and suddenly his waistcoat hung dead on his torso before he rubbed faster on your clit, making your squeal.

Cold air brushed past your arousal at the sudden absence of him, and your walls throbbed against each other in response; they bruised and ached and when Lucifer turned down the brightness of the car light, it was all you could feel besides the leather your nails were sinking into.

“Luci, please …”

“Please what, honey?”

“It hurts,” you whined. You didn’t mean to, and in fact a burning sense of shame rose up to your neck and cheeks as sweat tore through the pores on your forehead but all you could do was grab his hand.

“I’m coming, daddy’s coming.”

A slow zipping sound ensued and just as quickly, the head of his erection pressed into your folds and your dripping walls pushed back from the pressure.

You moaned and grabbed Lucifer’s shoulders out of raw instinct, which brought him closer to you.

“You want it all, princess?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” your mouth sagged numb from having to carry your writhing heart in your throat. The vulnerability of his skin on yours, the way his head was just so warm compared to the cold air earlier—your pussy throbbed once more.

“Are you sure?”

“Please please please Luci I can’t—oh! Fuck!”

He pushed his length into you, your neck arching back as you grabbed a fistful of his shirt from where your hands hung around his neck.

Your throat clogged with the embarrassing sounds you knew you would have let out if you had no restraint left. You closed your eyes, knowing well that they were halfway to the back of your head.

Your stomach seemed to make way for his size in you, tossing and spreading the ache to your limbs as your entire body steeled to accommodate him and the space he filled in you.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You nodded, and a hole punctured through your throat as you sighed shakily. “Yes, god—”

“Don’t say his name,” Lucifer breathed, his hand soft on your neck as he looked at your lips then back up at you. “If you have to say someone’s name, let it be mine.”

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing your brain conjured, and the only thing you could utter when all else in there had been undone.

Lucifer kissed your jaw. “Don’t be sorry baby.”

He took your lips in his, his forked tongue brushing past your teeth once more. “Don’t be sorry.”

It was barely considered movement when he pulled out less than half his entire length and pushed in gently, as if you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to drop. You bit your lip and hummed at how smooth he slid into you, how your juices coated him beyond what was needed.

He pulled out quickly but reentered languidly, like a wave finding its way to shore your core clenched at the nerves that tingled in you, the bruises almost sated in what it yearned for as he thrusted again, and your heart spewed.

“Fuck, if you make a sound like that again I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself,” Lucifer panted. “You’re so pretty, it makes me tremble.”

You reached up to give him another kiss, tilting your head along with the circles spinning in it. “Do whatever you want to me. You deserve that much.”

“Yeah? Well, I want to treat you like fucking royalty. Savor every inch if you,” Lucifer hissed through his pleasure. A choked moan left you, causing Lucifer to smile. “Yeah, see? Just like that princess. Fuck, taking me so well …”

With how soft his thrusts were, pressure subsided into more liquid pleasure that sloshed over your nerves. They lit up like christmas lights in your brain as you both moved in tandem to Lucifer’s pace.

A fire had started at your nape from the body heat that had nowhere to go, sweat dripping from your hairline and paving wavy lines of hair that caused your forehead to glisten. Your collarbones warmed up in a different way, Lucifer’s hot breath filling the space between the both of you.

His thrusts grew anxious over time, but his hips never once hit your ass which might have scalded your stomach further; the fact that this man possessed an iron grip over his control in his strokes, he had been careful not to taint you—he only took from places he knew both of you would be enraptured in—and absolutely nothing less.

“Honey, I can’t—” he hissed through gritted teeth as his fingers curled in your hair. His eyes wandered down to how your breasts bobbed to his strokes. He moaned your name, and if the car hadn’t been shaking from Lucifer’s rutting, it shook from the way he proclaimed your name and dropped his head like he was bowing to a god. “Holding me so tight—you worried I’m gonna let go, sweetie?”

“No—ngh! You just feel so good I c-can’t!” You yelped in time with each thrust that followed. “Luci, I—fuck!”

His head perked up, just like the bundle of nerves in that oh-so familiar spot. An old friend.

Lucifer gave a determined grin, sweat trickling down his cheek as he paused to wipe it away.

“Well, hello,” he greeted in a low sultry voice.

He resumed fucking you, but this time he had you screaming his name as his length rubbed up against that spot your body purred to. You shivered and your walls clenched, causing Lucifer to falter.

“F-Fuck, that’s it, good girl,” he grunted in between controlled thrusts that had your gut squeezing. He never once missed.

When your walls fluttered, Lucifer chuffed through his teeth and through the fog of your satisfaction, you indulged in the smell of cotton candy sweat.

“You’re close, princess, so close, I can feel it.”

You gritted your teeth with whatever strength you had left, even your hands had begun to slip from Lucifer’s shoulders.

“You?” Was all you could manage.

“Me? Baby, seeing you like this has me fucked out,” Lucifer huffed. “Shit!”

You squeezed his shoulders before he could pull out.

“In me, Luci!”

He froze, shaking his head to wave away his own daze to focus on you, the things your … request entailed.

“Darling, I don’t have a condom on,” he whispered as the inner corners of his brow quivered.

“You’d make beautiful fucking babies, Luci—I wanna carry them.” Your voice had been obliterated from the sounds Lucifer had fucked out of you. Wispy breaths was what it had become—but the red in your cheeks and your weakened yet felicious state made Lucifer smile.

“You’re not thinking straight,” he said your name and it was nearly enough to get you back down from the clouds. “C’mon, honey …”

“Luci …” you whined. “You’re so goddamn hot when you’re being responsible …”

“Yeah?” He laughed softly, cradling your cheek in his hand.

“Yeah …”

“Let’s finish you up, okay?” He reached up to kiss your forehead but you squeaked from the fact that his length slid deep into you in the process. “Ah, sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” you quoted him from last time, and his surprise melted into a warm smile instead. “Please fuck me.”

“As you wish.”

You screamed brokenly as he continued his ruthless pace from before, and he remembered the exact angle to hit. Your nerves were about ready to jump out from your body as you skyrocketed back into the clouds, your orgasm coming sooner than you could warn him.

“Cumming!” He gritted through his teeth as his horns shot up from his head and you both came together with Lucifer’s cum hitting your dress instead.

Your head hung off the car seat’s headrest. Sweat shimmered on the leather you laid on, and your legs trembled from how long they’d been held at the same position. The only thing you two shared now was open-mouth breaths. You thought of moving, but your muscles were well past its limit to even be lifted.

Lucifer twisted around to grab tissues from the passenger seat compartment. In just a few seconds, he wiped out most of the evidence of himself on your dress. By this time, his horns were long gone and his eyes had returned back to its original form.

“Fuck … I didn’t think this through …” Lucifer grumbled to himself as he hit his temple with his palm. He ran his fingers through his hair before he mustered a weak smile for you. “Wait here, I’ll grab your clothes from your room.”

You exhaled audibly as he vanished with a swirl of sparkling red smoke.

A few breaths of silence by yourself wasn’t ideal, especially when you felt the whine and ache of your limbs in the fact that you were as good as scattered leaves across autumn grass.

Just then, your phone buzzed from the cupholder.

You winced as you bent to take it.

Brat >:)

you better not be fucking him right now i swear to FUCKING GOD [ 13:06 ]

you disappear for years and suddenly you’re back and you’re telling me YOU’RE DISAPPEARING AGAIN?&2$:$$3;: FUCKING [ 13:05 ]

HELLO? THE FUCK [ 12 :57 ]

i’m not gonna let even the king of hell himself keep you from me [ 12:16 ]

because i am not done with you yet [ 12:15 ]

bitch you better show me whatever the fuck you wanted to show me earlier before daddy decided to whisk you away like some fucking fairy tale prince [ 12:15 ]

You chuckled as you swiped the notification.

You [ 13:06 ] : bitch you know the dick is good cmon now

Vox [ 13:06 ] : i mean this in the most platonic and murderous way possible, i will fuck you myself if that’ll get you to ACTUALLY BE A FRIEND AND VISIT ME INSTEAD OF DISAPPEARING FOR YEARS

Vox [ 13:06 ] : i already have to deal with the heartbreak of al

Vox [ 13:06 ] : ykw doesn’t matter THE POINT IS THAT YOU ARE THE SHITTIEST FUCKING FRIEND AND I MISS YOU IS THAT NOT REASON ENOUGH

You [ 13:07 ] : okay, okay, how about this sunday then lmaoo

Vox [ 13:07 ] : you better fucking believe i’ll be blowing a fucking hole through that radio prick’s hotel just to pick you the fuck up asshole

You [ 13:07 ] : if i didn’t know any better vicky i would have assumed you’re actually coming to pick alastor up HAHAHAHAAHAHAH

Vox : ( typing … )

Your phone levitated out of your hands and when you followed where it zipped off to—

“Luci!” You sprung up from the declined backrest in surprise.

Lucifer squinted at your phone as he swiped his thumb down on your screen.

“First of all, I’m honored that you’re telling people how well I pleasure you. Second of all,” Lucifer paused, leaning into you as he used his free arm to hold himself up to you. “Vox is in a world of hurt if he thinks I’m gonna let him lay a finger on you.”

“Yeah?” You copied the way Lucifer says it and watched as his face reddened.

You noticed your spare clothes on his lap and you lifted the dress over your head and discarded it on the floor of the backseat.

You held out your hand for Lucifer to hand you your clothes.

He simply looked at your hand, then back at your naked body, then back at your hand as took it in his own.

You laughed. Hard.

“What—what’s happening why’re you—”

“The clothes, baby!”

“Oh—Oh! Right! Shit!” He finally handed you an oversized shirt, fresh underwear and a pair of shorts you used to at-home wear. “I thought you were asking for another round or something, holy shit—”

“I mean …” you smirked.

“Honey …” Lucifer warned, as if trying to keep a predator from attacking.

“Oh? You don’t wanna? My bad,” you replied innocently. “I was just wondering if Vox was free tonight—”

“I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me but honey …” Lucifer trailed off as he flipped your phone and shoved it into his back pocket.

He crossed over to your seat once more and pinned you back down where you once were, one knee pressed on the side of your seat as his hands ended up on either side of your neck.

“I hate to remind you that I am the fucking devil,” his voice dripped with a poison much worse than what you’ve heard from Alastor’s static. His horns hadn’t sprouted out yet but with his eyes aching red, it wasn’t too far from reappearing. “And if you love me as much as I love you then there is no goddamn way in this realm I am sharing you with anyone else let alone some overlord who thinks Alexander is worth anyone’s fucking time.”

“It’s Alastor and—” you paused, combing through your hair idly. “Luci, Vox is only a friend from the living world—“

“A friend who thinks he can fuck you.”

“He’s in hell for a reason.” You crossed your arms.

Lucifer sighed and closed his eyes, the red dissipating from them once they reopened.

“Listen, honey, I—” Lucifer’s gaze lifted away from you for a moment, almost like he’d been overwhelmed with the words clogged in his throat. “You’re someone I can’t afford to … mess up … again. And I know that means simply letting you be. But also, I’ve just—I’ve lost so much, and I only just got Charlie back so I …”

You lifted your arm as your hand fell on his cheek, your thumb softly stroking him back and forth.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he placed his hand on yours.

“I know Vox is just a friend. And I know it’s insane to think I’ll lose you to him, but … at the end of the day, this is hell. He still mocks the very thing we’re trying to achieve and I get that you’re not like that and that you’re not easily manipulated but I just …”

“Luci …” you muttered. You sat up and kissed him chastely on the cheek.

“I think about losing you a lot. I think about it to an irrational degree. So it’s not actually something you can fix. It’s something I have to do on my own.”

“Even if that’s true, I can still do my best to be with you and make sure you feel loved everyday. I really was a dick today, I had no idea you were … I’m s—”

“It’s okay. We …” Lucifer chuckled weakly. “We made up, remember?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Luci … you know I love you, right?”

“Like the sun loves the moon,” Lucifer said.

And you knew where it came from, maybe not its exact whereabouts but just how deep it was embedded to him, that statement; he himself had witnessed the creation of the sun and the moon. He knew the tides the two shared, the way their yearning for each other’s pull had been the natural way of things, the only way the people could ever experience day like they do night.

I know you love me because we love like its fate.

You and Lucifer walked into the hotel, your back slouched with Lucifer’s overcoat hanging over your shoulders as you folded your arms beneath them.

“Hey Charlie,” Lucifer greeted, and he told her daughter who was already making her way to you that you weren’t feeling well and that you needed rest. Of course, Charlie nodded and resumed her activities with her other friends.

You retired to Lucifer’s room, the left side of the bed while he took the right.

“I love you,” your chest exhausted what it had been used to holding for him, until you saw him.

“I love you, too,” Lucifer hummed back, a sigh escaping him like cherry blossoms in the wind.

“I love you for the soul you are beneath your bones.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x you #( ✮ hazbin. )#( ⊹ hazbin fics. )#◟𓂅 𓄹 splash zone.#(bindeds.) popular works

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

Off Grid

Azriel x Reader [Formula One AU]

Summary: Ferrari has signed on rookie driver Dorian Havilliard. Azriel must learn to navigate the 2024 season with a new teammate and his secret relationship, with you, who just so happens to be the team’s media trainer.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,109

Notes: This one goes out to @moosemahboi for the ask this morning 😏 enjoy 😉 (idk why I can’t tag u but hopefully you see this)

Also, sorry if the formatting looks like shit I’m posting this from my phone. I busted this out so fast tho whoops

_________________________________________

“Azriel, how are you feeling knowing that Ferrari has signed young Dorian Havilliard for the 2024 season?” The reporter asks, sitting eagerly on the edge of his seat. He has his phone out, recording Azriel’s responses. The man has been hanging onto every word Azriel has said; him and the other thirty journalists eager to pester him, all cramped within the small room.

Beside him, Cassian snickers under his breath, all too obviously happy that he’s not the one who must suffer this torturous questioning. Azriel refrains from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all. Well, it’s not absurd but it feels like it because it’s been the only question anyone seems to care about right now, they no longer care to ask how the new chassis feels, what his thoughts are about the new Las Vegas race added to the schedule, how he’s projected to be one of the top drivers this season. Was supposed to be one of the top performing drivers of the season. Ever since Ferrari leaked that Dorian Havilliard is making his debut with the team for the first race, it’s been a feeding frenzy for the media, trying to be the first to glean insider information about the fresh meat.

“I think he’ll make a great addition to the team,” is all Azriel offers in response.

He’s hot and sweaty from practice and being blinded by flashes of cameras that don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon isn’t helping his mood in the slightest. It’s the part of his job that he despises the most. All Azriel wants to do is drive, because nothing feels as good as the adrenaline when he’s behind the wheel, but right now all he wants is to go home, not respond to million questions he’s already answered too many times before. And to be honest, he’s kind of pissed about Ferrari signing Dorian Havilliard and nixing Rowan Whitethorn, who has signed on to be McLaren’s first seat after Aedion Ashryver’s accident at the final race of the 2023 season that sent him into early retirement.

There’s a beat of silence, and when it’s clear he has nothing else to say about the matter, someone else pops up from their seat and another question is hurled his way. “And what about your former teammate, Rowan Whitethorn? How is he taking the news of losing his seat to Havilliard?”

The urge to roll his eyes into his fucking skull is so great he almost doesn’t stop it, but the last thing he needs is the team’s media trainer on his case about the appropriate ways to conduct himself during media panels, no matter how pretty she is.

They should be asking this question to Rowan or even Dorian, whenever he begins press for the upcoming season.

“Rowan understands,” he tries to hide the sour tone in his voice. Azriel and Rowan have been driving together for the past three seasons and it’s been one of the best experiences he’s had with a teammate in Formula 1. He knows the constructors are too worried about placing him on the same team as Rhysand or Cassian, who he grew up with at karting school. They’re like brothers and they act like it too, but if they were on the same team the rivalries would feel even more drastic than they already are. “He’s a good driver and talent like his isn’t going away anytime soon.”

Rowan’s new teammate, Hunt Athalar, nods from Azriel’s other side. He and Cassian seem to be enjoying not being pestered with surface-level questions, and Azriel wishes that he was feeling the same.

With a few more unnecessary queries about Dorian, press finally ends. He, Hunt, and Cassian are escorted from the room, the trail of flashes and conversation starting up clinging to his back as he walks.

“Fucking hell,” Azriel mutters to Cassian, who jabs him in the side with a snigger once they’re cleared the room, the door shutting with a loud click behind them. “I hate these interviews.”

“Don’t need to tell me that, mate,” he laughs wholeheartedly, and Azriel glares. “I’m pretty sure everyone can tell. Might want to learn to act like you like it, though. Ferrari won’t keep you if your attitude sucks. But I’m sure that media trainer of yours is about to hunt you down and tell you the same thing.”

Azriel frowns. He thought he’d done a pretty good job at deflecting the questions about his new teammate.

“People like me for me,” Azriel shrugs, defending himself. He’s never been a bullshitter, no matter how badly his team has wanted him to be. This is what the people get, 100% Azriel, take it or leave it. And Ferrari has decided to take it, for the last three seasons. The second half of his sentence is drowned out as Cassian’s snickering becomes full-bodied laughter. “And my trophies speak for themselves.” He doesn’t mean to come off as cocky, but he’d rather be authentically himself than a puppet to the media.

Cassian shakes his head, wiping the nonexistent tears from the corners of his eyes. “No, people like me for me,” he winks at Azriel’s glare. “They like you because you’re a decent driver.”

Azriel’s nose crinkles. “Decent? My car is projected to perform even better than Rhys’ this year!”

They three drivers turn down a hall, nodding to the two Haas drivers they pass: Bron and Hart.

“We’ll see, won’t we, Athalar?” Cassian cranes his neck around Azriel, directing the question to the silent driver on his other side. Hunt and Azriel have never been close, but the angel of McLaren offers a genuine smile in response.

“Should be a good season, boys.” Azriel and Cassian share a look. A perfect media-trained answer, Hunt gave. The other driver turns off down another hall, “See you later.”

“What a weirdo,” Cassian mutters once Hunt has disappeared from sight. “Good luck to Ro, having to deal with that.”

Azriel finally rolls his eyes like he’s been wanting to do since he left the press room. “Yeah, and I’m the asshole.”

Cassian huffs and the pair of drivers stop at the end of the hall where it splits to go to their respective driver rooms.

“I’ll see you later, man.”

“Hopefully in a better mood, Azzy,” Cassian chuckles and dips down the hall before Azriel can toss another glare or remark at him.

Shaking his head, Azriel returns to his driver room. He’s going to grab his things and get the fuck out of here, because relaxing at his hotel sounds much better than waiting around here any longer.

A knock on the door interrupts his actions, and Azriel wonders why the Mother fails to grace him with one sliver of luck today.

“Come in,” he grunts, snagging his water from where he left it on top of the desk.

You enter the room with your phone and clipboard in your hands. You’re typing on your phone, fingers flying across the screen as you reply to another email. The water does nothing to quench Azriel’s suddenly dry throat.

He can’t help the way his eyes drag down your body with your attention on your phone, drinking in the sight of you in your pressed pants and professional button up shirt. There’s a lanyard around your neck with your Ferrari employee access printed on it and he wants to wrap his fist around the strap and—

Wherever his mind was drifting off to is completely shattered by your piercing eyes. He hasn’t had enough time to prepare for your apparent annoyance at his attitude during the press conference. You don’t look happy, and neither is his name as it rolls from your lips in a disappointed manner. “Azriel.” You step further into the room. “What the hell was that out there? You know you can’t—”

Your rant is cut off as Azriel consumes the space between you in two long strides, leaning in to slant his lips over yours, eating up your words. You can’t help but to melt into it a little, a lot when his tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him, brushing up against your tongue in a sensual move.

When he straightens, you’re panting and a bit flushed. Arousal burns through your body like petrol on the track, but you steel yourself against that fire in his eyes, all ready to light you up.

“Not even going to say hello before you start in on me?” Azriel asks, licking his lips. Your eyes follow the motion, and he smirks. The way his body is pressed up against yours and the firm grip of his hands on your hips threatens to distract you further, especially when his red racing suit is slung around his waist, leaving him in that tight, black long sleeve that contours around his lithe body perfectly.

“No,” you agree, and he frowns. “I’m upset with you.”

“Was it something I said?” He cringes at his own lame attempt at a joke, ducking from your serious gaze. “‘M sorry, I’m just sick of all the Dorian questions. They’re not asking anything about the season or the car, only how I feel about a rookie taking Rowan’s seat.”

You ache for him, you really do, but things like this happen in the sport and he’s been in it long enough now that Azriel should know better than to act like this. You can admit, Rowan had been an asset to Ferrari and to Azriel, wriggling his way under the stoic driver’s skin like a worm, burrowing deep into his heart.

“Az, you need to stop playing it like Dorian took his seat on purpose,” you console gently, “We both know that it was Rowan’s time, and he couldn’t resist what McLaren might’ve proposed.”

“I know, I know,” Azriel replies unhappily, retreating to perch on the arm of the small couch. He can accept it, but he doesn’t like it, preferring to blame the new driver instead. “I don’t want to deal with that little punk,” he groans, because the thought of putting up with a cocksure rookie tires him. “Coming in here thinking he owns the damn place.”

“Azriel,” you tut, rolling your eyes. You put a hand on your hip. “That was literally you four years ago.”

“It’s different,” he mutters, but you both know that it’s not.

You abandon your phone and clipboard on the desk in the room before standing between his parted thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. His damp hair is slicked back but a strand falls across his forehead and he looks really good like this, head tilted upwards, gold eyes painted with false innocence.

“Why don’t you, instead of being Dorian’s enemy, you become his ally?” You ask softly, fingering the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Because that’s not how the team works, baby,” Azriel sighs, enjoying the way you’re scratching his skin. He wants to lean forward and rest his head in the crook of your neck, maybe take a cat nap or nip at the skin there. “We might drive for the same team, but I’m not looking to be the supporting driver.”

Fuck that. There’s no way he’s letting a rookie take his seat when he’s worked his ass off since he received it. He’s been driving for Ferrari since he first got an in the sport, four years ago. He fought tooth and nail to work up from second seat to first, and Azriel will be damned if Dorian rips it from under him in one season.

“Your jealousy is showing,” you tease your boyfriend a little, poking him on the nose. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, hanging all over each other when anyone could walk into the room, but you can’t resist your draw to Azriel. “It’s not as endearing as it is when you’re jealous that I’m talking to one of the engineers.”

“Don’t remind me,” Azriel grunts, eyes hardening a little. “You’re mine and I don’t like to share.”

You snort, “That much is clear, babe,” you step out of his arms and miss the heat of his body already. You collect your things from the desk and return to him for a quick kiss. You shoot him a final knowing look, dodging his attempts at capturing you against his chest again. “Work on it, Azriel. I mean it.”

He salutes you as you open the door to slip out. “Yes ma’am.”

It shuts quietly behind you and Azriel slumps back onto the couch, sighing.

It’s going to be a long season.

_________________________________________

@iambored24601 @secretlyhers @kylaisra @daily-dose-of-sass wasn’t sure but figured u might want to see this one 😅

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #f1driver!azriel #formula 1 au #acotar x f1

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boydepartment · 8 months

Text

so cute - anton lee x reader

a/n: DONT LOOK AT ME RN…. okay i’m having a moment shut up i can’t sleep. this is completely self indulgent and writing for fun so whooooooops

warnings- none just fluff and goofy. idol! anton. photography major! reader. (i am not a photography major so pls um bare w me) THIS IS ALSO REALLY CLICHE SO I AM SORRY i also have no idea what tags to use :( so if you are on riize tumblr PLS HELP ME IN MY INBOX WITH TAGS

wc- 250-300

MASTERLIST

when you sat down after you ordered you got all your stuff organized. you had a plan to meet your friend to study together at a small but sweet boba shop. a lot of college students would come and go and half the fun of studying was procrastinating and choosing to people watch instead.

your friend was late and so you were left to fend for yourself. which was okay, it didn’t bother you. you got a little lost in thought and didn’t even notice the gaggle of boys walk in.

you didn’t even notice when the second cashier called up your order and you skipped over to pick it up. it tasted sweet and made you smile.

the way you set up your table looked really nice so you took a couple steps away from your chair to take a photo, not for class. just for fun.

your notes and laptop looked like those aesthetic posts on pinterest and the view outside the window was not the worst for a parking lot. you looked down at your phone and frowned, maybe the flash would help?

you went to get in position again when a guy totally bumped into you. sending both of you crashing onto the floor!

when you sat up you saw all his friends almost sprint out of the shop laughing, you looked down, eyes widening.

“i’m so sorry! here let me help you up!” you stood up and put your hands out. he was quiet and took your hands. you bent over and picked up his thankful pre-poked boba, nothing spilled thank goodness!

“are you okay?” you asked, handing his drink to him. it was a little hard to tell or read him as he was wearing a mask, there was only so much you could read with his eyes.

your head turned to the side trying to get an answer out of him. eventually he snapped out of whatever daze he was in. did this boy hit his head too hard?

“it was my fault! i was walking backwards while talking and i didn’t see you i’m sorry…” the boy was very soft spoken and it took you by surprise. a lot of people you met in college were a little outspoken.

you smiled at him, hoping to lighten the mood, “it’s okay it was an accident!”

“you fell pretty hard on your knees, are you okay?” he asked, noticing that they looked pretty scuffed.

“oh! i’m okay. don’t worry about it.” you went to grab your bag which softened the blow of your fall.

“is your phone okay? if it’s broken i can help pay for the damages…”

that was sweet of him…

you looked at your phone and saw the crack in the screen protector, “it’s a little cracked but it’s just the screen protector! it’s fine! if anyone asks i can tell them about this.” you laughed a little and looked at him again, “my friend’s gonna wish she wasn’t late…!”

you heard the boy laugh a little, “i still feel bad for tripping over you and ruining your photo, can i do anything to make up for it?”

“there’s no need to feel bad!” you said quickly- waving you hands back and forth, “again it’s totally okay. you should probably get back to your friends though… they kinda ran off.”

you saw him look outside the window, scoffing a little, “i’m going to choose to ignore them.”

this made you laugh, it was a total 180 from his voice, it was cute.

“i’m y/n. i figure since we’re having a conversation it’s appropriate to introduce myself, since you’re not just falling over me and dipping.” you stuck your hand out again.

he looked at your hand and shook it, “anton.” his eyes curved which told you he was smiling. cute.

“um… your friend still isn’t here… can i sit with you?”

you nodded, might as well, it wasn’t like you were studying. he happily took a seat next to you.

“you’re in college right?”

you nodded, “mhm! photography major!” you opened a file and scooted your laptop to him. anton looked through your photos almost amazed.

“i’m trying to put together my portfolio right now actually. i’m hoping i’ll get a job soon.” you explained, leaning your head on your palm.

he practically perked up at this, “my friends and i need a photographer for our next show!”

“show?”

“ummmmmmmmmm.” anton scratched his neck, “yes. show. music. yaknow….”

you smiled, “honestly, if it pays well, i’d love to.”

he looked at you and nodded, really enthusiastically. you felt pride bubble in you for someone being so impressed by your work to offer you a job.

“can i get your number to get the details?” you asked, unlocking your phone, he was cute and even if the job didn’t work out, maybe a date would. you could hear his phone buzzing rapidly.

anton nodded again and put his information in, “text me your name n stuff and i’ll answer i promise.” he stood up, “i really need to get back to my friends they’re blowing up my phone… even though they ditched me…”

you laughed again, “no problem. i’ll text you!”

“yeah!” he was walking away from you smiling when he ran into the door awkwardly. almost like the scene of a movie. it was so cute.

he was so cute.

#kpop #riize #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize anton #riize fluff #riize comfort #anton lee #anton x reader #anton fluff #anton lee fluff #lee chanyoung #lee chanyoung imagines #lee chanyoung x reader #riize wonbin #riize sohee #riize seunghan

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usagifuyusummer · 21 days

Text

Hello, sorry it took me so long (6 days), but here's your request @candyglumboy. I was experimenting a lot on these honestly.

From first to last in order, First memories/ Mortality/ Ascension (or an imitation of heaven?). I'm still unsure if these are the appropriate titles for these pieces lol.

Thanks for requesting me by the way! It was fun practice admittedly. (I still suck ass at backgrounds though.)

As usual, my insane ramblings below and some close-ups and concept art (will change if formatting is fucked up).

Oh yeah, I've been offline a lot because I'm so busy with uni stuff and... unavoidable family matters..., plus all of these took me a while to finish. I was brainstorming a lot on their request and these are the ones I've chosen to finalize.

I've decided to go with the concept of life, death, and rebirth on their request to just see Peri hugging Timmy lmao, because why not? It was to make me fulfil this request in a more enjoyable and exciting way.

I was experimenting and practicing a lot on understanding the Fairly Oddparents style in these pieces. My attempts are still far from perfect obviously, I mean the second one (Mortality) took the longest for me to finish just because I couldn't translate 3D poses into the 2D artstyle very well lol. (The second one was the hardest to make it look... well alright/pretty to me. It looks like a mess of haphazardous colors... I am terrible at coloring. I think I'll share the other scrapped poses later.)

Honestly, I struggled and got frustrated a lot with finishing these but still enjoyed the process. Here I'll list my inspirations for each pieces;

First memories - xblubotx (i won't tag them because i don't want to disturb): Their small Peri/Poof and teen Timmy fanart pieces continues to inspire me to this day. And yes!!! I see that they have made More Timmy fanart!!! Thank you xblubotx. I will continue to appreciate those in silence.

Mortality - I was thinking of loss and death a lot on this one. I thought what kind of embrace that shows this feeling? So, I used the famous, Ivan the terrible and his son painting, for the pose. I wanted to challenge myself if I could translate the 3D pose into 2D, so yeah, that's the final result... It looks like a mess of vomited red colors... I am sorry if you're squeamish towards blood by the way. I wanted to see if I could also attempt to draw blood streaming. I still think I have a long ways to go in terms of skill... For now, enjoy the nuclear baby about to explode because of overwhelming feelings <3 <3 <3!

Ascension (or an imitation of heaven) - @bevony: I hope I did not miscredit you, as I used your Fairy Timmy design for this one! I changed it a little according to my preferences/headcannon though. Still, I love their Fairy Timmy design! I like the hot pink Channel boots that they gave Timmy lol. (And the very comfortable formal fashion.) Keep on slaying~ My Fairy Timmy design will probably be heavily influenced from them when I get to that eventually... Tell me if you don't want me to, I'll back off. For now, I'll be enjoying the others fanarts of Timmy quietly.

(Additionally, my phone is slowly dying from all of these creative projects that I'm doing currently lol. Agh, I wish I had a drawing tablet or a better device to satisfy these creative urges....)

Again, thank you for the request! I'm okay with requests as I'm still not confident with my creative skills at this moment lol. So, admittedly I view these as a challenge or for practice. I can't fulfil them quickly though, as I have multiple responsibilities to do in real life. Still, I don't mind them once in a while.

I hope you like what I've done here. Sorry if it doesn't fulfil your vision candyglumboy. I'll keep on practicing my creative skills.

So yeah, I think that's all I wanted to share in the post this time. I'm still at season 3 on the FOP rewatch by the way. I am very excited to get to the specials eventually. Yeehaw!!!

Here's some concepts and close-ups of the pieces below this long massive yapping session lmao. Thank you for reading. Have a nice day <3

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so-long-soldier-writes · 6 months

Text

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it.

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention.

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers.

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.”

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher.

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach.

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment.

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can.

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical.

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own.

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours.

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits.

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class.

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly.

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go.

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute.

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident.

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time.

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that.

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation.

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking.

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly.

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better.

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs.

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room.

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty.

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile.

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go.

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are.

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it.

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door.

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe.

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe.

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind.

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees.

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance.

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature.

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them.

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest.

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet.

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough.

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips.

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink.

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?”

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

#i feel like i'm cheating on kai #but i promise kai isn't going anywhere!!#nor are the mikaelsons - those for which i'm trying to write more #i have simply ✨ added ✨ another man to my collection #y'all i spelt his name wrong so many times writing this #have i ever mentioned i had a crush on a boy named isaac in my junior year of hs?#he was a twin #anyway #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction

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hongjoongspoetry · 3 months

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 4 – Know It's For The Better

⛸️ Summary: Coming back with his tail tucked between his legs and an apology resting on his tongue wasn't something Mingi was keen to do, but witnessing you fall and hurt yourself on the domain you called home, all precautions were thrown out the window as he carried you to the nearest hospital.

⛸️ Pairing(s): Hockey Player!Mingi x Figure Skater!Reader, Figure Skater!Hyunjin x Figure Skater!Reader

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst, fluff

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, mild sports injury, hospital scene, one idiom referencing blood, crying, brief make out session (everything is consensual btw)

⛸️ Current wordcount: 12.4K

⛸️ Author's note: So sorry for the late update! I was out with my friends and completely forgot I should've posted the fourth part of Cold Hands, Warm Heart! It's also the last part that I've written before hand, so that means I don't know when the next part will be up, hehehe. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

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This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights, as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

There wasn’t an instance in life where you thought you’d struggle with finding the motivation to figure skate again. The sport was your everything. It was like breathing, a natural part of your life, so to experience that blockage was quite suffocating.

In the meantime, your friends sufficed as oxygen masks, giving you support in their own ways. But the one to help you the most was Hyunjin, because at the end of the day, he was the one to get you out on that ice again. That was weeks ago, and you agreed to have more practices together as you both had things to achieve; you to reclaim the love for ice skating and he to win the pair division of the Spring Championship with Iseul. Thereon out, Monday mornings were reserved for skating as neither had classes until the afternoon.

You were already out of bed at seven AM and had a little time to spare. Turning on the TV in your living room, you listened to the weather channel announcing an unexpected snowstorm that hit overnight and showed no signs of stopping, creating havoc in the city. Transportation lines were being put on paus and traffic hit every street in Seoul. The misfortune of not having a vehicle turned into luck as you were the first to arrive on time to the practice, but Hyunjin was still stuck in his car a few minutes away from the arena. The usual five minute drive would at least take him thirty minutes as read in his text.

Trying to make time pass faster you decided to start early with the warm up. Already clad in your training attire, all you had to do was fix your hair, put on the skates and stretch a little. As you were securing the ties the doors opened and the shifting sound had you turning around.

“I thought you said you’d be thirty minutes la–” The words died in your throat at the sight of Mingi.

As your eyes locked, the air grew thinner until you thought your lungs were playing tricks on you and not pulling in the air you were so desperately seeking. Taking him in, you couldn’t help but hate how calm and collected he looked. His chest rose gently with each intake of oxygen, taunting you like usual.

“Is the rink yours?” He finally asked and the invisible ball resting in your throat vanished but even then you opted with a non-verbal reply, just a little nod of your head.

You had gone great lengths to avoid him, hurtful words stored up in the back of your mind waiting patiently to catapult at the first encounter with him and now that he was a mere three meters in front of you, there was nothing in your head, it all went up in smoke, ceased to completely exist!

“Okay.”

“Fucking hell,” you cursed after he disappeared into the locker room.

Cold to the touch, you covered your blazing cheeks with your hands and dragged the skin in a downward motion exposing the hidden part of your eyeballs. Everything was fine, you were fine, completely-prima-perfect, you thought and tried to calm down. You just had to imagine he wasn’t there, he was still in the snowy mountains doing stupid stunts and drinking his liver away, yeah!

Sitting down on the floor, you started with some light stretches, nothing too explicit but enough to get your body going until Hyunjin arrived. Moving from one position to another your muscles were slowly warming up and you decided to finish it off with a groin stretch.

Maneuvering your legs into a V position, you slowly inched closer to the ground, arms stretched out and head facing the floor. You felt a burning yet nice feeling in your inner thighs and kept the position a little while longer. It felt so nice you didn’t notice Mingi coming back. A black compression shirt tucked into his sleazy gray sweatpants that were hanging dangerously low on his hips, sneaking looks at you for a good five minutes. The sight of you folded in half had his mind wandering down the slippery slope of sin and he almost forgot why he was resisting the need to pester you.

“What?”

The squeaked question brought him out of his daze and he was quick to avert his gaze on the ice, praying you’d think nothing of the tint on his cheeks and accusing it as a side effect of the low temperature.

“Nothing.”

“The rink is mine,” you quickly snapped.

“Don’t worry I’ll wait til you’re done.”

You hated everything about him. You hated how he turned hot and cold with the flip of a switch, how he made your insides explode with butterflies, and how he set fire to your veins. Most importantly, you hated how you kind of missed him.

“You’ll be waiting a long time, bud,” Hyunjin answered and sent you a quick smile. Neither noticed the figure skater sneak in, all dressed and almost ready to go. In a matter of seconds he got rid of his outer clothing and secured the skates on his feet.

“Shall we?” He held his hand out, palm upward and calling for yours.

With a lump in your throat, you ever so gently allowed his soft hands to hold yours and guide you to the slippery floor. Mingi huffed and slumped down on the bench right outside the board doors. Anyone walking by would think he was too engrossed in his new stick to notice the beautiful performance taking place right in front of his eyes, but in reality his attention was on you. He wanted to bash his own head in.

Of course you weren’t going to be there alone and of course that asshole had to be there too. Why wouldn’t he? You two were a thing now, a couple with a popping ‘P’.

You dominated the ice together. Hyunjin’s hand rested on your waist and traveled to your arms and legs, and other placements that had Mingi’s temperature rising. Oh, no one would understand how much he wanted to storm the rink and separate you two. Throw the male figure skater around like a cat playing with its toys, but he couldn’t. He fucked it up all those weeks ago.

So Mingi sat and did what he said he’d do. He waited.

If only Yunho hadn’t harassed him to leave their apartment, then he wouldn't be forced to watch the pair twirling with imaginary hearts and stars floating around them. That also meant he wouldn’t have crossed paths with you which seemed to be impossible considering you turned into a ghost since the explosion of an argument. Mingi heard nothing and saw nothing of you throughout the whole winter break and it continued into the first couple of school weeks too. It was nice, at first. Having enough time to think about other things than the girl who occupied his mind every waking hour, but after a few days there was nothing more to think about and only then did Mingi realize how deep of a hole you carved into his heart.

Taking the white tape beside him, he tore a small piece of it and stuck it to the blade of his stick, right in the middle. He contemplated whether to write something or just leave it blank. Mingi was always the guy who snickered as his teammates wrote the initials of their partners and not once did he imagine a day where he’d replace his signature ‘fix on’ — he came up with it during middle school and thought it was cool — for some random letters, but there he was, scribbling down the first acronyms of your full name.

Shifting his gaze from the poor handwriting to you, his heart skipped a beat as Hyunjin grabbed you by your hips and raised you up in the air all while skating backwards. It looked magical and so professional, as if you were ready for the Olympics. Mingi knew the crowd would go wild at the two of you and a subconscious smile graced his face as your arms extended horizontally. You looked happy and despite the feud that took place right after his game, Mingi liked that glow on you.

Dread overtook the glee on your face and Mingi watched as every athlete’s nightmare came to life. Hyunjin’s grip slipped from your waist and your abdomen crashed against his shoulder, the gravity dragging you down. The figure skater managed to wrap his arms around your thighs saving you from going head first on the ice and suffering a concussion, but your body weight threw him off balance and you both went down either way. On instinct your arms shot out to welcome the ground with your palms yet somehow your right forearm took the first blow. On the ice, Hyunjin quickly turned you over on your back, careful not to cause more harm.

Blood rushed to Mingi’s ears as he realized you weren’t standing up and instead squirmed around, clutching your elbow closed to your chest with hot tears cascading down your cheeks. His new stick was thrown to the ground and he was by your side in seconds.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Hyunjin repeated over and over again and Mingi had half a mind not to punch him across the face until his teeth left trails of crimson on the ice, like a spilled strawberry slushie.

Not wanting to think of the hundred different ways he could obliterate the handsome figure skater, he focused on you. The more important matter at hand.

“Move if you’re not going to do anything,” he snapped and pushed Hyunjin with his shoulder.

As gently as his big build allowed him to, Mingi picked you up which earned teary winces from you that nearly had him pressing his lips against your temple.

“I have a car I can drive her to the ER,” Hyunjin said in panic. Poor guy couldn’t think straight, all he wanted to do was help and calm the bubbling guilt inside.

“The streets are packed, you’d help nothing by stuffing her in a car.”

“And what, you think you can just carry her wherever it is you’re going?”

Trying to keep his composure and not deck the pretty boy right in the face, Mingi replied curtly, “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“I’m not just going to let you take her like th–”

Mingi was really starting to regret his decision of playing the good and understanding guy. “No one is fucking asking for your permssion now get the fuck out of my way!”

In another circumstance Mingi would jam his shoulder into Hyunjin’s, but not right now. Not with you in his arms, silently crying with each little movement of his.

“I gotchu, it’s alright. Just hang on a little longer, yeah princess?”

Before he pushed open the doors with his hips, Mingi glanced out of the window and winced at the snow. It wasn’t anywhere near as hectic as earlier, but it was still reaching minus degrees and your thin clothes would do nothing to keep you warm.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

His options were few and it wasn’t like his car was parked around the corner (he didn’t have a car nor a driver’s license). On the bright side, the hospital was just a ten minute walk, although you’d manage to freeze to death by the time you’d arrive.

“You with me?”

You quickly nodded.

“Okay, good. It’s cold out so I need to fetch you a jacket. I’ll just put you down on the bench, yeah?”

“Okay,” you sniffled and wiped at your cheeks with the uninjured arm.

Mingi ran to the locker room, feet carrying him quicker than ever, snatched his jacket from the rack and ran back out. He put it around your shoulders, the material eating you up, and guided your healthy arm through one hole while the other was still up against your chest. After zipping it up he gently put one arm on your lower back and the other beneath your knees, carrying you like a bride to Seoul Hospital.

“Where are we going?” You asked as the cold snow petals landed on your face and hair.

You couldn’t find it in you to feel bad for taking Mingi’s jacket and leaving him with nothing, the pain flaring in your elbow held all your attention and you weren’t even thinking of anything really, just hoping your bones hadn’t shattered at impact.

“To the hospital.”

Mingi breathed out a cloud of hot air. His nose, ears and hands were already turning red, but he didn’t mind. Light snowflakes landed on his hair and you wanted to run your fingers through it.

“By foot?”

“Yes, like a true knight in shining armor.”

Your bottom lip wobbled and you started crying harder. The hot tears started to freeze on your cheeks, and you could only imagine what a horrifying view Mingi had. As if the guilt in your stomach wasn’t enough, now you were feeling self conscious too.

“I’m– I’m sorry. That was stupid.”

Shaking your head because you couldn’t get the words out that; no, you weren’t crying for his teasing (if that were the case then they would be tears of joy because hell, did you miss it) you were crying because everything was so wrong. You had been in the arms of the perfect guy for weeks and yet you felt nothing. No heart going crazy, heat rushing to your cheeks or stomach fluttering with pretty butterflies, just static.

It wasn’t anything compared to how you were feeling now, warm, comfortable and content despite the ache in your arm and the whooping breezes slapping your face. Swept off your feet in Mingi’s embrace.

In the hospital you were immediately assigned to a room and told to wait for the doctor who’d run some tests. You weren’t the biggest fan of hospitals, it was something about their atmosphere that made you queasy. The overly white walls, the faint smell of disinfection and just eriness of people walking in cloaks and hospital masks covering their faces. It didn’t matter how much resources went into decorating the place, it was still nauseating and it didn’t help that you were supposed to sit alone for God knows how long until someone came to check on you.

An orange blanket covered your legs and a pack of baby wipes were in your hands that you used to remove the mess of tears and make-up on your skin. They didn’t give you anything to ease the pain and your phone, along with all your other stuff, was left at the arena, leaving you with no entertainment. Your skates were by the floor leaning against the bed and Mingi’s jacket was returned to him the moment you settled into the room. Mingi was probably long gone too, and the thought left a lump in your throat. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any brighter the door slid to the side and in came the person you were thinking of, a mini-bag of chips falling from the mountain of other snacks in his arms.

“Uh, they had a vending machine out front and I–uh, didn’t know if you were hungry and they also had a bunch of stuff but I don’t know what you liked so I just grabbed a bit of everything.”

You watched tentatively as Mingi clamped his mouth shut and shuffled to the hospital bed, gently letting the snacks fall on your lap. You didn’t say anything, not entirely sure what to make of the whole situation and looked at the different snacks he brought. The bag of choco-chips really looked appetizing. From the corner of your eyes you noticed he was balancing on the balls of his feet and realized this must have been as awkward for him as it was for you. Trying to play if cool, you grabbed the choco-chips and held them, finding them working as an anchor.

“Thank you.”

Mingi bit his lower lip, hiding the grin daring to come out, and took a bag for himself and sat down on the chair left of the bed facing you, feet extended and elbows propped up on the armrest.

“Ah, I almost forgot these.” Out of the pocket of his sweats, he handed you a carton of banana milk. “They were out of the strawberry ones.”

Snapping your eyes up to his which were set on the drink in his hand, you couldn’t hide the surprise on your face.

“How do you know I like the strawberry ones?”

“Because you drink anything with strawberries in it,” he replied nonchalantly as if it was a common fact known worldwide.

Mingi made himself comfortable and munched away on the shrimp chips. You were confused. The longer you tried wrapping your head around it, the more questions popped up. He was aware he didn’t have to sit there with you, right? Sensing your eyes staring at him, he met your gaze and cleared his throat.

“What?”

“You don’t have to sit here.”

“I know.” Another piece was thrown into his mouth. “Do you want me to leave?”

Parting your lips to answer the doors opened again. This time a man with a white cloak draped over his blue scrubs stepped into the room, a paperclip in hand and a stethoscope around his neck. With little to no small talk and after asking Mingi to step out, the doctor began his examination.

“There is some good news and some bad news,” he revealed and adjusted his glasses. “The good news is that nothing in the arm is broken, however you’re suffering a rough case of an elbow contusion which can take up to four weeks of healing time depending on how much stress you put on it. There’s no prescription for such injuries and the biggest advice we can give is to rest for a few days. You can pick up painkillers at the pharmacy and if there are any further complications then you are to immediately return.”

Mingi waited outside — almost hovering over the door hadn’t the three passing nurses told him to take a seat — as he wasn’t family or an immediate relative to you. The impulsive idea to lie about being your boyfriend crossed his mind, but it would be rather awkward to explain why the doctor suddenly had a change of heart.

“Mingi-ya!” Yunho jogged down the hallway wearing mismatched clothes, eyes wide and blonde hair unkempt. Your sneakers were in his hands, adding onto his already rowdy outfit. He immediately crouched in front of Mingi and took hold of his arms, scanning them for injuries and moved up along his head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it's not me who got hurt.”

The tension in his shoulders relaxed at the admission and he allowed himself a breather since the unexpected phone call woke him up. Yunho didn’t know how he managed to get there without causing multiple accidents, the boy was driving on sole muscle memory.

“Dude, you can’t just tell me to come to the ER without an explanation. I thought you got a concussion or someone was dying!”

“Sorry, I just panicked and you were the first on my recents… Nice outfit you got going on,” Mingi teased and caressed his non-existent mustache to hide a smile.

Glancing down at his attire — black shoes with yellow socks, a red hoodie, gray sweatpants and a black coat — Yunho let out the biggest sigh Mingi had ever heard in their fifteen-something-year long friendship and plopped down on the empty chair beside him. Yunho looked ridiculous and would fit right in a skittles commercial.

“Don’t say anything, I just threw on random shit and left. I don't even know if I locked the door or not… Who’s in there anyway, couldn’t BM or Jungkook pick you up?”

What Yunho didn’t expect was for you to come out with your arm in a slingshot and puffy eyes distracting him from your friendly smile. Both boys stood up, shoulders bumping and floor squeaking beneath their feet.

“Uhm, hey, I’m Yunho. Mingi’s friend.”

You recognized him as the guy in Mingi’s Instagram posts. Offering him a handshake, which he mistook as you reaching for your shoes, you introduced yourself.

“I know who you are, Mingi’s been talking abou–”

“What did the doctor say?” Mingi abruptly interrupted Yunho and stepped closer to you, mouth pursed and brows slightly curved downward.

His eyes were set on the slingshot supporting your arm, and you liked to think it had something to do with what Yunho was saying. A tingle sparked his fingertips, ordering him to reach out and gently caress your skin, but he withheld, afraid you’d crumble at contact.

“It’s just an elbow contusion.”

And at that moment all the air was knocked out of Mingi’s lungs. You spoke of it as if it was a minor inconvenience.

As if his heart didn’t jump in his throat or stomach didn’t tie itself in knots.

As if he couldn’t breathe for the torturously slow seconds you fell to the ground and only moved at your pained wailing.

As if the chewed skin around his thumbs were out of boredom and not concern for your well-being.

Having known Mingi since Yunho could remember, it was easy to read between the lines of his small habits: biting his lip to keep from laughing, getting physically clingy when jealous or wanting something, touching his hair when nervous and like now, growing stiff when at unease, and other traits that strangers wouldn’t bat an eye at.

“How are you doing now?” Yunho asked from behind Mingi and shot you a tightlipped smile.

You shrugged. “Nothing’s broken.”

A beat of silence later, Mingi spoke again, “Come on, Yunho’s driving us to grab your stuff and then to get you home.”

With the touch of a ghost on your shoulder, he guided you outside with Yunho right behind. Exhausted and wanting to go home, you didn’t try talking them out of it by insisting to just let you take a cab. You hated the fluttering thing your heart did as Mingi walked beside you like a scary dog ready to bark at anyone crossing the invisible circle of your personal space. Soft music played from the speakers and the two guys occasionally got into some small talk, Yunho trying his best to include you in it with questions of your major and hobby. To your relief the drive didn’t take long.

“Wait here, I’ll get your stuff.” Mingi unbuckled his seatbelt, but you were already out of the vehicle.

“There’s no need for that. I still have two functioning legs.” Gaze shifted to the driver, “Thank you for the drive, Yunho-ya. You don’t have to wait, okay? I’ll call my friend to pick me up.”

“You sure? I don’t have anything to do, I can take you home.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise.”

With one last ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you gently closed the car door and hurried inside. In the haste of getting out of the vehicle, you forgot your skates and Mingi wasted no time snatching them up and running after you. Staring through the window, you noticed the empty ice was now full of hockey boys doing drills. All traces of you and Hyunjin were erased, as if you were never there to begin with. It didn’t surprise you that he left either, who’d wait almost two hours for you anyway?

“Yo, Mingi!”

You jumped at the loud smack of a puck colliding with the board and stared impassively at the hockey player that skidded to a stop on the other side of the plexiglas. He raised his head gear — the facade behind was someone you were unfamiliar with — and smirked at Mingi who nearly clung to you like a mosquito thirsty for blood.

“Coach reserved you ten suicides for being late.”

The stranger banged on the translucent surface and returned back to practice, and if it weren’t for your hurting elbow or downturned mood, you’d say something smart and give him one of your glares, but you didn’t. The faster you got your stuff, the quicker you’d get a hold of Keeho and be on your way home.

Continuing down the familiar path to the changing rooms, you halted in the entryway as you saw Jungkook locking a door behind him. His eyes trailed over your figure and then let his gaze jump between you and Mingi (he was still persistently sticking to your side). Although Jungkook was known for being dirty minded and quite foolish, the boy wasn’t oblivious to the tension presented in the room. It also didn’t stop him from being his shitty-self.

“Bringing your girlfriend and being late,” Jungkook whistled. “Coach’s not gonna like that, Song.”

The remark was aimed to prance on Mingi’s nerves, yet your insides fluttered at the term. Maybe it didn’t sound that bad. Being Mingi’s girlfriend. You mentally slapped yourself for allowing your mind to wander.

“Piss off, coconut head.”

That he did and snickered as he tauntingly patted Mingi’s shoulder, and whispered an encouragingly, “Go get your lamb.” Pun wholeheartedly intended.

Mingi leaned against the wall and waited as you disappeared into the changing room. He realized there was a lot of waiting when it came to you, but he wouldn’t really have it any other way. You eventually came back out wrapped in your own outerwear and Mingi’s jacket in your hold. The leather one was still neatly thrown over your chair in your bedroom, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner. You both stopped idly by the door and just stared at each other. Now that no one was there — no Yunho, no Hyunjin, no doctors, nurses or annoying teammates — the atmosphere returned to a thick and awkward silence. It’d sure be handy to have some mind reading abilities, you’d do anything for even a speck of insight in Mingi’s mind.

He silently handed you the skates and in return, you gave him back his jacket.

“Thanks.”

It came out as a whisper and you weren’t even sure he heard it. The overwhelming feeling of not wanting to be in debt, especially not to Mingi, who clearly said he didn’t want anything to do with you, had you opening your mouth again.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

He pushed off the wall, hands buried deep in his sweats, and his gaze finally landed on you. Fiddling with your fingers and suddenly growing nervous, you explained yourself.

“Wait at the hospital. I could’ve walked home or caught a cab.”

“I wasn’t about to let you walk home barefoot. It’s not a big deal and Yunho loves to help. I'm pretty sure he’s already grown fond of you.”

“Mingi-ya–”

It was the first time you called him by his name since the (one-sided) fight and God did he love it. Starstruck by the way it rolled off your tongue, he nearly tuned out on the rest of your sentence.

“–you've never missed practice and you definitely shouldn’t start doing it for some girl.”

“Stop talking like that.”

The command was firm, yet lacked the heat you remembered from that night, and came out far more tender than you expected. As if your statement physically hurt him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re just some girl. I wouldn’t do half the shit I did if you were just some girl.”

You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out and you closed your mouth only to open it again.

“Yunho’s waiting for you outside and don’t argue, he’s taking you home because he wants to and because I need to know you’re safe.”

As you walked out together, a little too close for there not to be anything between you, immature cheers sounded from the practicing group of boys.

“Fucking ignore them, lousy assholes, I swear to God.” Before Mingi could make sure you got into Yunho’s car and wouldn’t bolt, an older and gruffer voice called for him.

“Shit,” he whispered and closed his eyes, the reality of where he was and what he missed, sinking in. He faced you again, staring at you as if he was holding back, but from what you didn’t know. “I’ll… see ya around?”

You nodded, knowing that you’d do everything and anything to not let that happen. It irked you how he could ignore you and then turn back to normal as if nothing was wrong. Who said you even wanted to see him again? Definitely not your aching heart.

Glancing down at your phone, you immediately filtered through the hundred texts waiting to be opened. A few from Dasom wondering where you were and if she should bring take out for dinner. Next was Keeho talking about some movie and recommending it for the next sleepover, then calling you out for quote-unquote ghosting him for hours, and most recently were the texts from Hyunjin.

Hyunjin [9:04 AM] im so so sorry

Hyunjin [9:04 AM] fuck i swear i didnt mean to, idek what happened but im so sorry

Hyunjin [9:15 AM] did you go to the hospital?

Hyunjin [9:15 AM] what did the doctors say?

Hyunjin [9:16 AM] please dont let it be anything serious

Hyunjin [9:55 AM] text me when you see this please

The snow had stopped falling by the time you responded to Hyunjin’s texts, quickly agreeing to meet up with him in a park not too far from your neighborhood. Dasom, reluctant to let you out of her sight, forced her pinky around yours with the promise you wouldn’t be gone for long, as if you could ever go against her puppy eyes. Wearing a thick jacket covering you from head to toe and a beanie and scarf, you ventured out into the Korean version of Antarctica. The short-lived walk was spent replaying the accident. The feel of Hyunjin’s hand slipping from your hip, the painful collision, and the sudden yet comforting and quite confusing appearance of Mingi.

Recognizing you from meters away, Hyunjin hastily stood up from his seat on the wooden bench and jogged towards you. He quickly, but very gently, closed the distance between you, his arms coming around you with utmost care, not to cause you more harm, and you reciprocated the hug with your healthy arm slinking around his waist.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered into the side of your head and shakily inhaled your scent, as if to calm down. You looked alright, but he was still quite shaken from the incident.

The timber in his voice pierced your heart. It wasn’t his fault, and you didn’t blame him for it.

Taking hold of your shoulders, his fingers shook as they curled around your body and carefully pushed you back. He stared at you with waves of remorse and guilt. You didn’t like those emotions on him; they made his eyes somber and his charming lips bland in that down-curved form.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. It’s nothing serious.”

“Don’t say that. You put your trust in me and I dropped you. My most important task, my only task and I fucked it up. It could’ve ended so much worse.”

Clasping one of his hands in yours, you gave it a comforting squeeze. “But it didn't, and I’m fine. It’s just a bruised elbow. Nothing serious, alright? Athletes get it all the time, you of all people should know that, you absolute prodigy.”

The attempt to lighten the mood worked as his mouth curled up in a wobbly smile. You weren’t lying when you said it wasn’t anything serious. You still had movement in your hand and fingers, and the rest of your arm wasn’t hurting, unless you walked into a cabinet or door, but that would hurt with or without an elbow contusion.

“I’m still sorry.”

“And, although I never harbored any resentment, I forgive you.”

You understood where Hyunjin was coming from; heck, you’d be feeling the exact same in his shoes. The base for pair skating was built on a sturdy foundation of trust and comfort. A flicker of doubt was enough to chip at the cement, turning it unstable and weak, eventually leading to its collapse. Mistakes were a part of the figure skating experience, and although you poured your whole trust in Hyunjin, it didn’t mean you were an exception to them.

“Does this mean we can no longer practice together?” You asked with a pout and Hyunjin could melt on the spot, like a popsicle forgotten on a summer day.

“No, I’d love to continue our sessions, preferably after your elbow’s all healed up.”

“What?! But I already cleared my schedule for you tomorrow.” The deadpanned look he shot you had you bursting with laughter. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Of course you’re.”

Somewhere between the chatter, you occupied the bench again. Talking to Hyunjin came more naturally now. No stuttering or a heart threatening to pop out of your chest, or a face burning hotter than the seven rings of hell. You warded off the replay of your and Dasom’s conversation for the time being and just enjoyed the comfortable air surrounding you.

“Remember when I asked if you and Mingi were friends?”

You snapped your head to the side, brows high on your face and eyes curious as to where he was going with that. Of course you remembered. After all, it was the first time you did anything outside of figure skating together and your weak heart could barely process it without going into palpitation.

With an affirmative nod, Hyunjin continued.

“And you said that you were far from it?”

Another nod.

“I have a feeling you’re wrong about that.”

“What do you mean?”

Hyunjin sat in silence, contemplating whether he should take back his words or just tell you what he saw. It wouldn’t be fair to act as if the worry stretched across your features was just a speck of Hyunjin’s imagination.

“When I dropped you he was right there.”

“Yeah, well he watched us practice–”

“No. I mean, he came out of thin air. I’ve never seen someone move so fast in my life, like I didn’t even get to react before he had you in his arms and barking orders at me. For a second there, I thought he was going to bite my head off,” Hyunjin chuckled, but the humor was swept away with the cold wind.

Of all the things he could say, that wasn’t what you expected and all you could offer him was a blank stare. At a loss for words, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was he even talking about the right Mingi? The Mingi who’d been ignoring you since forever, the Mingi who dumped all his hatred on you and didn’t even explain why?

Hyunjin took it as his memo to keep talking. “And the look in his eyes whenever they land on you…”

You pictured your grave being dug with an empty casket beside.

“It’s the only thing he and I have in common.”

The feel of someone tearing a hole in your ribcage hurt like fire burning your skin, and a thousand needles prickled your heart as the hand tightly wrapped around it.

“You don’t have to say anything. I already know I’ve lost the chance I had with you a long time ago.”

And as the beating organ was yanked out, you flinched and fell to your knees.

“Hyunjin–”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, a sad smile taking over his beautiful face, and your lips wobbled in return. “You, too, have that look when you see him.”

“What look?”

You sounded desperate, as if you were forcing yourself not to understand his words, even though somewhere deep inside you knew what he was hinting at. But playing a fool was easier than accepting reality. Blinded by your own sadness, you couldn’t stop mourning the idea of what could have been and it stung to know that the guy you’d been pining over for a good year or so liked you back, but the timing wasn’t on either of your sides.

“It’s the one you have when you’re on the ice. Relaxed, happy and… at home.”

You wanted to deny it. Tell him he was wrong. To tell him Mingi was nothing but a pain in your ass. A nuisance you hadn’t been able to get rid off since your first day in college, but you couldn’t. As you once again had nothing to say, Hyunjin stood up.

“Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”

You stayed seated like a kicked puppy not wanting to leave its sick owner or family that was about to abandon it. With a soft call of his name, he turned and patiently waited. No remorse or grief on his perfectly sculpted face.

“I’ve noticed the things you’ve done for me, when I was bummed out because of the preliminaries… and I just wanted you to know, that I appreciate it and… and that I’m sorry.”

“I never harbored any resentment, but I forgive you.”

Hyunjin’s words tormented you for days on end, although it wasn’t his confession that you couldn’t get out of your head, but rather his odd observation. There was no way it could be true. One drive to the hospital didn’t suddenly mean Mingi was head over heels for you. If you went by that logic, you’d assume his friend liked you too, considering the tall man was right beside you. It didn’t matter that five, ten or fifteen people told you the same thing, until Song Mingi himself didn’t come out and say it, then it simply wasn’t true.

If anyone asked why you ate in empty classrooms on the other side of campus or studied on the rooftop, you’d come up with a good enough excuse that sounded believable. Because you’d never admit to be hiding from a certain hockey player who held the fearful answer to your doubts.

Everything was surprisingly playing in your favor which was about time. Your days on campus were never spent alone as Dasom or Keeho kept you company, even if it meant running late to their own classes or missing out on lunch with their classmates. The injury that was bad luck turned to good luck as you had no reason to go to the ice rink, the one place you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him or a very attractive figure skater for that record either.

It was the fifth day of Operation avoid Song Mingi at all costs and so far everything was going as planned. The lamppost was nowhere in sight and you willed yourself to relax on the walk home from a late night study session with Keeho and Dasom at the library.

“You can’t run from him forever,” said Dasom from beside you, arms locked and shoulders touching.

The red head disagreed with your tactic the moment you explained the plan. In great old Dasom fashion she hit you with a quote of some poet you couldn’t bother to remember the name if, it went something like; all that is hidden in snow, comes out in thaw.

“Good thing I’m not running, now am I?”

Keeho walked behind you guys and chewed on a strawberry twizzler. A loud snort cut through the air.

“Hiding, running, fleeing, you name it, babes.”

If it weren’t for Dasom’s hold on you, you’d deliver a punch to his stomach or kick his shin.

“Oh, fuck you, horseface!”

Dramatic as his zodiac sign, he gasped loudly and called for reinforcement. “Did you hear that, sugar? She just cursed at me!”

Dasom giggled at Keeho’s banter but her expression fell at the figure outside your apartment complex.

“What’s your plan then? Because I’m certain that’s him,” she pointed at Mingi who leaned against the brick wall, “leaning against our apartment and oh– is he looking at us?”

Fast as lightning, you whipped your head forward and immediately met eyes with the man you had been trying so hard to evade.

“Mm-mm, not at us, Dae-Dae. He’s looking at her which reminds me, Jiung said he needed help with his essay. You coming?” Keeho asked, not giving her time to answer or you to protest as he snatched Dasom’s wrist and began walking in the direction of his friend’s house.

The call of their names died in your throat and as you moved to follow them, Mingi quickly pushed off the wall and stopped before you, jaw set and eyes hard, staring daggers at you behind his fringe.

He looked different, was your first thought, but there was no literal change to his appearance. His hair was still that two-colored tone and the clothes were the same — a jacket thrown over his team hoodie and baggy pants — the rings on his fingers didn’t look new and you even recognized the skull shaped one. He had a matching bag slung over his shoulder that was half-way open and full of hockey equipment, the only thing missing was his stick.

Glancing back at him, the black horn rimmed glasses perched on his nose caught you off guard. Such a small detail that made him look so different yet the same and it was enough to send your heart soaring, badum-ing a tenfold faster than usual. The sudden change in temperature felt as if the seasons were filtering abruptly, jumping from winter to late-summer in seconds, and the thick sweater beneath your jacket was starting to itch. You didn’t care if it was minus ten degrees outside, you needed it off.

“Aren’t you going to run?”

Mingi quite literally snapped you out of your daydream. “I– Uhm… I’m sorry, what?”

“No, I just thought you’d be bolting the second you saw me as you’ve been doing the past week.”

Mingi raised a brow at your lack of response, and chuckled out a dry laugh. It dawned on you that your five day streak of avoiding him was only successful because he let it happen. Mingi was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew you were hiding from him the moment he couldn’t find you in any of your usual spots and even more so after Intak — a mutual friend of Mingi and Keeho — couldn’t get any answers out of the English literature major. Deciding to be kind, he didn’t pressure you at first. Acknowledging the fact that you maybe needed time, just like he needed weeks ago, he granted you that as it was the least he could do.

He eyed the slingshot around your arm, and his exterior softened as he remembered the last time you spoke.

“How’s your elbow?”

Never the one to keep up with his hot and cold behavior, you sighed at the switch from passive-aggressive to worrisome questions.

“What are you doing here?” You demanded, completely disregarding his concern.

“I’m here to see you.”

As much as your body tingled at the sight of him, you really didn’t want to talk. No matter what he had to say, you didn’t want to hear it. How silly of you to think he’d let you slip by after a week of radio silence.

“Move.”

“I know everyone bends at your command, princess, but not me.”

Pink and red camellias bloomed in your stomach at the title, but you refused to let them grow out on your skin and mirror your internal feelings.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” you gritted through your teeth.

“Then what do you call it when you do an one-eighty whenever we lock eyes across the school yard, princess?”

“I’m not up for this, Mingi.”

Once again you tried to move past him only for Mingi to step in your way.

“And you think I am? I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off on a Tuesday night for fun.”

The guy treated you like shit since the first time he saw you skating, always finding new ways to get under your skin and turn your day from good to bad with just one word. Mingi knew he wasn’t worthy of your time and the least he could do was grant you the wish of leaving you alone. But he also knew if he did that, if he walked away, he wouldn’t get another chance to say what was on his mind.

Giving up wasn’t something Mingi was used to and even in the toughest of times, he always gave it his all, be it on the rink or daily struggles. Yet seeing the options of running or staying tear you apart had him considering doing just what he’d never done. With an almost defeated sigh, he stuffed his frozen hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“If you really want me to go, say the words and I’ll leave.”

You licked your lips and when Mingi thought you’d cave in, you walked past him and unlocked the door to the building. He closed his eyes and mentally cursed his stupid mouth for offering such stupid ideas. Of course you’d choose anything beside hearing him out. It was quite funny, you were always running when it came to him, weren’t you?

“You coming?”

The question startled him out of his disappointed thoughts and as he turned around, you were still there, arm holding the door open and lips pursed as if you were second guessing your decision. Just in case that was true, he quickly muttered out an affirmative response and scrambled through the opening.

The awkward silence followed you on the elevator ride up to your floor and into the apartment. Everything about this was awkward, thinking back to the party, the declined kiss, your fight, and the trip to the hospital.

“Nice place,” he said and whether it was to cut through the silence or a genuine compliment you’d never know.

“Dasom’s in charge of the interior.”

A vague image of a girl with red curls crossed his mind and the cherry curtains, and the identical fruit pillow told him as much.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

You dropped your bag somewhere between the multiple shoes by the doorway and leaned against the wall in the living room, arms crossed and face stoic. Mingi stood in the middle of the living room, his jacket still on and ears visibly red from the cold outside.

“You wanted to talk, right? Then talk. Explain why you’re here.”

You didn’t bother sitting down, the faster you got the conversation started, the sooner he could leave and you could jump in bed, hopefully forgetting the whole interaction. Mingi copied your stance and raised both of his brows, the stupidly handsome smirk coming through.

“You already know… why have you been ignoring me?”

“Not this again. I’m not, when will you get that through your thick skull?”

“Tell me what I did.”

You remained silent at his persistence. Blood slowly boiling and heart slamming against your ribcage. It was hard to keep your composure, especially when Mingi knew all the right buttons to press. If you didn’t keep your jaw shut it would just be a reenactment of the hockey game and you were not up for another screaming fit.

“Was it the snarky comments?”

He took a step forward.

“I doubt it’s because I call you princess…”

He advanced again.

“Maybe you’re angry I crashed your date with Mr. Perfect?”

You could feel the buzzing heat from his body as he almost closed the distance between you. Slowly and as gently as his limbs allowed him to, he trapped your chin between his thumb and index finger, slightly pushing it upward to peer into your eyes. As if searching for discomfort or disgust at his touch on your skin. You could feel his warm breath over your face and you forced yourself not to glance down at his plump lips.

His voice fell barely above a whisper. “Or was it because I didn’t kiss you at that party?”

It snapped you out of the daze and you pushed at his chest with all your might, and he voluntarily moved back, content with breaking through your strong facade and mindful of your elbow.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“An asshole who doesn’t run away from his problems. Someone who goes out of his way to help others. Who puts his pride aside to see what the fuck is going on with you!”

“You want to know what’s wrong, huh? Fine! I’ll fucking tell you.”

Now you were the one moving towards him. Eyes burning and tongue twitching with each syllable rolling off it.

“I’m not mad you didn’t kiss me, I’m mad I allowed myself to be led on by you.”

You dug your finger in his chest, hard enough to sting and leave a crescent mark beneath.

“Giving me your jacket and walking me home, not once but twice, like a gentleman-wannabe.”

Another jab to his body.

“Saying you’d come to my competition which you obviously couldn’t care less about!”

And another.

“Only for you to blow up in my face and call me shallow and selfish over something I still don’t know what! But that’s not all, no, because after new year’s you come back a completely different person. Being polite and nice as if you don’t hate me, scooping me up like a damsel in distress, brushing past Hyunjin who was more than capable of helping me, acting like a saint in front of your friend and the cherry on top! Claiming you wouldn’t do all that if I was just some girl!

“But I’ve already been over this once, Song, and I’m not about to be fooled twice, you hear me?” An obnoxiously big smile stretched across your lips. “So no, I’m not mad you didn’t kiss me.”

So much for not throwing a screaming fit.

Mingi wrapped his hand around your wrist closest to his body and the grip was the complete opposite of his face. Soft and warm, and delicate while his jaw was clenched, and eyes hard and piercing. The awkward silence from before transformed a tension you could feel with every fiber of your body. You breathed heavily and your heart worked rapidly compared to Mingi, who didn’t seem to be in need of extra air.

“You think I led you on?”

Out of all the things you said, that was the only thing he remembered?

“This was a waste of time–”

“Did you think… I led you on?”

His hand on your wrist was cold compared to your boiling skin.

“I know you did,” you finally breathed out.

The admission was like a hockey puck catapulted straight into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Swallowing thickly, Mingi flicked his attention down to your wrist, not once daring to meet your eyes. He huffed out a laugh of disbelief.

“I didn’t give you my jacket to win you over or walk you home to get in your pants. I did it because I’d go batshit fucking crazy if anything happened to you.”

It didn’t matter that five, ten or fifteen people told you the same thing because no amount could measure with Mingi’s final word. The air in the room thinned out and your throat ran dry. Your pulse was louder than your thoughts and the angry heat settled on your cheeks in a warm embarrassment. His hand slipped up to your hand, thumb locking in your palm while the rest of his fingers wrapped around the back of your hand.

“And I went to your competition,” he finally said. “I dressed up and bought you flowers and I sat through the whole number and when you fell down, I just wanted to scoop you up in my arms and tell you…” He paused, seemingly catching himself on something you weren’t supposed to know.

“I waited til you were done. I’ve never put that much time and thought into my appearance before, not on dates or big events. The only reason you didn’t see me was because you were too occupied with him.”

He took a deep breath and you realized while you were anxious of running into him at campus, Mingi was anxious of never getting the chance to share his side with you.

“And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like seeing his hands on you or how you turned to him for comfort and I fucking hated how good he was at it, so I left…”

Mingi slid his hand further down so your palms were glued together and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You know, it took me a year and something to make you smile, and you weren’t even sober for it, but I know that prick probably made you feel better in five seconds just by showing up. No flowers or anything and well, I already lost then and there, so I could only think of taking my shit and running.”

His fingers moved between yours and your whole body calmed down at the intimate contact. Hot and boiling blood simmered out into steady waves.

“I was angry, completely livid, for letting myself think I even had a…”

You waited for him to finish but the rest of the sentence never came out. Taking matters into your own hands, you steered the conversation towards a topic you were far more interested in than whatever it was he couldn’t tell you.

“And you yelled at me for… what?”

“I never expected you to show up. I didn’t even know you knew there was a game, I mean, you never showed up to all the other thirty matches so, yeah.” Mingi looked away as the guilt took over his entire being. “I was told that it was the most important game of the season and that there’d be a dozen scouts watching. My nerves were skyrocketing from the get go, and please believe me when I say that seeing you made everything silent. And I mean everything.

“But then I got so, so angry when I saw him beside you holding that stupid sign and the memories from your competition rolled in and like the cherry on top, Chan knew what to say to tip me over the edge. The last thing I needed was you acting smart with me, too.”

You could handle a lot of things; like unimportant people being jealous over your achievements or praying for your downfall. What you couldn’t stand, on the other hand, was when people who were in the wrong took out their frustration on you (or when Keeho and Dasom were being targeted to get to you, but that’s a story for another time).

Not to say Mingi was as important as Dasom or Keeho, but at some point, you considered him something akin to a friend. To hear him speak to you in that way hurt equally as much as when your mom made that one backhanded comment about your appearance or when your dad forced you to stop being emotional and then saying something along the lines of it being in your nature because of your gender. The hurt and sadness you buried all those weeks ago resurfaced in the form of red-scorching anger, and it would take a lot more than a pathetic story to make up for it.

Tearing your hand from his, you hissed. “It doesn’t explain where you think you got the right to call me things.”

Mingi stayed quiet, appalled at your switch in behavior and you were happy giving him the taste of his own medicine.

“Got nothing to say? Is that it? You make such a big deal out of us not talking and now that you’re here, there’s nothing else to say. What? Did you think I’d just forgive you and go on with us being whatever the fuck we are? Talk is cheap, Mingi, has no one ever fucking told you so?”

As he kept his lips sealed, you sighed in disappointment. He came all the way and stayed in the freezing cold to spew his bullshit, but when push came to shove he’d rather be silent.

“You know where the door is.”

You barely managed to get three steps in when his hand clasped around your healthy elbow, literally pulling your body against his and hands maneuvering to hold you by your waist. Noses almost touching and eyes reflecting a thousand emotions, you nearly caved then and there.

“I came here to make things right,” he said calmly.

“Fuck you. You can’t come running with coffee every time you fuck up.”

A strawberry frappuccino slid in front of you and popped your thoughts like a dart would a balloon. Mingi hung his jacket around a chair opposite you and sat down, much like in the library. He avoided your gaze and took a long sip of his green tea mocha. You didn’t touch your drink despite it being your favorite — you pushed the thought of it being a coincidence or not to the back of your mind — and continued staring at him. He eventually faced you and nearly choked on the beverage.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m admiring your act.”

“What act?”

“This goody-two shoe thingy you’re trying to pull off.”

He chuckled and looked down at his drink, fingers tracing circles on the paper logo.

“You’ve really got your head way in on that. There is no act. I said it earlier, I just felt bad for getting you thrown out.” The cup was left alone and his eyes found yours.

“I’m sorry.”

You huffed at the half assed-apology and tried to break free from him. That was an immediate failure as Mingi didn’t let up on his hold.

“What do you want me to do? What can I do to make everything good between us?”

“Maybe start with a real fucking apology.”

Eyebrows drawn together and lips in a pout, he searched your face for any sign of sarcasm. “I just said I’m sorry. So what is it you really want of me?”

Your eyes fixated on the wall behind him as you roared at him to get out. It was one thing to insult you outside, but doing it while inside your apartment? That was just right out disrespectful and you were done with that behavior. Apparently, Mingi was too, because he didn’t budge and forced you to look him in the eyes.

“What I want from you? Last time I checked you came to me, not the other way around, bastard. Now see yourself out.”

You were surprisingly calmer than you initially thought you’d be and all throwable objects in the apartment were still in their original place. The anger you locked away for this specific moment didn’t come out in an explosion, but more like a controlled fire, growing bigger and bigger the more oxygen it inhales.

Would it be anyone else, they’d respect your choice and be on their merry way, but Mingi rarely did what told. All the softness in his features disappeared and he tried a more sharper approach.

“Look at me and say it again. Tell me to leave, to fuck off and I’ll never bother you again.”

The words were right there, waiting to be flung out in the open, but you just couldn’t spit them out. It was something Mingi took notice of and immediately used against you.

“You can’t do it, can you? Got that boyfriend wrapped around your finger and it isn’t enough, you need something more. Princesses are never satisfied.”

Through your gritted teeth, you growled, “What fucking boyfriend?”

That was all Mingi needed to hear to smash his lips against yours. His large hands pushed against your lower back and pulled you against his front. In return your hand squeezed his biceps and frantically made its way up to his neck where your fingers got tangled in the multi-colored strands. It was enough for Mingi to know you wanted this as much as he did, because there wasn’t a doubt in mind that you wouldn’t knee him in his balls if you truly felt anything but desire and lust.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was dirty and messy and unexpected with teeth clashing and tongues hungry for dominance that neither of you wanted to give up. Compared to all your prior make outs, this was by far the most pleasurable one yet and as much as you screamed at yourself to let go, you thrived feeling his chiseled body against yours. The moment cut short as Mingi rested his forehead against yours, a string of saliva connecting your bruised lips. To keep himself sane he tore away from the sight and stared into your eyes.

“I need to know… I need to know you want this… want me as much as I want you.”

“Mingi-ya.” Your breathless moan sent shards of pleasure to his cock. “I want you.”

He wasted no time in hoisting you up and you complied by wrapping your legs around his slim waist, a perfect position for his hands to rest on the curve of your ass. The feel of your breasts pushed against his had him humming in delight that vibrated down your throat as you met for another kiss. This one was a lot less violent, but as feverish and needy as the first. The unexpected squeeze of your ass surprised you and your lips parted to let a gasp out to which his tongue entered to explore your hot mouth. Mingi’s eyes rolled to the back of his mind at the thought of your beautiful lips wrapped around his member, choking and drawing tears as you struggled to take him all the way.

“Bed–ruh, bedroom,” you moaned through the kiss and tugged at his hair to catch his attention.

Mingi realized he didn’t know where your room was and parted from you although every non-rational thought in his head told him not to.

“Where?”

You took the chance to press butterfly kisses against the side of his neck, working your way up to his jaw, nipping, licking and sucking on his soft skin. The sighs of pleasure resonating through the empty apartment boosted your ego and you couldn’t suppress the smirk at the thought of Mingi, big bad Song Mingi, sounding so flustered beneath your touch.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to bend you over the couch and take you right here.”

The threat was more of a reward than a punishment, but a vague image of a certain red hair popped by and you loved Dasom too much to put her through potential trauma of seeing her best friend getting — what probably would be — the best pounding of your life.

“First door on the left.”

Mingi struggled with finding your room as your mouth decorated his neck with beautiful plum covered marks and worked as a great distraction. Eventually — after walking into the bathroom and then the small pantry — he stepped into the correct space and plopped down on the bed with you seated on his lap. If it weren’t for aching dick he’d have you on your knees and hand behind your back as you took his length. As a response you grinded against him and his palms found your ass again, but this time instead of squeezing, he guided your movement and it extracted long moans out of you both. In the hazy mist of pleasure and lust the faint yet heated voice of Mingi echoed in your head.

“As if you don’t know what you’re doing. Acting all nice and cutesy like we are friends, like you’re interested in ever befriending me which now that I think about is so stupid because you and I? What a joke. We’re a fucking joke!”

“What are you even talking about?!”

Mingi scoffed again. He looked to the side, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. There were so many thoughts going through his head and all he could think about was what words to use to hurt you the most. To make you feel the hurt he did.

“First, you invite me to your stupid competition and then you come to my game sitting with him! Was this all a game, huh? To get back at me for all the dumb shit I did to you because if it is then wow, you’ve really proven yourself to be more shallow and boneless than I ever thought. I mean, you’re really going out of your way to get under my skin and act like a fucking–”

Mingi closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, the veins on his neck were more prominent than ever and his face was almost identical to the color of his jersey. He really needed to calm down before he said something he’d regret. Not that it mattered, the damage was already done and he knew the aftermath was already biting him in the ass. Shit, the look of your glossy eyes was quick to make his inside burn in pain.

Each insult was a poisoned arrow aimed at your heart. The words physically hurt you more than ever before and you weren’t aware just how mean Mingi could be. Your previous bickering never stooped on a level this low before and it brought tears to your eyes but even that wasn't enough to stop his rant. Not wanting to be caught vulnerable in front of the guy who was practically stepping on you with his shoes, you quickly wiped away the tears that managed to escape.

Mingi knew he was taking his frustration out on you and he knew it wasn’t fair because you hadn’t done anything wrong. It all kept piling on his shoulders. All the instances he saw you two together; the joint practices, your embarrassed giggles any time Hyunjin breathed, watching him console you in the hallways like a poor reenactment of a romcom, sitting so close together at his game, shoulders touching a little too close for Mingi’s liking… If that stupid piece of cardboard was a bomb waiting to be activated, then Chan was the flame that set everything off.

“Oh, great. This is really great now you’re fucking crying too. You think some tears are going to make me feel bad? They won’t, I don’t care anymore okay? I’m done with you and your fucking shit. So go back to your prince fucking charming and don’t even bother looking at me, you hear? I’m fucking done!”

As if burned by his touch you pushed against his chest with enough force to knock him down on the mattress. Mingi grew stiff at your sudden outburst. The fear of having done something wrong, something to upset you, crawled up his throat in the form of bile and the feel in his legs was abruptly cut off.

On the other side of the room, your heart was beating hard against your ribcage. Mingi was dangerous, you realized. The moment his lips were on yours, you surrendered to the satisfying feeling of bliss and it wasn’t like you were new to the act of intimacy, but with everything that happened between you, you needed time to collect your thoughts. Because getting tangled in bed with Mingi while you were still hurting wasn’t going to help you in the long run and you needed something more than kisses to make up for it all.

Mingi slowly sat back up and breathed out an air of relief as you looked anything but panic stricken. He ignored your slightly bruised neck and spit covered lips, and kept his eyes glued to yours.

“Are you– Did I– uhm…”

He took another breath to collect his thoughts. Anxiety attacks weren’t foreign to him and if you were having one now — or a panic attack — he’d rather approach it with ease than scare you up even more.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah… I just… I can’t, uh– I can’t stop thinking about what… you said back then. After the game. It’s been like, what? Weeks and I’m still hung up on that and I–”

“Please, stop.”

The soft plea was enough for you to clamp your mouth shut. Words poured out of him quicker than he could form a coherent sentence in his mind and he was sure he was making a fool of himself.

“It’s right, I mean you’re right. We should talk about that or, well, I need to talk and you listen, if you want.”

At your nod, Mingi gently patted the space beside him and while you made your way over he took one of your pillows and perched it over his groin. Your legs were crossed in a pretzel position as you faced him with your whole body. The anxious tap of his foot against the floor was slowly driving you crazy, but you still kept silent, realizing the conversation was probably as hard for him as for you.

“I’m sorry,” he started and wrung his hands together. “For everything. I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry that I made you cry and most importantly, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Mingi looked up at you and if the raw sincerity woven with his voice wasn’t enough, then the watery shine reflecting in his eyes made up for it.

“I… I’m sorry for a lot of things and I know… I know that– I know that my words aren’t nearly enough to make up for what I said, but I need you to know that everything I’ve said, from start to finish, I never meant any of it and if I could, I’d take it back in a heartbeat.”

The cracking sound of his heart echoed through the room at your dejected expression.

“You really hurt me, Mingi.”

“I know and I’m so, so, sorry, princess.”

The pet name made your throat grow tighter, and you blinked back tears, but they were persistent and eventually trickled down your cheeks.

All those sleepless nights spent with thoughts occupied by your future confrontation weren’t anything like you imagined it to be. It was supposed to be explosive, harsh, and filled with pain, where you’d get to hurt him back tenfold and leave him in tears. Instead, it was the complete opposite and Mingi couldn’t think of a more agonizing punishment than to see you cry. Each shake of your shoulders was a slap to his face while your small sniffles probed at his cochlea. What really tore his insides apart, were you trying to stifle your sobs, your uninjured hand clamped over your mouth as if you were embarrassed to be vulnerable in front of him.

“Come here,” he said, to which you shook your head and covered the rest of your face as the tears multiplied.

Mingi swallowed, but it didn’t help the tightness in his throat. It felt like he’d eaten buckets of sand for breakfast, lunch and dinner. His hand itched to reach out and anchor you back to him. He wanted to reassure you with gentle pats to your head and slow caresses of your knee. Feeling completely helpless, he just watched until your cries were nothing more but soundless hiccups. As much as he wanted you in his hold, he also didn’t want to cross your boundaries, something he was apparently very good at. You were already hurting enough as it was, you didn’t need him pressuring you into things you didn’t want or felt uncomfortable with.

“Please,” he whispered out in a last attempt to offer you some solace in the form of physical contact and you, not knowing better than to defy him, shook your head in retaliation.

“I… I think… it’s best if you leave,” you barely made out through sniffles and a dry throat. “I just– I, uhm… I need time to… think– or well, process all of this and you being here. It won’t– I can’t think properly with you here so please, just…”

As you trailed off, leaving the sentence with an open ending that was self explanatory, Mingi physically felt his soul fade to nothing, leaving him hollow like an empty seashell.

“You need some time,” he finished for you with an understanding tone and you didn’t know whether to feel relief or angst.

Being in his arms brought a sense of security and the kisses he planted along your skin made you feel wanted. The universe would deem you a liar if you said you didn’t want to crawl back in his lap and fall asleep to the gentle sound of his beating heart. You knew very well that if you caved in to your desire, your heart and your pride would meet in a joust.

“Yes.”

Mingi didn’t dare to ask for how long, being well aware everyone functioned differently and moved at their own pace. The non-existent hourglass could stay upside down with its endless sand pouring for all eternity and while Mingi was willing to wait for however long you needed, he was scared your feelings for him would never go past the friendly mark on the thermometer. Left with no other choice, but to give you exactly what you were asking for, Mingi listened to your wish.

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Wolves were known for their fierce loyalty and being the symbol of freedom, resourcefulness and adaptability. When in danger, they flee. When in battle, they fight. Other than the fact that both choices began on the same letter, they also had another thing in common. Neither was an act of surrender. Like a wolf, Mingi wasn’t familiar with yielding and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a taste of it now. He was done with handing out empty apologies, it was time to show you what he truly felt, preferably so before someone else beat him to it. Mingi wasn’t going down without putting up a fight, and he wasn’t one to back down from getting a little dirty if needed.

“But don’t think I’m giving up on you, princess. You can use your time thinking and when you're ready I’ll be there. Till then, I’ll show you exactly how sorry I am.”

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