#Nevermind two or three or more months dry

[vinegar-doppio-official]

if my therapist wants me to quit my job and my psychiatrist wants me to quit my job and I want to quit my job. Why am I not quitting my job

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah.”

Greystripe shuddered and squinted in the direction of the distant Fourtrees, like he could see the dogs coming already. “One thing after another, huh? You think they’ll show up here?”

“I hope not, but…” Ravenwing shook some soil off his paw. “I don’t trust our luck. Nor do I trust those dogs.”

Fireheart stretched out, the early evening warmth still permeating the ground under him, which he knew to appreciate before he lost it by the time the moon was fully up. Greystripe had been asleep when the Gathering party had returned home last night, and Fireheart had insisted on not waking him up with such grave news as the leaders had given. Ravenwing had complied, but roused his friends early this evening for a “hunting patrol”, which was really an excuse to walk in the woods while they still had that freedom. Whatever Bluestar was thinking about the warning from Rookstar, she hadn’t said, but by the time everyone turned in for sleep, common opinion was near-certain she would restrict wandering about in the forest alone or in a small group. Just for safety, obviously, not that the reason made it any more fun.

“It’s the fact that we don’t have any information at all that bugs me,” Ravenwing continued. “There’s more than one, and that’s it. That’s all we know.”

“That’s at least something, isn’t it?” Fireheart asked, trying to sound hopeful and probably not doing a good job. “We know to watch out for several dogs.”

Ravenwing shook his head. “I mean, sure, but we’ll live with the uncertainty that, if one or more go away for whatever reason, we don’t know if all of them left, or just some. Two could leave, but then another one from the pack shows up when we don’t expect it, and we’re feather-plucked.”

“One thing at a time.” Greystripe lifted a paw and lowered it in a “settle down” gesture. “They’re probably still near WindClan territory. ThunderClan just needs to form a plan while we can.” He paused. “Whatever that plan may be.”

“And maybe humans will catch them first,” Fireheart added. “Anything could happen.”

Ravenwing, sitting up while the others were reclining, kneaded the ground and grimaced at the marks his claws were making, muttering, “We still ought to err on the side of pessimism.”

Neither Greystripe nor Fireheart responded to this. Fireheart instead swiveled his ears this way and that, keen on any small noise he could detect, just in case pessimism was warranted. All he got was a familiar, rushing rumble on the edge of his hearing.

“Hey, you can hear the river from here,” he remarked cheerfully. “It really got filled up from all that rain, didn’t it? Even though it’s been so dry this month, it’s still loud.”

Ravenwing slowly lifted his head and mimicked Fireheart’s ears, pulling himself out of his dour mood. “Huh. You can.”

Fireheart looked over at Greystripe, who had his ears turned as well, but more bittersweetly back than curiously pivoted towards the direction of the distant river. His eyes were half-shut with grieving affection.

“You know…” he said after a moment. “She never found a nickname for me.”

Ravenwing’s tail went stiff. Fireheart sadly sighed under his breath.

“Just a little bit of a bummer.” Greystripe’s head turned round to where the river sang. “It’d be nice to have at least that, you know? Something tangible to remember her by.” He made an attempt at an amused snort that came out more as a limp huff. “I mean, something tangible in this Clan.”

Fireheart didn’t say anything, but his mind soared over the river and went straight into whatever RiverClan had as a nursery, where a litter of grey kits nursed at a belly that wasn’t their mother’s. How much did they look like Greystripe now?

Ravenwing sank onto his belly, looking a bit queasy. He murmured something, seemingly to himself.

“What?” Fireheart tilted his head.

“Nevermind,” Ravenwing said, jerking his head up. “Just. Thinking.”

A memory shouldered its way into the forefront of Fireheart’s mind. In a bid to change the mood, he said to Ravenwing, “Well, at least you never had to learn that lesson the hard way, right?”

The mood changed indeed—Ravenwing flinched and stammered, “Are yo– don’t bring up that whole thing! It’s not the same!”

Greystripe looked back at them, frowning. “What’s not the same?”

Fireheart almost leapt to his feet, instantly eager at this chance of merriment. “Oh, it’s—” He looked at Ravenwing, who was burying his face in his paws. “Can I tell him?”

“Go ahead,” Ravenwing grumbled.

Immediately, Fireheart turned back to Greystripe, tail dancing in delight. “Ravenwing likes Wrenwhisker, and he overheard us talking about it at that one Gathering while we were still fighting, and he winked at Ravenwing and walked off.”

“You—” Greystripe almost coughed out a halting chuff of disbelief. “Excuse me? You—”

“It’s not him specifically!” Ravenwing blurted in protest. Then his voice dropped to a mumble. “It’s all WindClan toms.”

Greystripe’s face was unsure whether to be outraged or highly amused. “And you yelled at me!”

“That’s what I said!” Fireheart near-trilled.

Greystripe shook his head, his eyes bright and amazed. “I cannot believe the hypocrisy.”

“I didn’t go after anyone, Greystripe,” Ravenwing said hotly. “I can appreciate from a distance! Wasn’t I just appreciating, Fireheart?”

Fireheart’s eyes were almost squeezed shut as he beamed at Ravenwing, putting on an airy voice. “You certainly could have done the exact same thing as Greystripe instead, I suppose.”

“Okay—” Greystripe lifted his tail for silence, visibly struggling to decide what thing to dunk on Ravenwing for first. “For one—for one—you have the audacity to fancy an entire Clan of toms and then get mad at me for picking one molly across the river. For two…” He tilted his head and squinted at Ravenwing, snorting. “WindClan? Are you serious? Have you seen those cats?”

“Yes!” Ravenwing glared at him with no severity. “Have you?”

“Look, I could get, like, RiverClan—”

“Yeah, you could,” Ravenwing muttered.

“Shut up,” said Greystripe. “I could get RiverClan, but WindClan is literally the least attractive set of cats in the territories. Their faces are weird—”

“They have handsome faces!”

“With those dog-eyes and long noses?!”

“Yes!”

“How in—” Greystripe shook his head again. “You are out of your mind.”

“They’ve got a unique beauty to them!” Ravenwing looked to Fireheart now. “Come on. Aren’t they handsome?”

Fireheart rolled a shoulder. “Well, I think everyone’s got their own flavor of beauty, no matter where they come from.”

“Why are you asking him?” Greystripe said to Ravenwing with a chortle. “You know he’s never looked twice at any cat at all, much less appraised their appearance.”

“He can still have standards,” Ravenwing sniffed.

“My standards are that everyone’s got something,” Fireheart said when the bigger toms looked at him. “I mean, we all look good to someone, right? Isn’t that how it goes?”

“I will catch you every single mole in this forest if you can point out a cat that thinks Yellowfang looks good,” Greystripe said.

“Or Darkstripe,” Ravenwing added sourly.

“Darkstripe’s ugly is from the inside, it just came out in his face.” Greystripe squinted in amusement. “Honestly, I don’t know how anyone born from Patchpelt could have that hideous of a personality.”

Fireheart blinked. “Wait, he’s Patchpelt’s son?” He looked at Ravenwing. “Your grandpa? Then he’s…”

“My uncle,” Ravenwing finished. He scowled. “I try not to think about it.”

“Wow.” Fireheart nearly cuffed his own ear in admonishment. “How did I never find this out? I’ve been here for, like, over a year now, and I never knew!”

Greystripe leaned a little his way, speaking in a conspiratorial voice that was poorly hiding its humor. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Darkstripe is kind of a slitprick.”

“Greystripe!” Fireheart mimed cuffing his friend’s too-far-away ear instead. “That’s not nice!”

All he got was a chuff in response. “Neither is Darkstripe. Would you want to acknowledge that you’re related to him?”

“Not in thlain* years,” Ravenwing said, still scowling. “And if he doesn’t want to acknowledge us, that’s fine by me. I have pampam** and that’s all I need.”

“Well…” Fireheart mulled over this for a moment. “It’s still sad for family not to feel like family.”

“Not with that piece of—” Ravenwing started, and abruptly jerked his head back and scrubbed at his muzzle like there was dirt on it. “Nevermind.”

Greystripe leaned forward with an expression similar to Yellowfang’s frog-like grin. “No, no, go on. What is he a piece of?”

“Forget it.” Ravenwing tucked his paws under his body. “Fireheart’s here.”

“Are you afraid to sully his innocent ears?”

“No, but he’ll scold me.” The black tom narrowed his eyes. “I’ve got a worse name for him than you do.”

Fireheart regarded Ravenwing with amazement. “You are just full of surprises today. Are you going to tell me you secretly have crow-wings next?”

Ravenwing swiped dust at Fireheart with his long tail. Fireheart sneezed a chuff, and the trio fell into a comfortable silence as the moon’s rising slowly reclaimed the warmth of the ground.

---

They couldn’t stay out forever; eventually the cold ground got to them and they rose, returning home with a couple mice they had caught along the way. Whitecloud was leaving Bluestar’s den when they reached the entrance of camp and greeted them with a nod.

“It isn’t much,” Ravenwing said, his mouse dangling from his mouth by its tail, forcing him to talk through clenched teeth. “We just went out for a walk.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Whitecloud said with a slow blink. “We’ll be alright for a night. Perhaps bring that to Brindleface, she was hungry earlier.”

Something in his usually-warm yellow eyes seemed to be… missing. Fireheart, not carrying any prey, paused in his walking just before reaching the tunnel. Greystripe looked back at him questioningly and Fireheart silently nodded for him to keep going. Obediently, the hulking grey tom turned forward again and followed Ravenwing.

Whitecloud was watching Greystripe and his former apprentice disappear. It took a long moment for him to realize Fireheart was watching him. He turned and looked down at him, eyes falsely creased. “How can I help you?”

Fireheart tilted his head, concerned. “Are you okay?”

The tall tom, just for an instant, seemed to shrink at the question, before recovering quickly and purring. “I’m fine, Fireheart. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Liar, Fireheart thought, but he played it carefully; he glanced at the lichen in front of the leader’s den, just past Whitecloud, and then back to him. He lowered his voice. “Is Bluestar okay, then?”

To his relief, Whitecloud didn’t brush this off. He, too, looked back at Bluestar’s den, sighed and lowered his angular head to speak quietly to Fireheart.

“Physically, yes, she’s okay,” he murmured. He paused. “Mentally… mentally, I’m not so sure.”

Something in Fireheart’s mind iced over, but he stayed calm. “Everything that happened really did get to her, didn’t it?”

“It did.” Whitecloud sighed. “But I worry that it affected her in a different way. Has she… has she sounded alright, to you? No slurred words or strange things she’s said?”

Fireheart blinked, confused. “She’s been fine. Maybe a little terse, but that’s about it. Why would she…?”

He trailed off at the sight of something invisible lifting itself off of Whitecloud’s back, settling his spine into a slouch. “Good. Good. It’s just that…” He drew in a breath and held it for a long moment before exhaling his next sentence. “I don’t know if she ever told you about Gooseleaf. Her uncle.”

Fireheart shook his head.

“He was unwell,” Whitecloud said quietly. “Hallucinated, had mood-swings. He was lucky enough to make it to the seer position, where StarClan could take care of him and speak to him in a way he’d understand. But he was paranoid and easily frightened, and he saw things that StarClan certainly didn’t send to him. I don’t remember much of him beyond being told not to say anything that could set him off.”

Fireheart felt his face fall. “That’s sad. Poor tom.”

Whitecloud shut his eyes. “Indeed. But he wasn’t the only one in our family that had struggles only found in their head. Bluestar’s grandmother, I was told, lived a long time, and when her mate died, she slowly became confused and distressed, asking where cats were that had died before she was an apprentice. She was made an elder early to keep her safe, because she wandered into the forest alone and approached a badger cub thinking it was one of her kits. The real mother nearly killed her.”

Fireheart nodded for him to continue, the ice reaching his stomach.

“I just…” Whitecloud looked back to the leader’s den, his eyes foggy. “I see Bluestar now: hiding, tired, scared. I worry that… everything… is going to affect her mentally. Make things worse for her. She’s hardly even telling me anything, and I’m the only family she has left. She’s never kept secrets from me.”

Ice in his toes now. Fireheart tried to clench his teeth, but his thoughts escaped him anyway. “If we were allowed to talk about ‘everything’, I think it would help her get some of that out. It could make her feel better. Make all of us feel better.”

As he could have predicted, Whitecloud started, “We can’t run the risk of bringing his soul back—”

“Horoa’s hunters must have caught him by now,” Fireheart said, surprised at the sternness in his own voice. “And just pretending that nothing happened, while it doesn’t leave our heads—he’s haunting our hearts anyway. Talking about it could help us move on.”

Whitecloud looked a little surprised, too. He recovered and gazed down at Fireheart with a mixture of affection and sadness. “…Maybe so.”

Fireheart caught himself with a breath, and with that his calmness returned. “I mean, I could at least try to talk to Bluestar myself. I am her apprentice. If she won’t tell you, maybe she’ll tell me.”

“And you are very good at getting people to talk,” Whitecloud purred. He nodded and turned for the tunnel. “Very well, then. I trust that you can be easy on her. Whenever you feel like it, try.” He stopped and looked back, his eyes serious. “But if you see her acting oddly at all, tell me immediately. It’s much more important than I can emphasize.”

Fireheart dipped his head in respect and agreement, and the senior warrior retreated into camp. Fireheart did not follow him immediately. Instead, he regarded Bluestar’s den, his stomach twisting into knots that were still quite cold.

She’ll be okay, he thought. She has to be. We need her.

*”Thlain”: A thousand, a million, infinity, or some other humongous, uncountable number.

**”Pampam”: Affectionate form of “pamarpam”, meaning “grandfather”. Similar to saying “gramps”.

[bakhiu]

Bad Desire

Nanami helps you understand why dating him would be better than casually sleeping with your boss Gojo.

read it on AO3 Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Office Setting, One-sided Feelings, Jealousy, Referenced Boss/Employee Relationship, Implied Gojo/Reader, Oral Sex, Alcohol Word Count: 1,623

“What kind of man should I be with then?” you asked with a dejected look. “Someone serious, someone like me.” Nanami replied without hesitation.

Last minute dinner dates are high up on the irritability list for Nanami Kento. Unfortunately, this does not apply to you. The two of you have worked together for a few years, your desks right across from each other in a shared office. 

Your frequent sighs and glances at your phone were not work related stress. You and Gojo have been casually seeing each other for six months. Nanami only knew this because you casually let it slip that you and Gojo hang out after work. You would show up the following day with badly concealed hickies on your neck. It was obvious it was much more than hanging out. 

The multiple scorned lovers of Gojo Satoru making an uninvited appearance to the office and causing a commotion was enough for Nanami to know Gojo was not the serious relationship type. You witnessed this firsthand seven months ago. His ex berated you, accused you of sleeping with him before storming down the hall screaming for Gojo to come out.

And yet, a month later, you and Gojo began casually seeing each other. He was currently working at the second office location and based on your reactions, he was leaving you high and dry. 

“Need help with the end of month reports?” Nanami asked as he glanced up in your direction. 

“Sorry, I’m just distracted.” You sighed as you put your phone in your desk drawer. “Hey, want to go out for a drink after work? We can celebrate finishing these reports!” 

“Oh, well I was planning–” 

“Nevermind!” you interrupted, your face slightly flushed. “What a silly thing to celebrate, especially at the last minute.” 

“I was planning on going to the bar on 5th street, if that sounds good to you.” Nanami responded, forcing himself to glance back at his computer. 

“I’d love to.” you replied, a huge grin replacing your embarrassed expression.

You swirled your straw around your half empty drink, sighing in the process. You were three drinks in with Nanami close behind, on the verge of finally asking why you are so down. Before he could interrupt your sighing, you interrupted. 

“Y’know Nanami, you seem like such a great guy.” you rested your cheek on your palm, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “How are you still single?”

Nanami took a long sip of his drink, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Eventually you broke eye contact, finishing the rest of your drink in a big gulp. 

“I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate.” you stuttered, still too embarrassed to meet Nanami’s gaze. 

“I’m just waiting for the right time to make my feelings known to someone.” Nanami replied, finishing his own drink. 

“How do you know when it’s the right time?” you asked. 

“You will know when the time is right.” Nanami motioned for the server to order another round. 

You both ordered another drink, promising it was the last round. Nanami was a responsible and logical person; you contemplated asking for advice on your relationship with Gojo. Your friendship (if you would even call it that) with Nanami was limited to friendly conversations in the office and courteous inquiries about what you did over the weekend. 

The server returned with your final round, check placed between the two of you with a reminder that the bar closes in thirty minutes. You immediately reached for your drink and took a gulp. It was now or never and if it ended badly, you would chalk it up to drunken shenanigans. 

“Nanami, what do you think of Gojo?” you asked, easing into the conversation. 

“As our boss, or something else?” Nanami questioned back, a small smirk following. 

You choked on your drink, not expecting a response like that. So he knows… you thought to yourself as you coughed and took a sip of water. After clearing your throat several times and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I guess as a romantic partner.” you replied, holding your breath as he contemplated a response.

“He does not have a good track record.” Nanami answered flatly. “You were verbally harassed by one of his exes.” 

“Technically she wasn’t an ex, just a one night stand.” you retorted. “Gojo told me that she would not leave his apartment and had to call security.” 

Nanami stared at you with a blank expression, waiting for you to realize just how ridiculous you sounded defending Gojo. You took another sip of your drink before inhaling deeply and deciding to be honest.

“So, Gojo and I have been casually seeing each other. He said he doesn’t want anything serious but I really like him and–” 

“He doesn’t want anything serious and you still want to confess to him?” Nanami interrupted, rolling his eyes in the process. “Please respect yourself and stop engaging with Gojo. Not only is he unserious, he is also your boss .” 

You gripped your glass, the cool condensation making your fingers slowly slide down. You knew he was unserious most of the time, but he made up for it in other ways. You had some great conversations…sometimes. You would go out to dinner…rarely. The more you thought about it, the more you realized it was a convenient hookup for Gojo. He did the bare minimum to keep you interested. 

Nanami reached for the check and left his card inside, setting it on the edge of the table for the server. You didn’t bother trying to argue about paying for your half, too wrapped up in your own thoughts surrounding Gojo. You had fun with him, isn’t that what matters? You could easily convince yourself to stop wanting a serious relationship, right? 

“What kind of man should I be with then?” you asked with a dejected look. 

“Someone serious, someone like me.” Nanami replied without hesitation.

The time between leaving the restaurant and being thrown onto Nanami’s bed was a blur. You stared up at him, pupils blown wide as he grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. Heart hammering in your chest, you watched with your lips parted as he slowly kissed down your torso, his eyes locked on yours. 

He pressed a soft kiss on your clothed cunt and groaned at how wet you were. He gently pressed a finger on your clit, smirking when you squirmed at the minimal touch. Nanami continued his ministrations over your pussy, intentionally ghosting his finger over your clit. You gave an annoyed sigh, bucking your hips as a silent plea.

“Please stop teasing, Nanami.” you inhaled sharply as he pushed your panties to the side and raised his eyebrow. 

Without missing a beat, he licked a long stripe against your slit, paying a little more attention to your clit but not enough to satisfy you. You moaned and pressed your thighs together, glancing down to watch as he slowly swirled his tongue around your clit. 

You were a leaking mess, your clit throbbing for more pressure. Nanami slipped a finger inside your pussy, but just barely. You threw your head back, feeling equally annoyed and aroused. He was definitely teasing you, or punishing you for wanting Gojo so bad. 

“Why are you teasing me?” you sighed as he slowly curved his finger in your walls. 

“You think this is teasing?” he mused as his thumb started circling your clit. “I could be worse.” 

You bit your lip, wondering if you should try and rile Nanami up by using your previous hookups with Gojo. You weren’t sure how Nanami would react but figured whatever outcome would result in you cumming…eventually. 

“Gojo teases me a lot.” you whispered, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Sometimes he doesn’t let me cum until the next day when we hookup.” 

Nanami raised his eyebrow as he pulled his thumb away from your clit, his tongue circling around it, savoring your essence. You gulped, unable to gauge Nanami’s reaction as he raised himself away from your body. 

“Lucky for you,” Nanami began as he loosened his tie. “I plan on making you cum multiple times.”

At least, that’s what Nanami wished had happened. He wished he could truthfully express his bad desire to be with you.

In reality, before you could question Nanami further, the server appeared and handed Nanami his card back. Nanami gave them a confused look before the server cleared their throat, motioning towards a customer sitting at the bar. 

“The gentleman over there covered your bill.”

You and Nanami turned around at the same time but had very different reactions. Gojo gave a smug grin and raised his glass to you both. Your heart skipped a beat, resisting the urge to run over to Gojo. Nanami clenched his fist and ground his teeth, annoyed that Gojo once again gave the bare minimum for your attention. 

“Should we go say hi?” you asked excitedly, already reaching for your handbag. 

“You two enjoy your time together.” Nanami answered flatly, placing his card back into his wallet and excused himself. 

You watched as Nanami walked away without acknowledging Gojo or saying good night to you. You hesitated for a moment, recalling your conversation a few minutes ago with Nanami. Was it really worth it to pursue this relationship with Gojo? Before you could ruminate further, Gojo appeared behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back. 

“You missed me so much that you entertained Nanami’s advances?” Gojo whispered into your ear, guiding you back to the bar. 

“Advances?” you questioned, leaning against Gojo’s arm. “We were having a few drinks as friends, er, coworkers.” 

“Sure, baby.” Gojo smirked as he helped you climb up on the bar stool. “Let’s get one more drink in ya before we go have some fun, as coworkers.”

[buckyownsmylife]

Young and Beautiful - Steve Rogers smut

The one where you were supposed to be a one-night stand, but Steve won't let that happen

Warnings: smut, and a little bit of angst.

A/N: this was our first ever patreon-voted fic, chosen for the month of May! My patreons at the $3 tier get to send me their ideas once a month and two of them end up being voted so I can write one of them each month. June’s fic is the one where Ransom needs to get a sugar mommy, and if you want to suggest a story for our July’s fic, please consider becoming a patreon! Thank you to my darling @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for reading this over for me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The first time wasn’t a mistake, I could admit to that. Steve had been coming to the same bar where I worked for almost a year now. I knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew - he was hard to miss. But I think what he liked about our run-down place is that no one seemed to care about Captain America and the things he did when he didn’t have a bottle of beer in his hand.

Over here, he was just Steve. And Steve tipped well and drank a lot - I was sure he couldn’t get drunk, no matter how many beers I served him, but he never stopped asking me for more.

So, needless to say, he was adored. Adored by my boss, who was always around to keep watch of his customers and keep them in line. Adored by Luke, who guarded the entrance, for all the nights Steve helped him get rid of men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. And adored by all the waitresses, for precisely the same reason - and because I always shared my tips with all of them.

Even the kitchen staff adored Steve. Besides, it’s not like he was hard on the eye - all the girls (customers and staff) were constantly fawning over him, but he was nothing short of a gentleman, always.

Actually, he seemed to avoid the members of the opposite sex as best as he could, clearly not interested in whatever it was that they planned to possibly get to do with him. Well, except for me.

He never avoided me. I always figured it was because I was the guardian of the alcohol - we’d even joke about it sometimes, when he came to sit by the bar after politely declining someone’s advances.

“It’s just hard to understand how to date nowadays,” he commented one day after a pretty girl actually asked him out on a date right in front of me, but he refused. I shrugged as I wiped the counter, thinking if there was any advice I could give him.

“It really isn’t that hard. You go out to dinner, walk her home and when you step in front of her door, you ask her for some coffee. She’ll usually do it herself, but if you want to show your interest…” His frown was amusing, to say the least, but I held back my laughter so he wouldn’t be even more uncomfortable.

“A coffee?” Giggling, I nodded. “Before bed? But…”

“It’s a metaphor, Steve. A lady can’t very well invite you into her sheets, now can she?” He blushed three different shades of red when I winked, another giggle escaping. “I mean, she can, but we like to keep some things unsaid - innuendos can be very sexy.”

Two months had passed and if Steve made use of my lessons, I wouldn’t know. He never brought anyone to the bar and never left with any lady who approached him either.

“What can I get ya, Steve?” I’d always ask. I’d never once called him Cap or anything other than the name he used to introduce himself - even though I obviously knew who he was. He always took his time before answering my questions, even if they required a simple yes or no, which amused me to no end.

For a while, I actually believed a gun or one of the buildings the Hulk had undoubtedly thrown in his direction had left him with a difficulty of hearing. But then after my first question, he never seemed to have any problem understanding me at all.

“Just a beer,” he’d say, a small, soft smile as he tried not to stare too much at me, fingers tapping on the counter while I got his order. I appreciated his effort not to make me uncomfortable - I knew he’d seen how often men did that to me. I had no doubt that was why he only ever looked me in the eye from under those huge eyelashes of his.

“There you go.” Always the same routine, we never once deviated from it. Until one night when I was supposed to close the bar and he heard my boss instructing me to be careful.

“There’s been a lot of robberies this late at night. Make sure you lock everything up properly.” I saluted in jest, making the old man laugh and shake his head at me. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

There were only a handful of customers - Steve included, and he was the only one by the bar, so I threw him a quick smile as I wiped the glasses and started to clean the counter.

“Can I get you anything else?” I offered, but he only grimaced in response, leaving me confused. “Is there something wrong?” He stared directly at me without answering for a while before he was able to snap out of whatever it was that had frozen him.

“You’re supposed to leave by yourself at two in the morning?” I chuckled lightly at his concern, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t see how it warmed my heart that he’d be preoccupied over me, someone that was a little more than a stranger to him.

“It’s part of the job,” I reassured him. “Well, usually it’s part of Luke’s job. But whenever he has to leave early, it’s my duty to fill in for him.” He nodded, but didn’t make any movement towards leaving. Usually, he would be gone by now, but it wasn’t that extraordinary for him to stay until the hour I left.

This was the first time he stayed this long though, considering I wasn’t the one responsible for closing the bar and I only realized it when I looked around and noticed we were the last two people left in the room.

“Planning on drinking much more?” I joked, trying to gauge if he was going to be much longer, but he seemed startled by my question, looking around to verify the same thing I’d just noticed.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” I smiled, thankful that he was conscious and wouldn’t force me to stay even longer after my shift had finished. “I just figured I could walk you home. It is pretty late, after all.”

My heart warmed up at how sweet and thoughtful this man was. He had no reason to wait for me to finish my job just to walk me home, yet here he was. “Thank you, Steve,” I acknowledged, sending him a grateful grin. “Let me just check the bathrooms real quick. I’ll grab my purse and we can leave.”

He nodded, watching me do as I said and in no time at all we took off together in the direction of my apartment. I wasn’t worried about making small talk with him on the way there - I knew he was a good conversationalist from all the times he had stayed by the bar instead of taking his beer to a table, and I adored the stories he told of his missions just as much as I appreciated how he genuinely cared about what I had to say.

The walk to my place seemed shorter than ever before, and in a few minutes we were standing in front of my door as I searched for my keys in my bag.

“C-Can I…” He murmured as I looked for it, glancing up at him and smiling to signal he should continue even though I couldn’t give him my full attention at that moment. “Would you… Do you have some coffee?”

I was so shocked that my head whipped up to stare at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. Did Steve… Did he… Did he want to have sex with me? “I mean… in your apartment, do you have some coffee in your apartment?”

The thought was so extraordinary that the second I realized his intentions, a fire of desire warmed my lower belly, not because he was Captain America, but because he was an attractive and sweet guy that was way out of my league and I couldn’t believe he was into me.

He kept talking as I kept blinking at him, trying to process what was going on. “’Cause I’d really like to have some coffee… with you… If you want some too…”

His voice got smaller the longer it took for me to answer him, until it disappeared completely and he cleared his throat. “Nevermind.” He was about to turn around and make a run for it, I was sure, but I was able to grasp his wrist just in time, signalling him to stop because I had something to say.

“I would love to make you some coffee, Steve.”

So yeah, the first time wasn’t a mistake. He was way too fucking sweet and I got hot just by seeing how nervous he was to ask me for some “coffee”, incredulous that I was capable of affecting this giant man that much.

So as soon as we were in my apartment, I tied up my hair with the little hair tie I always kept on my wrist during work and got on my knees for him.

And I cherished every fucking second of it.

The way his mouth fell open in a gasp when I reached for his jeans, the little moans he let out as I licked his member… I couldn’t close my eyes, too transfixed by his expressions to miss anything.

The way he pulled me by my hair to devour my mouth, hands so eager to undress me that he ended up ripping my blouse, but it only made me giggle.

The way his groan sounded almost painful when he picked me up, shoved me against the door and penetrated me, filling me so beautifully I hit my head back against the wood and didn’t even notice it.

He got me to cum without almost no preparation, just from the thrill of it all, the stretch of his member inside of me. When I urged him to cum in my pussy, the look on his eyes was enough to get me to cum again, milking him dry as he emptied himself with a growl, forehead dropping against mine while he tried to catch his breath.

I was expecting him to leave immediately or maybe stay for an actual coffee. I wasn’t expecting him to pull out, drop to his knees and start lapping his cum from inside of me, eyes as focused on mine as I had been for him only minutes before.

Burying my fingers in his short locks, I tried to keep myself up despite the way my legs trembled, but Steve just adjusted them so they’d be over his shoulders and held me up with his face buried in me.

I had never cum so many times in a row. But then again, I had never had a man eat his own cum out of me.

I fully intended it to be a one time thing, and that was my plan. I thanked him for eating me out, made him some coffee, giggled at his stories about his friends and for a second it almost looked like we were back at the bar, only the counter was my kitchen table and I was allowed to sit on the other side.

He didn’t ask to stay the evening and I breathed a sigh of relief after I closed the door behind him, ignoring the slight empty feeling that momentarily hit me. This is what I wanted, I reminded myself, and by acting the way I expected him to, he had made it clear that he understood the rules of the dating world he claimed to know so little of.

This was a one time deal. Nothing more.

But then the first night we saw each other at the bar again, it was when he burst through the door to punch some guy who came in just as I was closing, trying to steal the money we had in the vault. I was so fucking relieved to see his face that all I could do was tremble in his arms after the police came to get the robber, and of course I couldn’t let him go after that.

He walked me home and I didn’t even ask anything, just stood on my tiptoes to kiss his lips, using my grip on his shirt to pull him in as he helped me with my clothes.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” He moaned, and perhaps that should have been my first sign, the one that alerted me to stop what I was doing and not make this into a mistake I couldn’t take back.

He hadn’t talked the last time. He had never complimented me before.

“God, your ass…” He groaned as he palmed it, helping me over his lap when he took a seat on my couch, until I could fuse the both of us and ride us to hysteria.

But I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind because it felt so fucking good to be desired by him, to have him inside of me, cumming deep into my pussy only to eat it all out of me again.

It didn’t take long for me to learn about the errors of my way, though. In fact, it started the very next day, when he walked into the bar grinning from ear to ear and made a beeline in my direction.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and my eyes went wide as two saucers, especially when I saw him lean over the counter like he intended to peck my lips.

“Hello, Captain.” I quickly turned my back to him, facing the shelves of liquor to pretend that I was looking for something. My heart sank to my stomach as I took in what was happening, what I had just done in my effort to put some distance between us as if last night had never happened. “Can I get you anything?”

The time it took for him to answer almost had me looking at him from over my shoulder, but I restrained myself. “Yeah, you,” he finally said, and I breathed out in surprise. “Why are you acting this way?”

I panicked for a few seconds, reaching up for an already clean glass to attack it with my rag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tried to reassure the both of us, still incapable of looking him in the eye.

But I could see his massive body by the end of the counter from the corner of my eyes, where he always sat, and I saw him tap the old battered wood with his fingers - fingers he had used to spread me open for his tongue to reach - as he thought.

I hoped he would let it go. I hoped he would not.

“Fine,” he relented, and I froze, uncertain of what he meant. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” My head snapped up just in time to watch him leave, and he didn’t even look over his shoulder.

I tried to tell myself it was for the best. He needed some time to get over whatever the hell it was that he thought he was feeling and tomorrow things would go back to normal. But that wasn’t what happened.

He came back with flowers the next day, and I didn’t have any reasonable excuse not to accept it. He didn’t push for anything, just gave me the bouquet before asking for his usual drink. And then he proceeded to stay the entire evening right there, where he always sat, carefully watching my every move.

For the first time in a while, I broke two glasses in a single evening.

The day after that, he came with a box of chocolates. I couldn’t hide the smile because they were my favorite - I didn’t know how he knew it until he reminded me.

“You told me you liked them right when I started coming to this place.” His eyes were so heavy with a sad feeling that I couldn’t recognize that I had to avert my gaze. It messed with my heartbeat, it left my throat feeling dry.

“Thanks, Captain,” I softly acknowledged it, and I saw the way his grip on the box tightened. I saw it in the way it was slightly crumpled when I took it from his hands, but he didn’t say a word.

There was only so much that he could take, though. And I knew that. It didn’t help that my boss had caught onto his intentions and started to push me to go out on a date with him.

“Why don’t you give the poor guy a chance?” He’d incite, much to Steve’s utter glee.

“Yeah, Y/N. Why don’t you go out with me?” Steve urged, and although he never asked when my boss wasn’t around to initiate the teasing, I knew he wondered.

And the truth was that I wondered about it too. Because everything was screwed up now. When I gave him his beer and our fingers brushed, mine were left tingling. When I looked his way to find his gaze already on me, I shivered.

So yes, the second time was undeniably a mistake, but there wouldn’t be a third time. I’d make sure of it.

Steve’s P.O.V.

I was tired of waiting. I knew I had wanted her since the first time I laid my eyes on her, when I decided to stop at this rundown bar in the hopes of one night of crappy beer without being bothered by anyone asking for autographs or pictures.

I’d come here almost every night when I could escape the tower to watch her work, slowly getting her to warm up to me, and I fell for her personality in the process.

The way she clearly saw me as Steve, and not my title.

The way she always laughed at my stories and shared what had happened in the previous nights with the raucous customers.

The way she seemed to care about everyone and everything that came into contact with her.

So what started as desire became something deeper and for the first time since I was unfrozen, I found myself eager to understand what dating in this new century was like. I asked Sam for advice, and even Tony for any tips he could give me, but their general ideas didn’t matter to me when all I wanted was one single person.

Her.

So I asked her for her thoughts on the matter and was surprised with myself when I put them into practice. I was even more surprised when she accepted my advances and welcomed me into her embrace.

I was sure I’d never been happier than that evening.

But to have her pretend nothing had happened and even worse - treat me like a stranger after I had learned the taste of her skin? Nothing hurt deeper than that.

And still, I understood. I realized then that she hadn’t seen the situation the way that I had. She had thought all I wanted was a one-night deal - well, two-night deal - because I had never shown her anything to make her think differently.

So I set out to do just that. My way this time. And I was just about ready to ask her on a proper date when I was forced away for a whole damn month, having to resort to my hand and my memories of her body to get through the cold nights on the field.

The second I was back in the city, I only had one thing in mind. To get what I wanted, in whatever way she would let me.

“Can we talk?” My voice sounded clipped to my own ears, and maybe that’s why her mouth opened in surprise - or maybe it was seeing me at the bar so early, when there was barely anyone around, after being absent for so long.

“Sure,” she finally accepted, shrugging like it was no big deal, but I knew better than that. She might not know it, but I could read her perfectly, and I knew she was hiding her true feelings even to herself. I knew those feelings were deeper than she had ever felt. I knew they made her scared.

“Not here.” She stopped cleaning glasses then, frozen for a second before she looked around, taking in the fact that no one else was going to need her for a while. There was nowhere to run and maybe I was a jerk for doing this during her work hours, but I was a desperate jerk and I couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Okay.” She sounded small, and I knew what she was expecting to get out of this conversation. Closure, in one way or another. For me to finally let go of her. But I wouldn’t.

I wanted her too damn bad to let her escape like that.

“Go out with me.” I asked the second that the office door was closed behind us, and she immediately started shaking her head. “Yes, please,” I insisted. “Let me show you that I want more from you. I want so much more.”

“I can’t give you more,” was her answer, and she still avoided my eyes as she spoke. “One night, you even had two. That’s all I can give you. Please don’t ask me for anything more.”

“Why?” I asked, and the frustration in my voice was enough to get her to meet my eyes for the first time that evening. “Why are you trying to avoid this? I know you want me, Y/N. You wouldn’t have slept with me if you didn’t. So just tell me why.”

“I can’t,” she insisted, moving towards the door, but I grasped her hand to stop her before she could slip through it - much like she had done that first night, when I thought I’d screwed up any chance I had to ever be with her.

“Tell me why you’re holding yourself back from me,” I ordered, anger and desire creating an explosive cocktail inside of me, making my voice hoarse. I saw her shiver. I watched her break.

“Because it was too fucking good and I swear to God, if you get your mouth on me again, I’m gonna marry you.” Our expressions mirrored one another, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. She couldn’t believe she had let out her feelings like this. I couldn’t believe there was all there was to it.

I dropped to my knees before her.

“Come here.” I shoved her jeans all the way down to her ankles, sending the button flying somewhere. I couldn’t tell where and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to show her that there was nothing wrong with wanting this, with wanting me because as long as she allowed me to, I’d give anything to be with her.

My tongue was so hungry to taste her sweetness again. I licked a stripe between her lower lips before I could even get my hand there, spreading her with my fingers for easier access.

God, she was heavenly. I watched her let her head fall back against the door, much like the first time I was able to be in this position, and my heartbeat fluttered at the realization that this time, I was much closer to getting what I really wanted from her.

“I’ve been terrified of my own feelings for long enough,” I decided to confess, parting from her clit to be able to speak but slipping two digits inside her hole, filling her up, preparing her to welcome me. “I can wait for you to come to terms with yours. But I can’t keep myself away,” I warned, quickening my movements as I chased away the taste of her in my tongue. “So don’t ask that of me.”

Her moan had my eyes sparkling with excitement. I lowered my head to suck her button, see the way it made her thighs tremble on each side of my face.

“So fucking sexy,” I moaned against her cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Drench my face.” Her little cry of ecstasy denounced she was about to do just that, so I twirled my tongue around her clit, rubbing my digits against her sweet spot as her body tensed under my ministrations.

“There you go…” I whispered, fascinated with the way she looked after her release. It was like she glowed from the inside, muscles relaxing to accept my caresses when I finished cleaning her with my tongue and rose to my full height.

“Next time you try to pretend something between us didn’t happen, I’m gonna bend you over the counter and spank your ass in front of all of the other patrons,” I warned her before nibbling her earlobe. “Go out with me,” I tried again, and she took a deep breath before answering, looking up at me from under her eyelashes.

“Okay.”

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! what do you think about a video where couples do the chapstick challenge? like jily vs coops and they compete to see what couple guesses more right! idk i think i would be fun

It's been too long since I wrote one of these--I missed them! Coops, Cubs, and SW Jily belong to @lumosinlove <3

“Welcome back, everyone!” Dorcas said with a smile to the camera. “It’s been over a month since our last big video like this due to scheduling, but we hope you’ve been enjoying our more active social media presence in the meantime. I’m here today with James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and our lovely Cubs. How were your summers, everyone?”

“Hear that, Cap?” Logan’s grin was smug as the cat that got the canary. “I’m lovely.”

“Our summers were great,” Sirius said, ignoring him. “Lots of vacation time.”

“At our house,” Lily teased.

“Yeah, while you were on vacation. It’s called being a good godfather.”

“I’m glad you all had fun,” Dorcas interjected smoothly as she pulled three bags from under her chair. “Because we’ve got a very special game today. Inside these bags are ten blank chapstick tubes, each with a different flavor. One person from each team will apply the chapstick to their lips, and their partner will first have to kiss them, then guess the flavor. Finn, Leo, and Logan, your team will have two guessers.”

“They get two guesses?” Remus protested. “That’s so unfair!”

Dorcas shrugged. “They have to guess at the same time, and they only get one point per correct answer.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Y’know, Loops, you’re starting to sound pretty homophobic over there…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus sighed.

The camera cut; when it returned, Lily, Sirius, and Finn were seated in folding chairs with the bags of chapstick in their laps and a small sticky note in their hands. Across from them, their significant others were sitting with large headphones over their ears.

“Can you hear me?” Dorcas called.

Remus didn’t react at all as he messed with the trailing wire; Logan squinted at her. “Quoi?”

“I can’t hear anything,” James said loudly. “This is super weird. It’s just, like, humming. Honey, it sounds like Harry’s white noise machine!”

Lily smiled reassuringly and patted his hand. “A little quieter, lover.”

“What?”

“A little—nevermind.”

Dorcas’ mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Non-guessers, you can find all the flavors written on stickers at the bottom of each tube. Please start with number one on your flavor lists when you’re ready.”

Sirius bit his lip as he riffled through the bag, and Remus leaned forward to give him a light peck at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t put any on yet!” he laughed.

Remus paused. “What?”

“I haven’t put any chapstick on.”

“Slower, I’m not good at lipreading.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head.

Next to him, Finn had already applied his first flavor and was sitting with a happy smile as Leo and Logan thought for a moment. “Is it lime?’ Leo guessed.

“I think it’s lime,” Logan said half a second later. Finn gave them a thumbs-up and the three of them high-fived. “Called it!”

“That’s…lemon? Really sour lemon?” James guessed. Lily shook her head and showed him the tube. “Lime. Shit.”

Remus licked his lips. “Lime?”

Sirius nodded. “Oui!”

“Really? Hell yeah!”

“We’re at a bit of an advantage,” Sirius said as he put the lime in his lap and checked his list. “I wear chapstick all the time.”

“Why?” Dorcas asked, sounding rather amused.

“My lips get dry from being at the rink all day.” Sirius shrugged and put the next one on. A mischievous smile flickered over his mouth and he tilted his chin toward Remus. “He won’t leave me alone, either.”

Remus’ eyebrows pitched and he leaned forward. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to go slower, I really can’t—”

“Green apple!” Logan exclaimed, slapping Finn’s knee in excitement as Dorcas covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I remembered what it’s called!”

“Correct!” Finn announced.

“I think it’s green apple,” Leo said.

James pulled away and rested his chin on his hand. “Kind of a caramel apple, but without the caramel.” Lily turned to face the camera with a look of disbelief. “So just a normal apple, I guess.”

“Yes!” Lily turned his face toward her with a smile. “You got it!”

“I got it? Woohoo!”

“That’s green apple.” Remus wrinkled his nose. “Tastes like those shitty candy apple lollipops, though. Did I get it?”

Sirius nodded and wiped his lips off. “Number three is pomegranate,” Dorcas announced.

Finn frowned as he dug through his bag. “I don’t—there it is. Wow, this smells really nice.”

Leo paused and smiled before kissing him. “That smells really nice!”

“Does it?” Finn laughed before moving to give Logan a kiss.

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said, kissing Sirius a second time. “No idea what the flavor is, but I like it. Hmm. I have to think about that.”

“Is that frosting?” James asked excitedly as he grabbed Lily’s hands. “Do you have frosting flavored chapstick?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “What the hell? It’s pomegranate.”

“It’s what?”

“Pomegranate.”

“Persimmon?” She rolled her eyes and showed him the sticker. “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

“Is it cherry?” Remus guessed. Sirius shook his head and his face fell. “Aw.”

Leo and Logan shared a look as Finn kept his poker face. “I have no idea what that is,” Logan finally said. “It’s sweet, though.”

“Is candy-flavored chapstick a thing?” Leo wondered. Finn held the tube up. “Pomegranates are tart. That wasn’t tart.”

“What the hell is that?” Logan looked to someone off-screen and held one of his headphones away from his ear.

“Une grenade!” someone called.

“Oh! That didn’t taste like it at all.”

All four guessers kissed their partners within a few seconds for the fourth—almost immediately, they pulled away, faces twisting. “Oh my god,” Remus coughed, wiping his lips. “That’s grape. Oh my god.”

James’ nose scrunched. “It’s grape. I don’t like it.”

In a moment of direct action, Leo took the wet wipe Finn had been using and ran it over his mouth while Logan stuck his tongue out. “It’s grape, and it’s gross. No more cough syrup kisses, please.”

“You’re halfway there!” Dorcas called, chalking up their correct guesses on a whiteboard as Lily, Sirius, and Finn applied the fifth flavor.

Sirius held his hand up as Remus started moving in and sneezed. “Desolee. Okay, you can go now.”

Remus kissed him and recoiled in half a second. “More cough syrup? Are you kidding me? It’s not any better when it’s cherry.”

“Dorcas,” Leo whined when he pulled away. “The first ones were such nice flavors!”

“My head hurts just tasting that,” James said miserably. “It’s that awful fake cherry stuff.”

“That’s cherry.” Logan smacked his lips with a grimace. “Eugh.”

Dorcas held up five fingers for them to see as she spoke. “Just five more, and you’re all done. Those are the only bad ones.”

Lily lit up as she applied the sixth and James hurried to kiss her. “Oh, that one is nice! You always wear strawberry. It’s my favorite.”

Remus shrugged. “Kiss was great, flavor’s fine. It’s just fake strawberry, yeah?”

“Whew.” Leo’s eyebrows rose after the kiss. “Very st—”

“Oh, strawberry!” Logan interrupted. “Katie makes me wear something like that when we have tea parties.”

Dorcas added more tallies to her board. “Tremzy, you can’t hear me, but that’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said. We need pictures.”

“I’ll find some,” Finn promised.

Sirius rubbed his lips together and made a face; Remus laughed, running the pad of his thumb along his mouth. “Stop, I can’t kiss you like that! It can’t be that bad.”

“That would give me a headache,” James said, clearly disappointed. “It’s some sort of pineapple monstrosity. Pina colada? I liked the strawberry a lot better.”

“It’s pineapple. Does that count?” Lily asked. Dorcas nodded, and she gave James a high-five.

“That’s not bad,” Leo admitted with a shrug. “Tastes like the dried mango we get at the store, the kind with all the sugar on it.”

“I don’t have the first idea what that is,” Logan said. “Knutty, I’m letting you take the reins here.”

“You’re both wrong,” Finn said, enunciating every word so they could read his lips.

“Baby—” Remus faltered with a laugh and held the wet wipes out of reach as Sirius tried to take them back. “Baby, we don’t get a point if you wipe it off. Just one kiss, okay?”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled. Remus pressed a sweet kiss to his upper lip and handed him a fresh wet wipe. “Happy now?”

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said. “It’s definitely pineapple. I can see why you hated it so much.”

“Cap, do you not like pineapple?” Dorcas asked. His intense wiping of his lips was the only answer necessary. “We’re in the final three. Sirius, your team is in the lead by one.”

“Come on, hubs,” Lily said as she put the next one on. “This is easy-peasy. We have to beat Cap or we’ll never hear the—”

“Mint!” Leo exclaimed, looking quite proud of himself. “Ooo, it’s like Christmas.”

“I can smell it all the way over here,” Remus laughed, though he didn’t pass up the kiss. “That’s peppermint.”

“It’s like a candy cane,” James said dreamily.

“He’s not going to like this one,” Sirius said as he capped the next chapstick. “I like it, though, and that’s all that matters. Pucker up, Loops.”

“Oh, hell no.” Remus leaned back as Sirius leaned in, keeping his lips out of range. “Nope, not a chance. That’s some plastic vanilla bullshit and I’ll be tasting it all day.”

Dorcas tapped him on the shoulder and he lifted one headphone. “If you don’t taste it, you don’t get a point this round.”

“We can take the hit.”

“What? No!” Sirius protested. “I had to taste the pineapple, remember?”

“I love you and I totally want to win this, but I really, really don’t want that taste in my mouth.”

“Fine,” Sirius sighed, wiping his lips off as Remus readjusted his headphones.

James’ face split into a beaming smile after his kiss. “Birthday cake!”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Vanilla,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

Finn pumped both fists in the air. “Yes! We’re tied for first!”

Leo gave him a high-five. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you seem excited about it!”

“Last one,” Dorcas warned. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You should wear chapstick more often,” James said as Lily lined her lips. “It makes you so soft.”

“He has no idea how greasy my mouth feels right now,” she said fondly with a glance to the camera.

“Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed. “Alright, Loops, don’t pussy out this time.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You just told me not to pussy out, didn’t you?”

Sirius blinked at him. “I thought you couldn’t read lips.”

“C’mere.” Remus cupped his jaw in one hand and kissed him, then smiled. “Orange. Did we win?”

“Mmm, that’s what the oranges back home taste like,” Leo said, going in for a second kiss.

Logan licked his lips a couple of times. “Tastes like fancy orange juice. I like it.”

“In a cruel twist of irony, my lips are getting dry,” James said when they parted. Lily raised her eyebrows as he thought. “That’s orange. We won, right?”

“Take off your headphones,” Dorcas said, miming the motion until everyone could hear her before holding her scoreboard up. “Unfortunately, James and Lily are in last place with a score of seven out of ten. Cap and Harzy, your teams are tied for first place with eight out of ten.”

“We could have won if you didn’t have a personal grudge against vanilla,” Sirius said under his breath. Remus threw one of the chapsticks at him and Sirius dropped another down the neck of his shirt.

“Boys.” They both gave Dorcas a sheepish look and she shook her head. “Thankfully, we prepared for this situation with a tiebreaker. Nobody but me knows the flavor, and it is not written on a sticker. Remus, Leo, and Logan, you will not have to put your headphones on again, but you will have to correctly identify both flavors to get their point. You will write your answers on these whiteboards. You only get one kiss to determine your guess. On your marks, get set, go!”

Sirius swiped a decent amount over his lower lip and pulled Remus in with his hands on his cheeks; Finn practically used half the stick covering his mouth before collecting his kisses. “That’s interesting,” Leo murmured, tapping his dry-erase pen on his thigh. “That’s very interesting.”

Remus jotted down an answer and leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “You know it?” Sirius asked with a grin.

“I do.”

“Is that your final guess?’ Dorcas checked. He nodded, and she took his pen. “Leo, Logan, do you have a guess as well?”

“I think I know one of the flavors,” Leo said cautiously, bending over to whisper it in Logan’s ear. He hummed in agreement, then whispered back.

“This is so intense,” James murmured, looking between the two teams as Lily perched herself on his lap. “I feel like I’m watching the Olympics.”

“If we get one of the flavors right and Loops gets both wrong, do we win?” Logan asked as Leo wrote their answer down.

Dorcas thought for a moment. “Yeah, sure. But only if Remus gets it completely wrong.”

“What’s the prize?”

“You already get to kiss your partners all afternoon instead of running drills. What more do you want?”

“Amen,” Remus agreed.

“Alright.” Leo handed over the whiteboard pen, though he looked nervous.

“Would you like to go first?” Dorcas offered.

“Coconut and lemon?”

“That is incorrect.”

“Ah, fuck me,” Logan muttered. “Loops, you’d better be wrong.”

Remus’ smile was even more pleased as Dorcas turned to him. “Remus, do you know what it is?”

“Well, Ms. Meadowes, I’m glad you asked. That’s Burt’s Bees honey and coconut.” He flipped the board with a flourish. “And it just so happens that my boyfriend bought that exact chapstick at the store last week and has worn it every single day since then.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leo looked between them in shock as Logan’s jaw dropped. Finn buried his face in his hands. “Of every flavor on earth—”

“I promise it was not intentional,” Dorcas said, though she was laughing a little. “I literally rolled dice to pick it while I was looking at the website.”

Sirius looked to the ceiling as he pulled Remus’ chair closer. “Thank you, universe, for my terrible impulsive habits in the self-checkout line.”

Dorcas turned to the camera with a dimpled smile and spread her hands. “Thank you for joining us for the chapstick challenge, Lions! You can find all these flavors at the link in the description. Like and subscribe for more videos like this, have a great day!”

[existslikepristin]

Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[wtfjd95]

Together as One; Part 2

So here comes a taglist. If you wanna be tagged just ask!!

(Please say if your tag does not work. Could be an error on either mine or tumblr’s end)

@xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @rooskaya-yelena​ @swords-are-cool​ @drpepperobsessed @natasha-danvers @coollemonsaresour

Part one

“Get up.” A gruff voice ordered as the cell door slammed open.

Two pairs of rough hands forced you onto your feet and practically dragged you out of the room. Lifting your body, they practically slammed you onto a bed and strapped you in hoping to avoid escape. But at this point, you’ve given up, allowing the guards to throw you around like a ragdoll. Bruises littered your body, some shaped like handprints while others resembled boots and bats, a few cuts scattered over your face alongside a black eye from the numerous beatings the guards had given you.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N.” A voice you’d become accustomed to, greeted. “I see you’ve survived another night,” Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker stared down at you, hand reaching out and tracing the needle marks on your bare shoulder, a smug smile on his face as he did.

It had been a few months since you had been caught on a routine surveillance mission. Originally scoping out what the team thought was a double agent, which turned out to be true. They just didn’t expect there to be a second, who knew about the mission and alerted Hydra to it all. Now, you found yourself in some underground Hydra base as Strucker injected you with serum after serum and ran test after test.

“How’re we feeling today?” Strucker wondered, looking over your battered and bruised form.

A light wheezing sound joined the pain in your abdomen as you breathed, causing you to think that the guards had bruised your ribs, possibly cracked a few, but you stayed silent nonetheless. Just watching him through bleary eyes as he readied the latest syringe of whatever concoction the Hydra lab had made up.

“Still keeping to the silent treatment, yes?” He asked, turning to look at you. “Nevermind, I do not need you to be vocal for this.” 

He lifted the syringe. The liquid inside glowed bright orange, readying it against your arm only to withdraw it at the distant sound of an explosion as the room rocked with the aftershocks. He shook his head with a sigh as he moved to stand.

“Watch her.” He directed at a guard before turning to two others. “You two, with me.” The three left the room while the guard who was left levelled his gun and aimed at the door.

“That’s a stupid idea.” You rasped, the scratchiness in your dry throat worsening after not talking for a while. “They’ll take you down in a second.” Your laughter quickly turned into a cough that rose through your chest, the pain worsening in your abdomen as it did. The guard cast you a side glance, never lowering his gun from the door. “Fine, don’t listen to me.”

You gave up trying to convince him, deciding to just settle down and listening to the gunshots, explosions and shouts of pain that grew ever louder as the ‘attackers’ grew ever closer. Just as you were about to close your eyes, a voice from outside caught your attention and even through all the chaos, you could always pull that familiar voice out.

“Y/N?!”

“Wanda?” You mumbled, confusion filling your mind at the thought of your fiance (you still couldn’t believe that you got to call her that, by the way) here to rescue you. “It can’t be.” 

Your suspicions were confirmed when a flash of red passed by the small window on the door. With watery eyes and a soft smile, you gulped, the pain in your throat aggravated by the movement but you didn’t care before you shouted. “WANDA!!” The coughing fit following shortly after did nothing to stop you from shouting again. “WANDA! I’M HERE.”

You began wriggling in your binds hoping to knock something loose to be able to escape. The guard to your side casting a cautionary glance your way, before deciding to drop his weapon and aide you only to jump away when the door was flung open, a thunderous bang sounding when it bounced off the wall.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!!” Wanda screamed, eyes ablaze with red as she approached the pair of you, lifting the young man into the air by his throat, red wisps restricting his airflow quickly as he was pulled further away. Natasha followed behind, widows bite alight with electricity.

“Wanda, it’s ok,” you coughed sitting up. “He was helping me to get free of this.” Slowly she walked over to you, a deadly glare still trained on the Hydra guard as she did, her gaze only softening back to her gorgeous green eyes when she finally turned to you.

“I thought I lost you,” she mumbled, watery green eyes casting a curious once over down your battered & bruised body before connecting once again with your own briefly before she spotted your bare shoulder. As she reached out, ghosting her fingertips over the faint needle marks on your shoulder, you saw the flecks of red reappear in her eyes as she put the pieces together.

“Hey, I’m ok.” You whispered, leaning forward and cupping her face, coercing her into looking at you. “Wanda, please look at me.” Eventually, you locked eyes, any trace of red disappearing once more as she gingerly placed her forehead against yours. “You won’t ever lose me. I’m yours forever, remember?”

“Uh, guys,” Natasha said, cutting your moment short. “Sorry to interrupt but if we wanna get outta here, we gotta go now.”

“Give me a sec.” You nodded. “Babe,” you acknowledged Wanda. “I don’t suppose you brought me a change of clothes by chance?”

“Where are you guys?” Steve’s voice crackled through the coms. “We’re heading back to the Quinjet now.” A soft thud sounding in the background as he knocked another Hydra agent to the floor.

“Be there soon Cap,” Natasha answered. “We got a little sidetracked.” The older woman looked to the other women in the room, a brief smile crossing her face before getting serious again as she looked into the hall.

“How sidetracked are we talking, Romanoff?” Stark questioned, a distant explosion sounded after he made himself known.

Wanda stayed silent at the side of the gurney that her love was previously strapped to, while the team checked in. A million thoughts running through her head, most bad but they were quickly pushed out as she looked over her fiance as she pulled some clean clothes on. The strongest thought of all was how she wanted to find Strucker and rip him apart for hurting the woman she loved.

“Wanda?” You inquired, now in front of her, fully dressed. “Calm down, please? I’m alright, I promise.” You threaded your fingers with hers and raised them to your lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“How’d you know?” She quizzed, tilting her head to the side in confusion, a light blush settling on her face at your actions.

“I called your name twice and you didn’t answer.” You explained. “Also, your eyes were turning red, and your powers were manifesting in your hand.” You turned to Natasha, who was still stood by the door. “Nat, let’s get outta here.” The older redhead nodded before the three of you made your way out.

Quinjet

“They should be here by now,” Steve said, he and Clint fighting off any stragglers who attempted to try and stop them.

“They’ll be here,” Clint grunted, knocking another arrow and releasing it towards a group of Hydra.

“I got them,” Tony announced hovering above the now crumbling building. “Looks like they’ve found someone.”

“Wait, that’s not just someone!” Clint realized, spotting the three get closer, quickly knocking a guy to the ground. “That’s Y/N!”

“Quick, everyone into the jet!” Steve ordered, smacking another enemy agent to the floor.

Barely a foot away from the jet you lost your footing, falling face-first into the ground, the sudden impact jarring your already painful chest.

“Fuck!” You groaned as Tony, clad in his Iron man suit lifted you into his arms and rushed the both of you into the jet.

“Language!” Steve scolded before he even realized. You heard Tony snicker in amusement under his helmet as he set you carefully onto your feet.

“Glad to have you back, kid.” The billionaire told you, setting a hand on your shoulder.

“Glad to be back, Stark.” You replied, catching Wanda’s eye over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I wanna sit with my fiance.” You pushed him to the side and made your way over to your favourite redhead.

“Dorogaya (Darling)?” Wanda queried, as you paused mid-step bracing yourself against the wall. “Y/N? Are you ok?” Was the last thing you heard before everything went dark.

[contemplativepancakes]

yarn rants with dandelion

3.5k of Geralt poorly hiding the fact that he knits from his family and, in general, being an idiot, read here on AO3

Geralt slams his laptop shut as his apartment door swings open, causing Eskel to quirk an eyebrow. “Whatcha doin’?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Geralt says in a rush. 

“Uh huh.” Eskel raises his hands. “Can’t be any weirder than the porn Lambert watches.”

Geralt grunts, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Eskel glances at his watch. “I figured you might want help before the game.”

“I’m ordering pizza,” Geralt says. “Actually, do you want to do it? I have cleaning I still need to do before everyone else gets here.”

Eskel’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead, and Geralt starts to sweat as he sees Eskel's skepticism. Geralt always makes a spread on game day, telling everyone he’s not going to wait two hours for delivery while they’ll be so busy. 

“Um. Okay.” Eskel stares at him for a beat before finally pulling out his phone. “What am I ordering?” 

Geralt shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He goes to his room, shutting the door behind him and hearing Eskel’s voice as he talks to the pizza place. Geralt looks to his bed, where a half finished baby blanket is laid out, before hastily gathering it and its attached ball of yarn up and stuffing them in a basket, piled high with various colors and weights. He throws some dirty clothes from his floor on top for good measure before reemerging from his bedroom, Eskel looking at him suspiciously from his spot on the couch. 

“Sure you don’t need help with anything?” Eskel asks. 

“No, I’m, uh, I’m good.” Geralt goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers, passing one to Eskel and keeping one for himself. 

Thankfully, Eskel doesn’t say anything about his odd behavior, just watches the pregame show with him without comment until Letho arrives, followed shortly after by Lambert and Aiden. Geralt’s relieved, because then Eskel’s attention goes to their ridiculous dancing around each other instead of scrutinizing Geralt. 

After everyone has left for the night, Geralt pulls his laptop back out, settling it on the coffee table in front of him and goes to get his blanket. He spreads it across his lap as he clicks play, the sound of a cheerful voice filling his living room. 

“Hey, guys! It’s Dandelion, back with my latest yarn haul! I’ve got some awesome ones, and ones you should avoid at all costs, so watch and see which is which!”

Geralt lets himself stare for a second before he jerks himself out of the trance and looks back down while his needles click together as he starts to knit. 

Geralt lets the feeling of the yarn between his fingers soothe him. That’s why he watches these yarn reviews, after all. He hates going to the store for yarn, but he hates wasting his money on yarn that’s scratchy and uncomfortable against his skin even more. 

Needless to say, he’s grateful to Dandelion for doing all the prep work for him, and he may or may not have developed a crush on the man.  Who watches these videos and hasn’t? Geralt reasons.

Dandelion has an infectious enthusiasm, and Geralt can’t help the soft smile from spreading across his face as he listens.

Geralt keeps knitting until his skein is almost out. When he has less of a ball and more of a tangle left, he casts his eyes around for the next one before looking despairingly back at his blanket when he doesn’t find it. 

Fuck. 

He knew he should have ordered extra; he always does this to himself, but somehow he never learns. He groans as he pulls his computer onto his lap and opens up the website he orders his yarn from. He goes into his history and clicks on the link to his blanket yarn. It’s teal, velvety, and Geralt can’t stop running his fingers over it. When the page finally loads,  out of stock  blinks back at him. 

Double fuck. 

He’s never made a blanket before, and he’s drastically underestimated how much it would take. He’s going to need at least three more skeins. Yen’s baby shower is in a month and a half, and there’s no telling when the yarn is going to come back in stock. What if they discontinued it? 

There’s nothing for it; he’s going to have to go into the store. He looks at the clock. First thing tomorrow, he decides, before it gets busy. He’ll go right when they open, before the store gets noisy and filled with women who always try to draw him into conversation for some reason. 

Geralt huffs at the thought. 

- 

Geralt tugs his scarf a little tighter against his neck before he gets out of the car and heads into the store. There’s only four cars in the parking lot, so Geralt hopes he’ll be able to get in and out quickly. 

Once he’s inside, he makes a beeline for the yarn aisle, trying to hold in his noise of dismay when he sees someone already standing there. Geralt avoids eye contact and feigns interest in the brightly colored acrylic yarns at the end of the aisle. The person is right in front of the baby yarn section, and Geralt tries not to tap his foot. 

Just when Geralt is getting ready to pretend to browse other aisles while he waits, there’s movement behind him. “Lovely scarf,” a man’s voice says. “Looks very soft.”

Geralt turns around, only for his eyes to widen as he comes face to face with Dandelion. 

He’s sure something very intelligent sounding comes out of his mouth, but he doesn’t register it. 

Whatever it was makes Dandelion laugh, sounding familiar and alarmingly close when they’re not separated by a screen. Geralt glances down at Dandelion’s basket to see it piled high with yarn. 

“Nice colors you have there,” Geralt finally manages. 

Dandelion beams. “Thank you!” 

Geralt takes a closer look and realizes they’re rainbow colors. He heaves a tiny sigh. He’s a disaster. Does Dandelion think he’s flirting with him? Not that Geralt doesn’t want to be, per se, but—it’s complicated. 

“Did you make your scarf yourself? Or did a boyfriend make it for you?” Dandelion asks. 

“I made it myself,” Geralt mumbles. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved by this line of questioning or not.

“Oh?”

“No boyfriend.”

Dandelion turns another smile on him, and Geralt tries not to melt. “What are you shopping for?” 

“Oh. Um. A blanket.”

Dandelion turns back towards the shelves with a critical eye before he plucks out a chunky bright yellow and holds it out to Geralt for his inspection. Geralt runs his fingers over it absently. “Feels nice.”

“Right? I love this brand. How big of a blanket are you making?”

“It’s for a baby.”

Dandelion’s eyebrow arches in question. 

“My friend is adopting soon; I thought this would be nice,” Geralt says, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Dandelion shifts his basket from one hand to the other. “Oh, my. That is very nice.”

Geralt grumbles as he piles more yarn than can surely be reasonable into his own basket while Dandelion eyes the shelf thoughtfully. 

Geralt finishes putting the yarn into his basket and goes to leave the aisle, but Dandelion stops him before he takes more than three steps. 

“Better get more than you think. I get what I expect to use, and then add 25 percent more.”

That makes Geralt crack a smile. “That makes an expensive hobby even worse.”

Dandelion shrugs. “The curse of being a creative.”

Geralt picks two more bundles from the shelf. “I suppose you’re right.”

Dandelion clears his throat. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Geralt answers, and Dandelion looks him up and down. “Would you like to join our yarn circle?”

“What?” Geralt asks, throat dry.

Dandelion shakes his head glumly. “Nevermind. It’s just there are so few men…”

“I’ll join,” Geralt says, before he fully thinks out his words. 

Dandelion brightens instantly. “Excellent!”

Dandelion follows him to the register, chattering the whole way, and by the time Geralt leaves the store, Dandelion has his number saved in his phone. Geralt can’t help but notice how the women are leaving him alone today, just shooting him the occasional baleful look. It’s a nice change of pace. Maybe he should run into Dandelion more often. 

“I’ll text you, okay?” Dandelion says after he’s walked with Geralt to his car. 

“Um, yeah, okay,” Geralt replies. 

He slides into his car and watches Dandelion walk to a bright yellow slug bug. He quirks a grin. It fits him. Geralt’s just turned the key in his ignition when he realizes he didn’t even get the yarn that he came for. He sighs and shuts the engine off. 

If he reemerges from the store with the yarn for the rest of his blanket in addition to two skeins of blue that remind him of Dandelion’s eyes, well, that’d be creepy, and it’s nobody’s business but his, anyway. 

-

Geralt looks down at his phone.  yarn circle at that coffee place on Main tomorrow at ten! you in?

He saves the contact in his phone, debating with himself before typing  Dandelion 🌼.

He puffs a breath through his lips. He shouldn’t be this worked up about a text. 

See you then  , he types, and goes back to make the  s  lowercase. 

“Who are you texting?” Eskel asks from his spot on the couch, setting down his own phone.

“Who are  you  texting?” Geralt retorts weakly. 

Eskel looks at him, unimpressed. “My girlfriend, dude. Did you finally get yourself one? You know, it’s kind of weird Yen’s replacing you with a baby…”

Geralt grits his teeth. “She’s not replacing me. We just had conflicting goals for the future.”

“And what, pray tell, are these goals?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not kids. I’d be a terrible dad.”

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s a conversation they’ve hashed out many times before. “Hmm,” Eskel says pointedly, and Geralt gives him an eye roll right back. 

“Are we watching this movie or not?”

Eskel mumbles something too low for Geralt to hear. 

-

The next morning dawns bright and early. Too early for Geralt to reasonably head out to the coffee shop by the time he’s ready, so he takes the time to work on the blanket. He’s inching closer to being done, and he’s looking forward to starting something with the yellow yarn, but he’s not quite sure what he wants to make yet. 

He wonders if he’s supposed to take his blanket to this yarn circle. Do they knit? Or just talk about it? What if they gossip the whole time? Geralt doesn’t have anything juicy to contribute; he doubts they want to hear about Eskel’s latest problems with his goat yoga business. Giving customers ringworm probably isn’t the best breakfast conversation. He takes in a deep breath, trying to stop the panic spiral. 

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. 

-

It’s not fine.

When he walks in, Dandelion is already sitting at a table, wearing a floral button down that has entirely too many buttons undone to be decent. Geralt tries not to imagine what Dandelion’s chest hair would feel like under his finger tips, if it would be coarse and wiry or smooth and silky. 

Geralt shakes his head and grunts a greeting when Dandelion waves him over. 

“Hello, hello! Find the place okay?”

“No issues,” Geralt says, pulling out a chair and settling his bag with his knitting awkwardly on the ground. 

Dandelion glances down at his phone, and whatever he sees makes his face tighten. 

“Hmm, looks like the rest of the circle isn’t going to be able to make it. Flat tire.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow at him. “Do they...need help? I could go change it.”

Dandelion mutters something to himself before looking back up at Geralt. “I think they already have that covered.”

Geralt laughs and rubs a hand on his neck. “You know, I’m going to start thinking you were just trying to get me alone.”

Dandelion returns the nervous laugh and warms his hands on his mug. “Are you going to get some coffee?” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah.” Geralt stands up before turning back to Dandelion. “What do you recommend? I don’t come places like this very often.”

“Yeah, I bet. You seem like a coffee, black kind of person.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Geralt admits. 

Dandelion’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “What do you mean you don’t drink coffee?”

“Makes me jumpy. My hands shake.”

Dandelion lets out a sharp exhale. “Wow.”

Geralt scowls. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! Well, maybe a little. You just better get hot chocolate, then.”

“Fine. I will.”

Dandelion’s laughter when Geralt returns to the table with a mug piled high with whipped cream is infectious.

He’s not sure what comes over him, but Geralt sticks out his tongue. 

It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he never even pulled out his knitting. 

-

Dandelion starts texting him more and more, and Geralt feels vaguely guilty when he watches Dandelion’s latest video. 

He should probably tell Dandelion he watches them, but he doesn’t want it to turn into a  thing , and he certainly doesn’t read too much into it when Dandelion mentions running into a handsome stranger on his latest yarn expedition. 

He could be talking about anyone. 

Geralt finishes his blanket for Yen, and he starts to think about what his next project should be. The yellow yarn is bright and warm; silky smooth between his fingers. He starts another blanket, because why not? He’s been wanting to practice cabling, anyway. 

He brings it to the next yarn circle Dandelion invites him to, but it doesn’t get worked on, and Dandelion doesn’t say anything about where the rest of the circle is. Geralt doesn’t ask. 

Finally, four yarn circles in where no knitting is accomplished, Dandelion gives up the ghost and asks Geralt out on a date. “That’s not what we’ve been doing?” Geralt asks with a small smile. 

Dandelion shoves him in the chest, a teasing glint in his eye before his hand lingers on Geralt’s pec for a little too long. He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. “Great. I can’t wait," Geralt says.

“I’ll choose to believe that’s not sarcastic.”

Geralt pokes at him. “It’s not.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and  hmm s right back. 

-

A few weeks later finds Geralt sifting through Netflix for a movie to watch. “Hey, Dandelion!” Geralt calls from the couch, tugging a blanket up to his chin. 

Dandelion freezes from his spot just outside the living room with a bowl of popcorn in hand. 

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt says.

“What did you just say?”

“I have some white cheddar for that,” Geralt repeats, more slowly this time. 

“No, no, before that.”

Geralt thinks. “Your...name?”

Dandelion blinks at him. “My name is Jaskier.”

Now Geralt is the one who’s confused. “No, it’s not?”

“Geralt, I think I know my own name.” Dandelion’s face pinches. “Wait. You watch my videos?”

Geralt steels himself for the conversation. He had been wondering if he'd just be able to take the fact that he watches them to his grave. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“It seemed...weird," Geralt says haltingly.

Geralt’s still reeling from the revelation. He’s the world’s worst boyfriend; Dandelion has to be playing a cruel prank on him. 

“And it didn’t seem weird to you that you were watching me literally sing your praises last week?”

“I thought it was kind of sweet.”

Dand—Jaskier drags a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this.”

“How was I supposed to know that wasn’t your actual name?”

“Geralt, we have been together for a month. How do you not know my  name ?”

“It’s never come up!” Geralt says defensively. “You’re the one who never even introduced yourself. Talk about bad manners.”

Jaskier splutters, and Geralt can’t help but quirk a grin at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Jaskier finally rallies. “We’re going to have a talk about online boundaries, but—”

“But what?”

“You’re so god damned stupid,” Jaskier says, before dragging Geralt into a kiss. 

Geralt goes without complaint. 

-

While Geralt ponders the new nature of their relationship, he finally finds a use for the blue yarn he’s been hoarding. The whole time he’s knitting the hat, he thinks of Jaskier. It’s exactly the right shade of his eyes, but Geralt doesn’t let himself contemplate it too hard. 

When he’s finished, he finds an index card and scrawls a message. He wraps up the whole thing and gives it to Jaskier the next time he sees him. 

Jaskier tears the package open and rubs the yarn between his fingers in delight. “You made this for me? No one’s ever knitted something for me before.”

“I’m glad I could remedy that,” Geralt says gruffly, shifting uncomfortably at the adoring look Jaskier is giving him. 

Jaskier notices the card and reads it before bursting into laughter. 

Sorry I didn’t know your name <3

“You’re forgiven.”

On to the next order of business, then. Geralt clears his throat. “Yen’s baby shower is next week.”

Jaskier makes a noise of polite interest, not looking up from where he’s examining the stitches in the hat. Geralt really hopes he doesn’t notice where he dropped one. 

Geralt waits for a few more seconds and sighs. Jaskier is really going to make him ask. “I was wondering if you would want to go with me.”

Jaskier tilts his head up and gives Geralt a bright smile. “Of course I would!” He pauses to think for a moment. “Are you...out to them?”

“Yes,” Geralt grumbles. “It turns out my hiding spot for my play girls when I was 16 wasn’t as clever as I thought.”

Jaskier snorts. “It never is, is it?”

-

In the days leading up to the shower, Jaskier’s anxiety starts to show, but Geralt politely doesn’t comment. They walk up to the party arm in arm, Geralt carrying both of their gift bags. Geralt had told him he didn’t need to get anything, but he had anyway, insisting that he had just happened to stumble across  the cutest onesie, Geralt! What a coincidence!

Geralt can’t help but smile as he looks over at Jaskier. Jaskier’s thumb is compulsively stroking over a spot on Geralt’s hand, and he’s even wearing the hat Geralt knitted him. Geralt’s chest feels tighter than normal. 

“Oh, so this is why you haven’t been such a grump lately?” Triss asks once they walk through the door, taking their gift bags to set on a side table. 

“I’m never grumpy,” Geralt says, and Jaskier has the audacity to laugh, so Geralt elbows him in the side. 

Triss laughs at that, too, before she goes off to find Yennefer and drags her back to them. “Geralt!” she exclaims, rubbing a hand up his arm. “I’m glad you could drag yourself away from your very important activities that you refuse to tell anyone about.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks over to see Jaskier staring at him curiously. 

“Ah, and this must be Dandelion!” Yen says, turning to Jaskier. 

“Eskel wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that!” Geralt hisses, but Yen just gives him a delighted smile. 

Geralt sighs as she moves on to terrorize her next guest. 

“Your friends are pretty brutal, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly. 

“You have no idea.” 

Geralt leads Jaskier over to where Eskel and Lambert are sitting by the food table and attempts to make small talk. 

Almost immediately, Lambert asks, “What’d you get her?” 

Eskel and Geralt share an exasperated look. “Why so competitive, Lamb? Over compensating?”

Lambert scowls. “I was just curious. You’re not going to be able to top what I got her, anyway. Best uncle ever.”

“You’re not going to be an uncle,” Eskel says. 

Lambert is unconcerned. “Best uncle ever.”

Geralt crosses his arms and leans into Jaskier, trying to block out Eskel and Lambert’s bickering. 

“I hate things like this,” Geralt mutters. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Geralt. You being an unbearable softie is our little secret. I won’t breathe a word.”

Geralt grumbles. “That’s not why.” He pauses, then, “Why do I put up with you?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Jaskier says, turning his head to press a kiss against Geralt’s temple. 

Geralt flushes at the touch and looks around, but no one is staring at them like anything out of the ordinary happened. Geralt relaxes back against him. 

He’s almost dozing off by the time Yen gets to his gift, and he only realizes it by Jaskier digging a bony elbow into his stomach. He pinches Jaskier in retribution. 

Yen opens the gift carefully, making the appropriate polite noises as she does so. 

“Isn’t it soft?” Jaskier asks as she strokes her fingers over the blanket. “Geralt chose some great yarn.”

Geralt whips his neck around to look at Jaskier so quickly he thinks he heard something pop.

“What?” 

“The yarn! It’s so nice and such a lovely color, don’t you think? Geralt did a wonderful job.”

“Geralt, you made this?” Yennefer asks incredulously, and great, her voice cracks. 

Geralt sighs and tries to accept his fate of all the merciless jokes that are going to be made in his defense. “Yes?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“When the fuck did you learn how to do that?” Lambert asks. 

Geralt shrugs defensively. “I’ve been knitting for years.”

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to the blue cap perched on top of Jaskier’s head, and teasing grins spread over their faces. 

Geralt groans. He’s never going to hear the end of this.

As Jaskier takes his hand in his and squeezes, he thinks maybe that’s okay. 

[lifeexperience]

We are vengeance.

It has been almost three month since Lila Rossi came back from her fabulous trip from Achu. And since she arrived again she enjoyed the glamour. Enjoyed how everybody - who was someone, of course, - danced as she moved her strings. Even that Capitano della Moralità, Adrien was doing what she was saying.  

Just lonely, little Marinette stood on the other side.

The Italian grinned confidently. If she had some plan like that day, she was going to ruin that little girl.

Anyway she had to take prioritization of her tasks. Firstly it’s time to make a Wikipedia page about herself for future reference. She couldn’t be sloppy from here because she could meet more forceful people than Dupain-Cheng.  

Okay, so she would list her accomplishments: modeling with Adrien Agreste      , best friend with Shaytan, knowing Jagged Stone… When she finally finished, the sun already went down and it was dark. Lila disinterestedly looked at her door, his mother again worked overtime.  

Nevermind, she would eat something then collect links of her publications. Yepp, after some pasta all'Ortolana the work would be so much easier.  

However when she went back to gather her online mentions she didn’t find anything. There was nothing about her on the Ladyblog, or on Adrien’s Instagram. Someone deleted them? Who? Maybe it’s just a bug? She would know more if she asks Alya first.

Yeah, don’t need any panic.

“Ciao Alya! I have a question.” she said immediately as that wannabe journalist answered. “Yeah, yeah, così accidentally you didn’t delete my interview from your blog, right?” She nervously patted her laptop as she waited for Alya to look at it. After two minutes there was the answer. She tried to disguise her anger, but she didn’t have the patient at the moment for that stupid girl apologizes.  

So somehow her interview was lost. And she didn’t have to call Capitano della Moralità about their model photo, she knew he didn’t have too much control on it.  

Lila unconsciously started to chew her nails. It was a bad habit of hers since her childhood.  

Who had enough knowledge to hack two different websites to mess with her? Marinette was too morally high for this. And Max, who had the skill, was already under her thumb.  

“Argh!”  

She had to calm down. She couldn’t become an akume because of this since she planned a bigger performance for the next week.

Breath! In! Out!

Okay.

Maybe tomorrow she could make a new interview with Alya and drop some seemingly accident infos about the new adult heroes. Then at the weekend photoshoots she could force Adrien again.

Yeah. Why was she nervous at all? She could use this to grow her territory.

*

It has been almost six days since Adrien reluctantly posted a new photo about the two of them. There were fewer likes and more comments then before, but she was happy because she could continue to build her Wikipedia page. It would be her first thing when she got home.  

And tomorrow she would start her small shame with poor Marinette again. The little girl already was alone most of the time in the school, but Lila knew it was a matter of time to find new friends outside of their class. And she wanted to prevent every attempt of it.

I am great at ruining others.    

She smiled sweetly as she pretended to listen to another rabbling from Rose. That pink fool rarely shut up about her disgusting viewpoint, and Lila sometimes thought she would be a perfect next target after Dupain-Cheng. And if this little pink wannabe would be destroyed, her loser girlfriend would fall with her.  

Yepp, she will be an excellent following after the shit show Marinette will go through.

“Lila, it’s not your phone?” Alix poked her. She turned to her in confusion and listened to the ringing.

“No.” she shook her head. “My ringtone is different. I don’t like metal music.”

The skater tilted her head. “You sure?” Lila nodded, starting to be annoyed. “Because it’s coming from your bag.”

“What?”

She hurriedly got her phone out, and indeed it was ringing with that strange growl music. And the number also was foreign, yet she picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s Lila Lucrezia Rossi?” Everybody in the classroom jumped at once.The voice from the other side was much louder than she thought and now every one of her classmates watched her with wide eyes. She fastly tried to turn down the volume as she answered in agreement. “So your appointment was moved to the next with Doctor Lacroix.”

“Wha...What appointment?” Lila asked. She didn’t remember any medical thing. Of course she told a lot of tails about her health problems, but she was completely healthy.

“So for the farting irritation.” The woman said with a monotone tone. And of course, because Lila couldn’t turn off the speaker everybody in the room heard it.

She blinked.

“I… I think you… you called the wrong number.” she muttered as now she tried to end the call. With no success.  

“But you're Lila Lucrezia Rossi, age fourteen, Italian, aren’t you?” Lila looked around embarrassingly. How did that woman know that about her? If… If she denies it her little puppets' trust would crack. But if she continues this conversation… She didn’t even want to know.

And as she stood there in panic and listened about her supposed condition she wanted to be killed. Every fucking eye was on her. She even saw that goodie-two-shoe tried to hide her giggle with Adrien grinning next to her. And of course she noticed how her circle slid away from her.

Fuck.    

*

She skipped two weeks of school again after that… THAT phone call. Of fucking course almost every one of her classmates called her almost daily to ask about her health. And she had to answer with a lot of information for Every Fucking QUESTION.

It was irritating.  

However she couldn’t stay at home for more days because her mother. It would be too suspicious if there would be some supposed akuma without any TV gossip about it.  

So she had to go to school.  

Fortunately most of the kids were understanding and didn’t bring up the topic. But there was  Kim. Of FUCKING course.

As many times as he saw her he faked a fart with a disgustingly loud moan. She tried to cry about it, though everybody said to bear with it. Kim was just Kim and if she didn’t react he would let it go.  

At first Lila didn’t want to believe it then Alya patted her shoulder sympathetically and left her to stand alone. And because of these really annoying events she couldn’t start her plan with Dupain-Cheng who - of fucking couse - got closer to Adrien. To her key to the famous-rich-carefree life.  

They were chatting cheerfully in the classroom without any glance at someone other than each. They were in their little world, and every girl in the class blissfully sighed at the sight.

And if that day was not enough of a bother to her somehow her school tablet started streaming porno when she tried to project out her presentation. She was mortified just like everybody in the classroom. And she didn’t even have luck with teachers. Because of - fucking - course that lesson was with Mendeleiev.

*

It was already December when she finally served her detention time because of that… THAT incident. She couldn’t go any photoshoot with Adrien due to her attendance problem.  

She didn’t even see Batman, yeah THAT Batman when he saved Shaytan and Chat Noir. She was at a detention with others. Although she could tell Alya a little story about her knowing the American hero and how he called him to help Paris.  

However she only had ten minutes to bask the light because her mamma called her home. Immediately. At first Lila found it strange, but she shook the confusion down. She said goodbye to the wannabe journalist and went home. She blissfully entered the elevator then with a big smile greeted her mother.  

“Lila!” her mother nodded sternly. The woman waited as she - not so happily anymore, dropped her things in her room. “Why did you use your emergency money?”

Lila furrowed her eyebrows. “But I didn’t.”

“No?” her mamma asked.

She shook her head. She didn’t use her emergency card because her mother could check it anytime. That’s why she asked her payment in cash from Gabriel.

“Then tell me mia figlia, why your debit card is in the minus?” Her mamma held a tablet with an account statement in front of Lila. She slowly read over the document. And indeed, her debit card which was only for emergencies was in minus. The description list showed a lot purchasing from different sites that she didn’t even know.  

“I didn’t do this.” she said franctincly.  

“No?” her mother glanced at the numbers. “You know how much money it was? We kept it for your university years.”

“We?” Lila whispered as she became aware of the gravity of the situation.

“Yes. Your father was the one who drew my attention to it.”  

At first Lila only just gaped then she felt how her blood started circulating. Of fucking course that bastard was the one who spying after her.  

“You are a grounded signorina!” she heard her mother voice through her anger. “After the school ends you have to come home then do your homework. I take your phone and electronics too.”

She didn’t even have time to protest as she saw a dark butterfly. She quietly waited as that insect landed on her phone. “How unfair to blame something on others when she is not at fault.” She heard the well-known tone. “Finanza I’m giving you the power to punish everyone who sinned against you. Your only task to bring to me their Miraculous.”

“Of fucking course.”

*

She was defeated again. But one day she would destroy the fame of Shaytan. That girl would taste the fall and humiliation.  

“LILA!” A loud yell cut her from her plans as she sat at the ground. “Lila!” Someone shook her. She looked up to meet Alya irritating face. “Are you okay?”

She blinked some to win some precious moment to calm down. Then she nodded with a fake whimpering. “What happened? You shouted about some money then forced everyone to admit their sins.”

“Oh… I… I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” she sobbed while she tried to hide her dry eyes.

“It’s okay.” Alya hugged her. “Can you stand up?”

She shakely raised on her foot. They silently walked along the pavement for some time when she finally looked around. They were not far away from the school. And of course it meant they were near to the Dupain-Cheng's bakery.

At first Lila didn’t even notice the bakery, then she heard a shocked gasp from next to her. Alya with wide eyes pointed forward. She also turned the direction and her jaw also dropped. There stood Marinette, little innocent Marinette, embracing a tall, muscular man. After some moments they let go of each other and with a big smile Marinette got in the car with the stranger.  

“What… Who was he?”

*

Next day Lila wasn’t able to forget that stranger with the baker girl. He was gorgeous, but most important, older than them and a little dark. Plus he was clearly an adult. Alya tried to claim he was surely a cousin of Marinette, however Lila wasn’t that certain about it. They didn’t look alike. And if she remembered correctly Alya never told about any relatives of Marinette except her great-uncle chef and grandparents. Nobody else.

“Hm.” If she could twist it somehow then she would be on advantage again. But how? Alya was adamant about the family thing, but what if… Perhaps some well aimed stab about gang members. Perhaps.

Although she needed to conceal her mirth as she eyed her classmates. They all stood at the bottom of the stairs and were themselves like stupid sheeps they are. Lila forced a shy smile on herself and carefully stepped between them to tell a new tale about her time in China. And of fucking course it was not a coincidence, she knew well if she use any rather distinct - nevertheless linked to Marinette, - facts then Dupain-Cheng was much easier to upset.

However that stupid girl didn’t bother to pay any attention to her. She just stood beside Adrien and chatted happily with him.

Lila frowned.  

“There is a problem?” someone poked her shoulder. It was Mylene.

“No… No.” her smile was strained. “I just… Why are Marinette and Adrien avoiding us?”

And everybody simultaneously turned their way. The two blissfully laughed at something as they ignored everything else.  

“How sweet!” she heard Rose’s murmurs. Yeah, like pineapple on pizza. Bhrr.

She started to open her mouth to say something though she wasn’t able to voice any sound. A darker than black and really long limousine parked in front of them. It was not Adrien’s one, neither Chloé’s.  

And the most surprising thing was Marinette jumping up and down for the sight.  

All of them including Lila watched as their class president pulled Adrien to the car and after some debate with the driver they got in the car.  

What did she just watch?

“Oh!” It was not a shocked ‘Oh!’, it was a ‘I realized what was happening’. And Lila also wanted to know what the fuck happened before her beautifull eyes.

“You know something, Nino?” She really tried to conceal her angry curiosity.  

The DJ nodded with a relaxing smile. “Marinette’s family visiting from America.”

“You mean she has relatives in America?” Alya asked, more interested than a few minutes ago when she listened to Lila’s gossip.

“Oh, hell!” Kim shouted. “The brothers, right? I almost forgot about them.”

Alya tilted her head as he turned to the swimmer. “Brothers?”

“Yeah.” Nino talked again. “Dick and Jay, and Timtam… and… Who was the one who pissed Chloé off?”

“Some Da… De… Demon!”

“No. His name was…”

Lila tuned out the conversation. So Marinette had a family in the States. And they most certainly rich drawing that conclusion from the limo. Why didn’t she do better research before she transferred?

*

In the middle of the week was the career day and Lila was really lucky to talk her mamman down about coming to it. Of course she didn’t want her here. It would be a disaster.

She had a quite good feeling about the day. If she heard correctly only a few parents agreed to participate and after the school for the day would end. And naturally she kinda forgot this particular information when she told her mother about this ‘really awful’ day.

Yep, I am a genius.

She confidently walked through the hallways and winked at some cute boy because not only Adrien was appreciable in this school. Maybe if Monsieur Agreste would appear she could negotiate for a new line just for herself. After all she always paid attention to his handsome boy.

Humming the newest XY’s song Lila happily stepped in the classroom. However her mood dropped exactly that moment when her foot touched the room’s floor. Since there, in the middle of the room stood with her fake innocent Marinette and that gorgeous foreign man. And from closer he was more handsome than she first thought. Even Madam Bustier blushed and she had a husband.

Why has this girl this kind of luck?    

Lila forced a charming smile on her face and with a friendly wave she sat down. She would not risk her status in front of that man when Marinette is nearby. She had to calculate carefully so for the time she just waited for the start.

When everybody arrived the teacher began her really boring speech about the importance of work knowledge and connections. Lot of the guests nodded in agreement. There was Rose’s mother who was a florist, Nino’s father was a doctor and Alix’s historian father. And of course Marinette’s mysterious man.

She was really curious about him. He wore a perfectly fitted suit and was fucking handsome, nevertheless he looked young. Maybe twentish. It’s maximum six year age difference between them. It’s not too bad.

She patiently waited as every one of the guardians did their presentation when finally the man stepped forward.  

“Before I introduce myself I would like to clear something up.” His voice was a pleasant baritone. Even Adrien didn’t have that kind of sexy voice. Lila already enjoyed the show.

“I would like to ask everyone present to turn off the phones, tablets and any other smart device.”

Lila indifferently watched as everyone reluctantly got their device and turned them off. She didn’t get back hers since her mother grounded her. How lucky, she grimaced.

“In the next step please read through the confidentiality agreement that Marinette hands out. If you don’t want to partake in it or don’t agree to the terms I have to ask you to leave the room.” he continued as the baker girl gave everyone a copy.  

As Lila looked around some of her classmates without thinking signed it up. And surprisingly it was Chloé and Adrien who handed back among the first. She also saw how after that some other looked at their paper with more bravery and signed it. She didn’t even bother to read it, just scan the logo at the top and the stamp at the bottom. She didn’t know this company so she also wrote her name on and handed it back.

Nobody left the room.

“Thank you, and I am apologizing for that little inconvenience, but this is necessary in today’s competitive sphere.” he said as he and Marinette counted and rechecked every one of the papers.  

After a few minutes they finished. “Since today we also published an article it’s not that big of a harm if I introduce myself.” he smiled a little at Marinette and pulled her next to him. “My name is Damian Wayne and I am one of Marinette’s siblings.”

Lila straightened. She heard it right?

“I work at the Wayne Enterprise as a co-CEO beside my brother Timothy Drake-Wayne.”

It can’t be!    

“After our Father decided he would like to spend more time with his family, I took over his position. Some of my...”

How the fucking hell?    

Lila kind of lost herself and didn’t hear anything other than the slowly repeating ‘Wayne’ echo. That rascal was a Wayne heir?

And Lila targeted her?

Oh fuck.    

*

It was Friday when Lila finally understood Marinette’s real power. It was never her connection or her skills. Not even her so-called friends.  

No.  

It was her family.

She of course knew about the Waynes. Who not? They were celebrities, start managers, philanthropists, fucking Gods. And of fucking course every one of the students also knew about them. So for the next couple of days went by like a couple of seconds. One moment she was the center of the attention then suddenly everybody wanted to be friends with Marinette.

Everybody.  

Even the fucking street-sweeper.

And of course there was the media attention. The police had to be called because of the sensation. Lila even saw how two journalists quarreled about which one hid in one the bushes in front of the school.  

Naturally she wanted to take advantage of the situation, however as the article with her name was published her mother’s phone started ringing. And the caller was Lila's worst nightmare.  

On Friday she and her mamman head to the Wayne Enterprise’s Parisian branch. It was a modern building with clear glass windows and a big dark gold W letter. They were hurriedly ushering in an empty meeting room where there were too many chairs for Lila’s liking.  

Her mother - of course, - was enraged. She almost learnt everything about Lila’s school life. Just almost. Unfortunately it was enough to lose her trust in her daughter. Lila was grounded kind of permanently. She wouldn’t get back her phone kind of ever. She only could use her mother’s computer and just for homework. She was not expelled from Francois-Dupont, however she had detention for a year and had to repeat this school year.  

And now she would learn what the Waynes cooked up for her.

She grimaced.  

“Good morning Madam Rossi and Mademoiselle Rossi.” greeted them Damian Wayne himself as he steeped in the room. He was followed by Marinette, her parents - or they were even her parents? Lila wasn’t able to read any article about the family ties. -, a petite Asian woman, then some other more business-like men and women. Surely the lawyers.

“I think you know why you are here.” Damian stated as he sat at the head of the table. Marinette went to his left side with her parents (?) and the petite woman sat down at his right side with the lawyers.  

“Yes.” Her mother nodded.  

“We would like to sue your daughter, Mademoiselle Lila Lucrezia Rossi, for breaking our confidentiality agreement. Furthermore ask a restraining order to prohibit her from approaching my little sister, Marinette Athanasia Al Ghul Wayne.” This man spoke with a really unconcerned voice that Lila almost thought he was not even interested in his sibling’s life.

“Yes.” Her mamman agreed without any protest.  

“However” his voice steeled, “because my sister is a really kind soul she will not sue for the physical violence, a mental and physical harassment and the defaming.” he stared down at her with dark eyes. “Nevertheless we, as from her guardians who are presented” he pointed to the stranger Asian woman and himself, “decided to put on the blacklist Mademoiselle Lila Lucrezia Rossi in every business in which we owned the majority.”

The air got stuck in Lila’s body. Every business? Every? The Waynes owned half of the planet.  

“But” spoke the petite woman, “we would ignore this blacklisting if the Mademoiselle successfully participates in various therapies.” She passes toward a paper. “It’s a list of some advised areas to search for good specialists. We don’t want to break a young child's career so we are ready to compromise.”  

Lila almost believed her then she glanced at the man. At first she thought this Damian Wayne was gorgeous. And indeed his look was perfect, however she didn’t meet more horrifying people than him. His eyes screamed for murder.

She turned back to her mother who kind of looked relieved. “We… I thank you.” she breathed.

After that were just formalities. Signing up that or this. Lila wanted to run home and curl up. And cry.  

She worked for her fame. She worked hard to destroy those lives in her way. She didn’t think she would meet someone who could destroy her with just a flick.

However the paper said otherwise.

Her fucking status said otherwise.

She didn’t remember a lot from the meeting after that. She barely registered when they arrived home. She almost didn’t hear her father's disappointed voice on the phone.

And Lila almost missed the little note on her desk. With a photo about herself as she moves to get an akuma.

We are the night. We are vengeance. We are a family.

[peaches-writes]

tumbles and turns

description: a month in the life of you and your college roommate, minho—except you’re from rival universities preparing for an intercollegiate cheerdance competition member: minho / lee know genre: fluff, sports au (off-season universe), college au, roommates au, slice of life, friends to lovers au word count: 7.9k warning: explicit language, mentions of food, injuries, & harassment; a very jealous and protective minho notes: ah yes another sports au about a sport i’m not well-versed in that ended up not making sense + anw whatever danceracha pep squad agenda 💅

week 1 of 4

Minho finally releases the laugh he’s been holding for the past ten minutes, shaking his head in disbelief before hopping off of the edge of the sink where he’s been quietly judging you. “Seriously,” He smirks teasingly, expertly dodging your disapproving frown and your attempt at smacking his arm as he stands between you and the mirror then takes the comb from your hands. “You look fine—kind of wonky, actually, but you’ll live.”

“Ya!” You huff with a light stomp of your foot on the bathroom tiles, reaching up for the blue comb to no avail for he immediately lifts it high above his head. “Give me the comb!”

“Why don’t you dry your hair first before worrying about how you look?” He suggests with another laugh, leaning back on the sink when you start jumping over him for the comb. “It looks weirder when you try combing it down while it’s still wet.”

You groan when he starts taunting you by waving the comb in his hands, eventually giving up to stand back and cross your arms in annoyance. “I’m so—I just feel so iffy about this haircut, that’s all!”

“Well, that’s pep squad for you—but you already know that.” He shrugs, finally putting the comb down behind him in exchange for the orange towel you abandoned a while back to obsessively comb down your bangs. “Anyway, the bangs are the least of your worries. Aren’t you guys dyeing your hair on Friday?”

“Yeah,” You sigh in frustration, lifting a hand up to rub your temple. “Our costumes department is insane, I’m telling you.”

“Try our costumes department.” Minho retorts, throwing the towel over your damp hair after. “Though we’re doing a Michael Jackson-inspired routine, the costumes still need to have our school colors. Imagine all the black and gold and the make-up we’ll have to do for one part—“

You manage to crack a smile at this as you now busy yourself with drying your hair, making Minho chuckle in front of you as well. “Ah, right. Isn’t Felix volunteering for your costumes this year, though? Why don’t you approach him if you’re so bothered?”

“Then you’ll have to see Jeongin for your hair.” He points out.

“Jeongin? Right, nevermind, then. The kid’s scary when he’s in his element.” You huff, your hand on your temple then going up to your bangs. “I’ll just have to live with this for the next 1.5 years at most, I guess.”

“Then that’s settled.” Minho shrugs for the second time, tsking after once he notices your slow pace. Taking a step forward, you then catch a glimpse of Minho picking up your hair dryer from the other side of the sink counter from the corner of your eye before plugging it on the nearest wall socket. “You’re so slow! We’re watching a movie, remember? I don’t want water dripping on the couch.”

Swiftly, you elbow his stomach when he moves to your side. “Well, I’ll have to let you know that hair doesn’t dry that quickly when you’ve bleached it twice.”

“You could’ve been a little quicker about it if you weren’t so focused on your bangs.” He scolds, carding his fingers through your hair before pointing the noisy hairdryer on you and starting with your newly-cut bangs. “What even is the reason behind the red hair, anyway?”

“It’s our school colors, dumbass.” You remind him with a scoff, removing the towel on top of your head and moving it to the opposite side of where Minho is currently working. “Naeun actually managed to find a supplier with the exact same shade of red our school uses, it’s kind of cool.”

“Not like anyone would recognize it on compet.” Minho pouts. “Green would’ve been funnier. Isn’t that your other school color?”

“Excuse you, we have one of the biggest crowds every year? Plus, green would look too wacky. It could be distracting with our theme.”

“As if people from your school go around recognizing that specific shade of red.”

“I’m going to fucking hit you with this towel.” You glower, only making him laugh as he nonchalantly guides you by your shoulders to move closer to the hairdryer’s socket. “Let’s just see who’s going to be laughing when I see you in costume on compet.”

“Please, I’ll rock the outfit so much you’ll forget you even said that.” Your roommate rolls his eyes, turning you around so he can work on the back of your head. “What will you be wearing, by the way?”

Minho steals a glance at you from the mirror, raising his eyebrows slightly, and you answer, “Still the same but in black and a new design.”

“So...top and tights?” He asks and you nod eagerly, your hair almost slipping right through his fingertips.

“You’ll love the designs.” You muse, picking up the blue comb once again to use on the dried parts of your head. ”Naeun designed them really well!” 

“A bit of a basic choice for your second to last college competition, don’t you think?” He teases, making you reach up behind you to smack his arm. “Didn’t you guys do the same thing but in navy last year?”

“Call it basic again when I take it home, I dare you.” You retort before chuckling along with him. “Are you done?”

“Almost there.” He answers automatically, slowly inching along to your other side while gently moving you closer to the wall socket and turning you around to face the opposite wall by your shoulders. “Your hair’s so hard to dry.”

“I didn’t even ask for your help.” You point out. “You just barged in here to clown my bangs.”

“Yeah, then I realized that that’s what’s taking you so long that we can’t watch our Sunday movie.” Minho huffs, finally reaching your other side to dry the last strands of your hair. “I’m being a good Samaritan for once, you should at least say thank you.”

You giggle, nodding teasingly. “Right, right. Thank you, Minhooo!” You tease, knowing very well in your almost 5 years of living with him how rare these moments indeed are. “So...done?”

After a long pause, Minho turns the hairdryer off and takes out the plug from the wall socket behind you before taking a step back away from you. “Yup, done.” He affirms, running his index finger through your bangs horizontally once with a giggle. “Your bangs are so funny.”

You frown at him, smacking his arm for the third time tonight before turning around to tidy up everything you’ve used. “I hate you.”

But your roommate only pats your head in response before taking another step back and heading to the bathroom door. “I’ll set up the movie now!” He says as he walks away, glancing back at you with a smile before crossing the other side of the open door. “Hurry up, okay?!”

-

“Take the hoodie down! Take the hoodie down!” Jisung and Minho mischievously chant by your shoe racks at the entrance once you arrive home from training at the end of the week. The two hold Soonie and Doongie respectively in front of them for emphasis, lifting the cats up and down as if they were holding banners to a sports game. “Take the hoodie down! Take the hoodie down!” 

You only roll your eyes at the two as you discard your shoes properly next to them, patting Soonie and Doongie’s heads affectionately then smacking the side of Minho’s head. “Move out of the way, losers.” You command instead with a wave of your hand and a tired giggle, the two laughing along and obligingly stepping aside for you to hang your gym bag up on the metal hooks right behind them. “And Jisung, why are you still here? It’s 9 PM.” 

“We’re finishing our game tonight and I wanted to see your new hair!” He answers in his defense, putting Soonie down when Minho does with Doongie. “Now, take the hoodie down! Take the hoodie down!” 

Taking out your plastic bag of used clothes and empty tumbler out of your gym bag after, you sigh in defeat and remove your hoodie. “Fine, fine, fine, there.”

Your roommate and his best friend both erupt in whistles and cheers at your bright red hair in response. 

“Oh damn!” Jisung exclaims more dramatically and pats your shoulders in approval, ruffling your hair after. By your socked feet, Soonie meows enthusiastically as he tries climbing up your leg.  “Look, even Soonie likes it!” 

A small step behind the younger boy, you see your roommate with a much cooler reaction, smirking at you and mouthing, “Pretty,” with a wink before vocally adding, “It’s not so bad,” when Jisung then turns to him and asks him what he thinks. “Y/N’s had far worse hairstyles before.” 

“I’m going to shove my clothes down your throat.” You threaten him with a chuckle, holding your bundle of used clothes higher as if you were going to throw it towards him. “Anyway, you’ve seen my hair now so let me through, I still have to sort these out and wash up.”

"You have dinner on the table, too, so eat before you go to bed.” Minho adds, pointing to the open doorway down the hall leading to your kitchen. 

“Did you cook?” 

“Take-out.” Minho answers plainly before gesturing for the three of you to move to the living room. You and Jisung follow him down the hallway. “Pizza and wings.”

Meanwhile, Jisung pouts at you as he links his arms with yours. “Ya, Y/N, you’re not going to watch our stream?” 

“Maybe some other time.” You frown, your tiredness slowly coming back now that your friends have naturally stopped joking around. “I’m really sleepy.” 

“Practice was that harsh?” Jisung asks next, stopping you right in the middle of the living room before you could proceed further to the left of the hallway to your room. Minho, on the other hand, walks ahead of you and proceeds to plop down on the sofa to set up their game once again. “Jeongin told me you’re changing the choreography a bit.” 

“Seungkwan injured his foot really bad so we’re adjusting for alternatives in case he doesn’t recover in time.” You nod sadly, scratching your head in frustration. “And he’s my one of my bases for most stunts, including the exhibition, so I’m making the most adjustments.”

“Oh,” Jisung muses in realization, pausing a bit before another smile graces his features as he then lifts your hoodie back up to your head. “we should play quietly, then, right Minho?” 

Minho only nods at this without even sparing a glance back at you. 

“Yup, we’ll try to be quiet!” Jisung promises again, his grin growing bigger. “Sleep well, then, Y/N!” 

“Hm, thanks, goodnight to you, I guess.” You greet him back, looking over his shoulder to see Minho glancing back up at you. “Goodnight Minho.” 

Your roommate sweetly waves goodnight to you before turning mischievous by snickering and pointing at your red hair again. You roll your eyes and quietly threaten him with your clothes again in response before bidding him and Jisung another goodnight, proceeding to your room after. 

Surprisingly, the two rowdy boys kept to their word after you’ve finished dinner and mostly whispered yelled through the walls of the living room for the rest of the night, mostly Minho scolding Jisung for cursing at their game and reminding him to quiet down for you. 

week 2 of 4

You come home from Thursday practice two hours later than usual and completely drained, trudging down the entrance hallway of your shared apartment to the rustling of your used clothes and the obnoxious empty noises of your tumbler that quickly alerts Minho and his three cats of your presence. Excitedly greeting you from the kitchen area, Minho looks up at you from feeding Soonie, Doongie, and Dori under your dining table and waves at you, his smile immediately faltering into a confused one when he sees your frown. “Hey. Are you okay? Why are you late?” He points out with a nervous chuckle. “You could’ve just called me to pick you up.” 

You don’t answer, opting instead to tiredly settle on the seat nearest to his side and resting your arms and head down on the table, missing the dinner set Minho prepared for you by a hair as you do so. “I missed the first bus home because I was distracted from being so pissed off at this newbie being a creep during practice.” You scoff as nonchalantly as you can. “It’s okay now, tho���”

“What?!” Before you could even finish your sentence, however, Minho surprisingly leaves his cats’ side, moving over to sit next to you to the side where your head is limply tilted. “Who’s this guy? What did they do?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat at the sudden rise in Minho’s tone and then see him instinctively scooting away in response, an attempt to give you space in case you’re uncomfortable. “Do you remember Park Joon? The guy I’ve told you before who’s been hitting on me and some of my teammates since he got in the team?” You start off after and you see your roommate following you along again, this time propping an elbow up on the table and nodding along. You also see him open his mouth to speak before closing it again, gesturing for you to continue. “Coach picked him to be Seungkwan’s replacement for the stunts and we practiced our choreography for exhibition today after team practice.

“It was fine, at first, he adjusted quickly to filling in for Seungkwan and all—until in one of our final stunts, he started groping me inappropriately that my other teammates had to stop immediately once they noticed and told our coach about it.”  

"What?! What the fuck?!” Minho reacts with furrowed eyebrows and a scowl on his face. Sitting up properly now, he then worriedly asks, “W-What did—what did Coach Im do?” 

You sigh, lifting up your head up after as you tiredly prop your own elbow up to mirror him. “Coach was furious that she immediately had him kicked out of practice without even hearing his side.“ You answer shakily, carding your fingers through your hair. “She also said that she’ll report him to admin after so we won’t be hearing about the guy until graduation...” 

In front of you, Minho releases a breath you didn’t even notice he’s been holding as you speak, cautiously moving his chair towards you again and patting your back comfortingly. “That’s...fuck, I’m sorry you had to go through that...I’m glad Coach Im kicked him out after. Fuck...” He mirrors your frown, albeit sadder than your frustrated one. “Are you—I mean, do you want me to get you something? Do you need anything? I—”

“I’m fine, Minho, just annoyed now that we have to adjust everything again.” You huff, your voice shaking just slightly that Minho almost misses it. 

“The choreography’s the least of your worries now, that fucking creep just harassed you.” Minho points out softly and cautiously, meeting your eyes before hesitantly stroking your hair. “I swear, if I was there, I would’ve—”

You shake your head immediately, cutting him off with what you could muster up as an assuring smile. “Seriously...it’s fine. I’m fine—still a bit shaken but I’m kind of comforted that he got kicked out for it and that Jeongin and the others stood up for me.” You add with more conviction now because of Minho’s words. “Please don’t do anything stupid about this for me. I’m so over it right now, trust me.”

“Really? You promise?” He asks you to which you nod back in response. “Well, if you say so but—do you need anything else right now or later? I can commute with you again if you want me to or something...”

You shake your head at his last offer. “No, no, that’s really too much of a hassle for you. It’s fine. To be honest, I just want to sleep and not think about it anymore right now.” You pout after, scooting your chair closer to the meal you’ve accidentally forgotten throughout this whole conversation. “Thank you for listening and worrying, though, Minho. I really appreciate it.” 

Your roommate opens his mouth again to retort but is suddenly interrupted by Dori brushing up against your legs and purring at you. “What’s that Dori?” Your roommate asks the cat in his usual pouting tone instead, lifting the cat up and placing it on his lap. Dori, however, only fixes his gaze on you and purrs again. “Hm? You want to go to Y/N and make them feel better? Okay, okay.”

He then carefully sets the cat on your lap, standing up after to affectionately stroke your hair again. “If that’s all then eat first before you wash up and go to bed.” He then returns to his original thought before going back to the other two cats. “And do tell me if you need anything, okay?” 

“I will.” You muster up another smile to which Minho returns with a smile of his own. “Thanks again, Minho.” 

He only hums, briefly leaning forward as if to encase you in a hug before hesitating last minute and turning his attention back to his cats. “Eat your food.” 

The next day, Minho surprises you by waking up earlier and following you all the way to the bus stop with his own gym bag and backpack. 

“It’s Friday.” You point out as your bus approaches. 

He nods nonchalantly, turning to you with a smile. “Yeah, I can tell. The cafe across the street’s selling mint frappe until 10 AM.”

“No, I mean,” You shake your head. “isn’t your first class at 2 PM today?”

“Yeah?” He answers in a tone that pretends to be oblivious of where you’re taking this conversation.

“Then why are you all dressed up with your things?” At this the bus approaches, opening right in front of you and Minho. Before you could even step in the public vehicle, Minho beats you to it and takes your hand in his, pulling you along. 

“I’m meeting up with Jisung to study.” He answers belatedly to you as he swipes his bus card, stepping aside after for you to follow. 

“Bullshit.” You mumble under your breath, mirroring his actions anyway and following him to the seats right behind the driver as the bus roars back to life. “You’re in different programs, Minho.”

“You could just say ‘thank you’ and get it over with“ He teases, nudging your shoulder with his before smoothly slinging an arm over you. “And I really am meeting up with Jisung today, just after his 10 AM. He’s taking a science elective this semester and he needs help with it.”

You tilt your head towards him, seeing his anticipating expression. With an amused chuckle, you give him a side hug instead, burying your face in the material of his black hoodie and catching him off-guard. “Thank you.” 

He hugs you back with a laugh. 

-

“I know what will make you feel better!” Your roommate announces as he barges in your room unannounced the following Saturday afternoon, plopping down at the foot of your bed as you work on your term papers on the other side. “Well, at least, Chan does since he was technically the one who suggested it.”

“I feel fine, though? What are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow at him, stealing glances over to him as you continue working.

Minho comically rolls closer to you, propping an elbow up on the mattress to stop and showing you his phone displaying his chat history with Chan. “Are you sure? Like well enough that you won’t even be bothered that Chan got us tickets to see the Hyunjin’s final game next Sunday?” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, snickering when your eyes widen. 

Immediately, your fingers stop typing away on your keyboard and you look up at him in purse shock. “What?!” You exclaim in disbelief, leaning closer to his phone screen and squinting your eyes at the chain of messages exchanged between your two friends. “Seriously? Didn’t this game get sold out weeks ago?”

“Yeah but, you know, Chan has his socializing ways.” Your roommate shrugs, taking his phone back to his side to clasp his hands together. “So? What do we think?”

“Um, yeah, of course, let’s go!” You answer matter-of-factly, taking his phone and typing in your reply for emphasis. “I mean, you are taking me, right? This isn’t a joke?”

“Only if I can take the other ticket.” He winks, lifting his upper body higher from the mattress to rest his chin on top of your laptop screen. “So, yes?” 

You nod enthusiastically with a giggle, making Minho jump up into a sit in joy. 

“Clear your schedule for next Sunday, Y/N! We’re watching the finals!” 

week 3 of 4

Coach Im distributes your finished costumes on your first practice of the week after her final reminders and announcements and you make sure to contain your excitement as best as you can on your commute home until after you’ve finished dinner in order to open it with an equally excited Minho. 

Eagerly, your roommate now peers over your shoulder on the sofa after having hurriedly washed the dishes, holding Dori up to his chest as he does so.

“See? It’s so pretty!” You exclaim once you’ve taken everything out of the plastic wrapping, holding up your black fitted cropped top, lined with a complex geometric pattern in colors inspired by the pride flag, for your roommate and all of his three cats to see. “It came out really well!”

Minho nods in approval at the black spandex while Dori unconsciously mirrors him when you turn to the two. “The printing didn’t fuck up Naeun’s design on the first print for once.” He muses, making you chuckle. “It looks cool.” 

“They took it to a different printing shop this time.” You clarify, laying down the top right next to a sleeping Doongie on the nearby coffee table before taking out the bottoms. “This material’s really nice, too. I tried it on with everyone a while back and the stretch is really nice.”

“I take that as I’ll see this costume being used in the gym after, then?” Minho jokes, earning him a jab on the elbow when he puts Dori down after. “What? So, pajamas?”

“You didn’t have to call me out like that!” You protest, leaning back on the couch and placing a passing Soonie on your lap. “I really like this costume.”

“Because you say that with all of your costumes!” Minho retorts, hovering Dori over your costume when the cat starts purring and tilting its head towards it.

“I happen to love everything my friends design.” You correct, chuckling at Dori who’s now escaped Minho’s grasp to sniff and snuggle into your clothes. “Now, when is that black and red vest coming in again?”

“It came today too but I won’t show it to you.” Your roommate sticks his tongue out at you, earning him a string of protests from you. “You’ll just have to see on compet day!” 

“What? No! Unfair!” You pout. 

“You’ll just have to see next week!” He insists anyway, laughing at your furrowed eyebrows and scowl. “I don’t want you getting too distracted with me when you should be focusing on memorizing your choreography, you scatterbrain.” 

“Ya! Ugh, you’re so full of yourself!” 

You find his vest in the laundry the following day, anyways, when you needed to retrieve one of your shirts from your laundry area. You make sure to tease him about it with a photo of you holding up his vest after and sending it to him through private chat. 

“Ah, so mean!” He replies. 

-

“Let’s go Hwang Hyunjin, kick some ass!” You yell as loud as you can in your seat amidst all the cheers for your friend echoing around the arena. Next to you, Minho laughs through his drink at your enthusiasm, your initial awkwardness at sitting on his university’s side of the audience for this volleyball game clearly gone now as you wildly wave your green balloon. “Wooh, go Hyunjin!” 

“God, what would our friends from your uni say when they see you cheering for our team?” He chuckles once you’ve calmed down, adjusting your white hat as you settle back comfortably in your seat once again. 

You roll your eyes at him, picking your Cola up from your respective cup holder and taking a sip. “Shut up, it’s not like I’m alone here.” You retort after, pointing at Changbin who’s with Jisung at the other end of the row. “Even Yeji’s somewhere in the crowd, too, supporting her cousin.” 

“Still, it’s not everyday you’re on this side.” He argues back, scrunching up his face again when you get momentarily distracted by Hyunjin scoring another point for his team. “Ah, you’re so hyped today! How come you never cheer like this for me?” 

“Because we’re in the same sport, Minho.” You laugh this time, catching his fake pout from the corner of your eye. “Besides, I cheer for you, too, just in a different way—woah, did you see that?! Woah, as expected of Choi Bomin!”   

Minho couldn’t say anything else to you after as you easily become occupied by the heated game again, cheering mostly for Hyunjin and occasionally Sanha who’s on the opposing team. He patiently waits for you to turn your attention back to him anyway, which only takes 3 points on his university and 4 points on Sanha’s. “Why? So, I can’t ask you to wear my school’s shirt and things like that if ever?” He asks cheekily once he’s gotten your attention again. 

You scoff against the heat rising up your neck. “W-What? Why? Are you giving them to me as pajamas?” 

He shakes his head, chuckling. “No, I mean, while on compet.” He clarifies before gesturing over to his shirt you borrowed from him today with another pout. “It’s just that you borrowed my shirt to cheer on Hyunjin today. Can’t you do that next week for me too?” 

You glance back at him incredulously, making him chuckle nervously. “If I want Jeongin to chop my head off and Seungmin to call me a traitor until awarding, then I might.” You scoff playfully, deepening his pout and puppy eyes. “Don’t pull that look on me! Where is this even coming from all of a sudden?” 

“I just thought about it.” He shrugs, warming your face even more. “Can’t you really do it? I’ll even wear your shirt if I have to.”

“Ah, just say you think I look cute in your shirt and go.” You roll your eyes jokingly, your seemingly nonchalant disposition slowly crumbling down in front of him anyway. “Minho, your secret crush on me is kind of showing, you might have to watch out for yourself on that, ha.” 

“So? What about it?” He mumbles under his breath, catching you off-guard without him meaning to. 

“What?” Your eyes widen curiously. 

“What?” He repeats, mirroring your expression in feigned innocence before his eyes slowly flit back to the game. “Oh hey, we scored again!” 

“Lee Minho!” 

“What?!” He chuckles, avoiding your gaze now as you suddenly switch roles with him cheering loudly for his university. “Go Hwang Hyunjin!” 

One of your university shirts doesn’t come back to you from the laundry after that. 

week 4 of 4 

On the Saturday night before the competition, you skip your traditional sleepaway camp and senior send-off with your team to have a sleepover in your apartment living room with your roommate, setting up sleeping bags on the floor next to Soonie, Doongie, and Dori’s beds and queueing up old competition videos on your television. Minho, on the other hand, re-heats all of the remaining leftovers in your refrigerator and buys extra side dishes and drinks from the convenience store on the first floor of your building for dinner. 

“What should we watch first?” You ask once you’ve finished eating and washing the dishes, the TV’s remote on your right hand while the other massages Dori’s head as the grey cat circles your feet. “Hm, Dori? What video do you want to dance to first?” 

Minho then re-emerges from the kitchen, stretching his limbs as he approaches you before snatching the remote and answering for Dori, “I have just the video in mind!” 

“Ya!” You glare at him, reaching up to retrieve the remote again but, as he always does, Minho immediately raises the device above his head as he scrolls down the folder of videos on the TV. “If you’re thinking about that vid, I’m going to—“

But Minho only laughs at you, quickly scrolling down the videos anyway against your attempts of stopping him until he finds your very first cheer dance routine at the bottom of the folder. “Here, found it!” He chuckles in victory after a struggle, throwing the remote on the side and pulling you close to the first part of the paired dance that serves as the choreography’s intro. “Let’s dance!”

“Nooo!” You protest, turning your eyes away from the screen as you see yourself in your Freshman year, dancing to a Jungle-themed routine, while Minho only cackles in your misery, following the steps precisely as he spins and twirls you on time before letting go.

“No, you have to do it with me!” He insists as the choreography now forces him to part with you, his gaze alternating between you and the screen. “Come on, Y/N!”

You groan under his anticipating gaze, following him and the video along after a pause in utter defeat.

“Why are you so embarrassed about this routine? You looked cute here!” He points out as you now do the group jumps, easily finding you in the video since you’re often at the center. “Besides the teased hair and the amount of black eyeshadow on your make-up, of cour—“

“I tripped the most on this routine!” You remind him just as you do trip on the way to being lifted in the video. “See?”

“You were a 1st year then, that’s totally understandable.” He dismisses anyway with a wave of his hand, the two of you stopping to watch the first sequence of lifts. “You remember when I almost fucked up my solo on the same compet because I couldn’t remember the steps towards the end?”

“Yeah but you improvised—“

“And Coach Kim made sure to have me sit out the Nationals after.” Minho rolls his eyes. The two of you then go back to dancing, laughing along to the steps you find silly and scaring your three cats by pretending to lift your hands up as if preparing to do tumbles. “Point is, we’re much better cheer dancers now than before! Look, this routine’s even easier to follow now than when you were practicing this with me 4 years ago.”

“If you put it that way, then, I guess...” You muse out loud until another thought crosses your mind. “We should play that video of yours next, then! That was the exhibition, right?”

“Fine, fine.” He sighs teasingly. “but first let’s finish this! Ah, 6 minutes is so long when it’s so focused so much on dancing!”

You then spend the rest of the night dancing to your shared old competition videos until you eventually felt sleepy (and the old couple living right under your unit started banging on the floor, their ceiling, with an umbrella).

“Kids, whatever canoodling it is you’re doing, you need to stop, it’s 2 AM!” Mr. Lee yells from his window right below yours as you and Minho fall on your sleeping bags tiredly, making the two of you laugh.

“Who even uses the word ‘canoodling’ these days?” You scoff in between uncontrollable fits of giggles, rolling over to your stomach and lazily crawling over to your pillow. “And they think we’re doing something weird again! Mr. and Mrs. Lee are sweet and all but sometimes, their minds...”

Next to you, Minho clutches his stomach as he laughs. “Why?” He smirks playfully, sitting up and scooting over to his own sleeping bag. “They’re just being old people. Does it bother you that much? Do you actually want to do something weird with me?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust up at him hovering over you, pushing him away when he tries tickling your sides. “Ew, Minho! No, get away from me!”

A few hours later, you ended up having to deal with Minho sprawled all over your sleeping area and refusing to wake up at exactly 9 AM to prepare and head out of the apartment.

“Minho.” You call his name firmly, poking his arm draped over your waist. “Come on, you big baby, or the cats are gonna eat you for breakfast.”

“Nooo, 5 more minutes.” He whines tiredly, unconsciously snuggling up to your neck when Doongie and Soonie pass by his face, slapping their tails across his cheeks. “I’m so tired from last night.”

“I told you not to put on that video of yours from last season.” You scold, finally managing to lift his hand and kick his leg away from you. “Whatever, I’m feeding the cats. You get up and cook breakfast, okay?”

“In a bit.” He waves you off, rolling over to his stomach and grabbing the nearest cat, in his case Doongie.

-

Minho was right in that he really works his team’s outfit even when he’s not fully fond of it, you realize six hours later when you meet again at the competition’s venue and see him for the first time in his full gold top, black slacks, and shoes. He winks at you from across the room as you untie the knots of your purple, red, and yellow pom poms, gesturing to his outfit after and mouthing, “Like it?”

You wordlessly flash him a thumbs up in approval before showing him his shirt you’re wearing over your costume as he made you promise over breakfast, making him giggle over the hand fan he holds up to his face before focusing back on his conversation with Chan who’s filming an interview with him and the other captains of the participating teams as a courtside reporter.

Seungmin, preparing for his own pre-competition interview on the side, then takes the latter as his cue to sit next to you on the benches. “Minho scares me.”

“Minho always scares you.” You chuckle, elbowing his side and sparing him a quick glance before going back to your work. “What did you do this time, Minnie? Hit him with your cue cards?”  

But your team’s persistent courtside reporter only shakes his head from the corner of your eye, glancing up ahead of you once again before repeating, “No, seriously, he was glaring at Eunwoo a while ago when you were talking to him and now he’s all smiley and winking at you now that you’re alone. It kind of scares me and I’m not the one being looked at.”

You whip your head over to the same direction, easily spotting Minho again whose eyes immediately soften up at your gaze gaze before smirking and winking again at you. Turning back to Seungmin after, you shrug and say, “He looks fine to me. He‘s always greasy in public by default.”

The younger boy only sighs in defeat, rubbing his temples as he replies, “I don’t know what’s going on in your home life but I’m saying this as a concerned friend and bystander: get a room.” 

“What?!” 

“Do everyone a favor, it’s getting annoying.” He points out, quickly glancing behind you once again before shuddering at Minho’s glare that’s now directed to the other boy he just mentioned. “And we all seriously feel bad for Eunwoo; guy was just asking you for eyeliner.”

“We’re not dating, Minnie, oh my God!” You smack his arm in disbelief, taking a quick scan around the room after to make sure that no one heard your blabbermouth of a friend. Lowering your voice, you then add, “But did he really? Glare at Eunwoo, I mean?”

“Plotted five different murder scenarios and everything.” Seungmin affirms. “Felix and Chan were texting me from across the room while it was all happening and they both said they could see smoke come out of Minho’s ears. Even Yeji was scared and she was just passing by to see Chaeryeong.”

“You guys are delusional.”

“We are tired of this dumb sexual tension.” He defends, gesturing to himself then to Chan and Hyunjin from afar then to Minho and, finally, to your shirt with Minho’s university logo on the print. “Anyway, I also heard from some of the other reporters that he made Jisung and Hyunjin hold something for him today when their team came in. What if it’s for you?”

You raise an eyebrow, shaking your head. “No? He didn’t bring anything weird to the bus stop this morning and I’m pretty sure he went straight to his uni after dropping me off at my stop.” You point out before exhaling another sigh and patting the younger boy’s shoulder. “You know what I think? I think looking after your significant other is taking a toll on you. Are you sure you don’t need anything? A break from courtside reporting maybe?”

Seungmin groans. “Ah, whatever. You two figure this out before someone actually gets an idea to shove you two into an actual room—especially Jisung and Hyunjin!” He concludes before noticing the sudden commotion to your left, eyes widening at realizing that the reporters are being called for their opening spiels now. “Oops, I gotta go, crowd check!”

“You better, you’re starting to talk weird!” You smack his elbow playfully, standing up when he does and bidding him goodbye. “Hype up our crowd and break a leg out there!”

“And you do well on the floor later!” He smiles back, waving goodbye at you before joining Chan and the other reporters to the exit leading to the main floor. “Don’t forget to drink water!”

“Will do, capt.!” And with that, Seungmin runs off to open the program, the empty space next to you quickly getting occupied by Minho after who points at your shirt cheekily.

“You look cute in my shirt.” He comments, adjusting the hat he wears similar to Michael Jackson’s. Fortunately, the lighting backstage is not as bright as the floor’s that his top only glimmers slightly in front of you as he moves.

“You just saw me wear this last Sunday.” You deadpan against another wave of heat rising up to your cheeks, your hands fiddling unconsciously with the hem of your shirt. “It was getting cold just wearing my costume.”

“What did Jeongin and Seungmin say?” He asks, gesturing his head over to the exit where Seungmin just passed through a while back.

“Jeongin just laughed and Seungmin said—ah, nevermind.” You shake your head towards the end, piquing Minho’s interest even further anyway.

“What? What?”

“Nothing! It was nothing.” You bluff with another shake of your head, pushing Minho away with your pom poms when he teases you by leaning his face closer to yours. “Anyway, when will you perform?”

“We’re coming out third for the team and I think our exhibition members are performing fourth. You?”

“First, actually—for the team, I mean.” You frown. “Then we’re last for exhibition.”

“We can watch each other then! I’ll cheer for you from the front seats, the boys have front row seats out there near your uni’s bleachers.”

“Don’t you need to stay back here and, I don’t know, do captain stuff?” You ask next.

“And miss out on your performance? No way! The kids can take care of themselves for 6 minutes.” He shrugs with a dismissive hand. “Why? Don’t you want me to cheer you on? I brought your shirt with me.”

“So you took my shirt!”

“You couldn’t possibly think the neighbors would.” He rolls his eyes playfully, slinging an arm over your shoulder and directing the two of you to the exit along with the others for the opening rites. “So will you come out and watch me too?”

“It’s not like I have another choice. I’m already wearing your shirt to a compet.” You reiterate, making him smile. “As long as you don’t take unflattering photos of me again.”

“Nope, I’ve learned my lesson already.” He grins mischievously, making you smack his arm. “I already have Hyunjin on that job—maybe Changbin too, he brought a tripod and everything to film today.”

“I’m kicking you out of the house when we get home.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared!”

“Shut up.”

Minho cheers you on during your performance, anyway, holding red and green balloons and your shirt, as if a banner, next to Changbin, Jisung, and Hyunjin who all hold different colors of balloons and even more diverse slogans flashing on their phones as well. “Go Y/N!” He yells whenever you have to perform a stunt or dance at the center, jumping up and down his seat and receiving confused looks from the people in their bleachers who aren’t familiar with the two of you.

“Minho’s cheering for you again.” Jeongin snickers quickly as he catches you from a lift, making you discreetly pinch his arm under you.

“Don’t even—“ You sigh, hopping off of your teammates and proceeding to the next formation.

Still, Jeongin bothers you anyway as you perform a series of jumps before kneeling down on the mats. “I just wanted to say it’s cute but pretend that didn’t come from me.” He mumbles against the loud music next to you. “Will you come out and cheer him on too?”

“You already know I will.” You sigh, clasping your hands together once it’s time to stand up again. “Will you come too?”

“I’m sitting with Chan and Seungmin!” He says before parting ways with you. “Sit with us!”

And you do, wearing Minho’s shirt again over your costume once it’s his team’s turn to perform while you hold a black and gold balloon that Chan teaches you quickly how to wave around in the way their university does in every performance. “Go Minho!” You all cheer at the same time from the courtside reporters’ area, making the said pep squad captain turn to your direction as he waits for his cue from behind a prop coffin akin to Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

Minho waves at you shyly in response, prompting the other boys to tease you for the duration of the his solo.

“Get a room!”

“Seungmin!”

-

The cheer dance program lasts for almost 2 hours with the team routine, the exhibition from select members where you participated (and received too much yells from your friends on different sides of the arena), and the awarding where you end up placing 1st runner-up on the team and 1st place on the exhibition while Minho snatches the Champion title for his team among all of the awards they were giving out.

By 8 PM when the program officially ends, your body is already sore from performing twice but you come out to the mats once again, anyway, to take photos with your friends.

“Okay, everyone, say cheese!” Naeun exclaims, pressing the timer on her camera before joining your group, easily climbing up your friend group’s improvised pyramid.

“Cheese!” The camera snaps photos of you and all of your friends from different universities involved in the cheer dance in quick succession, Minho teasing you from below halfway and pretending to drop your foot in his hands.

“There! I think we got it.” Seungmin points out once the camera’s snapping noise stops, standing up from kneeling in front with Chan, Yeeun, and Chaeryeong to check. “Alright, it’s good! Season 103 is done! Finally!”

Your group erupts in cheers as you and the other fliers are carefully caught back and helped back down on the mats while the courtside reporters do a group hug and snap more photos, this time on Yeeun’s phone where they started doing poses resembling their university mascots. You fall smoothly on Minho and Jeongin’s arms, hopping off easily and thanking Jeongin.

“What about me? Hm?” Minho pouts once Jeongin’s dragged away by Felix and Chenle to take more photos, carding his fingers through your bright red hair. “You could at least say thank you.”

You look up at him and snicker, elbowing his side. “Thank you, Minhooo. Happy?”

“Better.” He smirks before twisting his upper body halfway to turn behind you. When you follow his action with your gaze, your then see Changbin and Hyunjin jogging over to you with your trophies and a large bouquet of sunflowers and roses. “I got you something by the way—well, Changbin and Hyunjin bought then I paid them or else they’ll get tissues in their mouths again.”

“Wha—?” You eye the flowers as they approach in pure shock, your eyes widening even more when Changbin and Hyunjin only send you knowing smiles and winks before running away, cheering Minho on as they escape to your other friends. “W-What? W-Why this all of a sudden?”

Minho chuckles at your reaction, passing you your trophy from the exhibition category while he holds his from the team category with the bouquet in one hand. “I just thought that...it’s the end of the season—our last season so what if I—what if I finally asked you out properly?” He explains, growing more sheepish as he explains further while he then transfers the bouquet in his free hand and thrusts the fragile gift towards you. “Felix and Jeongin suggested that I make it more grander with an after-compet performance or something but I know that’s not your type so I got you flowers instead since I know you’ll win something either way.”

“O-Oh.” You muse in your speechlessness, catching a glance of your mutual friends now crowding together from a distance and holding up their phones to record Minho’s confession. Around you, even a few passersby have also momentarily stopped to look, equally as surprised knowing your infamous relationship with your somewhat rival in these competitions. “Y-You’re—you’re asking me out.”

“That’s the plan.” He shrugs with another laugh, grinning even wider when you slowly take the flowers in your own hands to smell the flowers. “If not, then we can totally just pretend I bought you the flowers as congratulations for winning the exhibition catego—hey, woah!”

You shake your head with a smile, having already gathered your thoughts, and pull him into a hug with your free hand, effectively cutting him off and making everyone around you cheer. “Of course, I’d go out with you, dumbass.” You answer his unspoken question, making him smile over your shoulder and hug you back tightly. “Anyway, I’m too lazy to kick you out of the apartment.”

“Ya!”

“I’m just kidding!” You then pull away slightly after, tiptoeing up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the flowers—and also maybe for assuming that I’m going to win something.”

“You always win something, anyway—even if it’s not always the team category because you can never beat me to that in this competition.” He teases, earning him another smack on the arm. “You did win my heart.”

“Ugh, Minho, gross!” You scrunch up your nose, feigning disgust and making him laugh as he dips down to kiss you. “Please never say that in front of my face ever again, we still have Nationals at the end of the semester!”

[starbornvalkyrie]

paper rings [a nessian one-shot]

a/n: hey besties!! here’s some fluff for this fine saturday. i wrote this for my mate, my besta @vanserrasvalkyrie​ bc i love her to death and she deserves everything. i wrote this based on paper rings by taylor swift. enjoy!

acotar masterlist || masterlist of masterlists

When the sunlight hit his face, Cassian stretched with a groan and reached for his girlfriend. Girlfriend. Three years and he was still shocked that was the title he could call Nesta Archeron. When they met all those years ago, he could have sworn she hated him. He thought it might have been his high clouding his mind but no. 

Nesta gave him the cold shoulder every time they hung out, though he never failed to sense her eyes on him when they were out with his friends. There was something about Nesta that always drew him to her. Some sort of gravitational pull that made her irresistible--even as she pushed him away.

Cassian frowned when he found that the other side of the bed was cold, his girlfriend long gone for the day. Blinking slowly, he wondered if she told him what she was up to today. Not that she needs to, but she usually gives him a heads up. His thoughts were pulled away when his phone chimed.

A single text message from Nesta read, Morning, babe. I’m out running errands with Feyre today. I’ll see you later. Xx

Cassian couldn’t help the grin that formed on his lips at her use of the word babe, and he used that energy to get out of bed and prepare for the day. The day that he hopes will bring him one step closer to calling Nesta his wife.

He dialed Rhys, putting the phone to his ear as he fastened his watch around his wrist. He smiled fondly at it, remembering the day Nesta gave it to him saying, “Your old watch is too loud. Use this.”

Rhys answered on the last ring with a labored, “Hello?” followed by a female yelp and giggle. His brother shushed her, but Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“Is that Feyre?”

Rhys cleared his throat, “Yeah, of course, why?”

“I just thought…” He trailed off. “Nevermind, brother. Is everything still set for tonight?”

He could practically hear Rhys rolling his eyes when he replied, “Yes, brother, we’ve been over it a thousand times. It’s going to be great.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you two to… whatever I interrupted.” Cassian almost gagged hearing Rhys’ stifled groan of a goodbye as he hung up, patting his jacket pocket to feel for the ring one more time. He was about to grab his keys when he noticed a note on their side table, the elegant script telling him who left it. Smiling, he picked it up and read.

Cassian,

Do you remember the night we first met? I remember it vividly, probably because I wasn’t as stoned as you. But what I haven’t told you is that I went home and stalked you on the internet. Full on FBI mode. If you tell anyone, I will not hesitate to kill you. Sometimes I think about how I tried so hard to learn every detail I could about you without actually talking to you, but now I feel like I know more than I should.

We’ve shared a lot these past three years, and I have to say that one of my favorite hobbies to share with you is reading. The days we spend wasting away in bed reading side by side are the days I hope we will continue to share for the foreseeable future. While they aren’t my favorite, I do enjoy the war novels and thrillers you keep beside your bed. I think I’ve read all of them by now.

I skimmed Catch 22 this morning and was particularly intrigued by page 143.

It wasn’t signed, but Nesta’s perfume lingered on the page, igniting Cassian’s senses. The memories she wrote of came to the forefront of his mind. She was shy at first, not wanting him to know the sort of books she enjoyed reading with her friends. But one night he snuck one off her nightstand. Needless to say, they’ve had their fair share of experimentation based on a few of her novels. And when she read his books and talked excitedly with him, he thought he’d propose on the spot.

Cassian rushed to his bedside table and, sure enough, Catch 22 is on top. He flipped to the page she mentioned. Another note fell out along with a blue paint swatch. The color looked familiar, but he couldn’t figure out where he knew it from. Shrugging, he read the note.

Cassian,

Do you remember when Azriel made us all help him paint his room? My favorite memory of that day was the fact that there was more paint on us and our friends than there was on the walls. You, of course, had the brilliant idea of jumping into the pool of Az’s apartment complex. At 8PM. On a January evening. No one wanted to join you, for obvious reasons. I still think you’re an idiot for suggesting it. I still think you’re an idiot for actually doing it.

But then again, I followed. You may have jumped first, but I went in, too. I will always follow you, Cass, to the ends of the earth.

Will you follow me, too?

Yes. One hundred percent, yes. Cassian would follow Nesta to the ends of the earth and back. He’d slay dragons for her or just sit back while she conquered them herself. He couldn’t think of a time when his world didn’t revolve around Nesta. While they played games of cat and mouse when they first met, it was always Nesta. For him, he would always follow Nesta.

Will you follow me, too? He absolutely would. There were no other directions on the note, but Cassian knew exactly where he needed to go. Carefully folding the notes, he placed them in his pocket next to the ring. Giving the pocket another pat, he grabbed the keys to his truck and made his way through town. Azriel moved out long ago to live with his girlfriend, but Cassian still knew how to get to his old apartment complex.

That night was one of the best nights of Cassian’s life, but not for the reasons Nesta might be thinking. It was fun, definitely, swimming in that freezing pool, alcohol the only reason they didn’t feel the icy bite of the water. But that was the first night Nesta laughed and smiled with only him. Sure, before then, he had seen her radiant smile and heard her mesmerizing laugh with their friends. But with no one else around them in the pool, Cassian had relished in the fact that he was the reason for her happiness. It was the first time he had dared to hope for something more.

The apartment complex wasn’t gated, so Cassian drove right in, straight to the clubhouse pool. He hopped out of his truck, leaving it running idle, as he searched the area. He searched the chaise lounge chairs and tables but only saw a towel and duffel bag that someone left behind. He walked the perimeter of the pool itself. Still nothing. Did he get it wrong? Was he supposed to go somewhere else? Confused and frustrated, Cassian was about to give up when something at the bottom of the pool caught his eye: a ziploc bag anchored by a can of paint.

“You have got to be kidding me, Nes,” he mumbled to himself. Cassian went back to inspect the duffel bag, cursing his cruel girlfriend the whole way. When he unzipped the bag, a note was on top. Have fun getting wet, was all it said. Underneath was a pair of Cassian’s swim trunks and an extra pair of clothes. Accepting his fate, he changed in the restroom, and dove into the pool.

Pulling the paint can--the same color they painted Az’s room--to the surface was harder than he thought it would be, but eventually he was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water that was a lot warmer than it was that night. Shaking the moisture from the bag and his hands, he took out the note, slightly shorter than the rest. Nesta knows he’d be impatient and nearly irritable by now, and he loved her even more for thinking about that detail.

Nice day for a swim, right? I wish I could have been there to see it, but don’t worry, I’ll have you wet and shirtless in no time later. But in all seriousness, I had a lot of fun that night. Getting to know you better in the pool is one of the highlights of our relationship and it’s something I will never forget.

But let’s go back to the beginning. Meet me in the place it all began. I’ll always be waiting for you.

Cassian grinned and pushed himself up to dry off and change. He grabbed the clothes Nesta packed for him, pleased to know she knew his style, and meticulously transferred the small box from his jacket pocket to the front of his jeans.

Knowing exactly where to go, Cassian made his way to meet his future wife.

---

Nesta waited nervously on the dock of a lake just outside of Velaris. She clutched the final envelope in her hands, reminding herself every few minutes not to ruin it. She sat on a blanket, a basket filled with Cassian’s favorite foods. She tried to push doubt from snaking its way into her brain, but she couldn’t help it.

She had been dropping hints to Cassian for months now but to no avail. After Rhys proposed to Feyre six months ago, Nesta felt that tug in her heart that told her she was ready. She practically told Cassian as much. She made it a point to talk about Feyre’s wedding prep every day, asking what he would want if he was in their position. She even went as far as showing him rings.

But Cassian hasn’t made a single move. Nesta knows he loves her, but does he not see her as wife material? Does he only love her for now? Nesta didn’t think so, and she didn’t let herself believe that, but the seed of doubt is still there, waiting to grow. To counteract the doubt, she decided to take things into her own hands.

Hence the basket and the notes. 

Her phone chimed with a text from Az telling her that Cassian just jumped into the pool. He got it on video. She laughed and asked him to let her know when Cassian left the apartment complex. While all of their friends were in on the event, Azriel was the only one she trusted to trail Cassian without being caught. Everyone else was tasked to decorate their apartment for a party after Cassian left on her scavenger hunt.

Nesta stood as she heard the sound of tires on gravel and braced herself as she watched Cassian step out of his truck and make his way towards her. Much to her amusement, she realized his hair was still a little damp from his impromptu swim, but he was also wearing the jeans and button down shirt she had packed for him as well. Nesta still counted herself lucky, praying to the Cauldron every day that this was the man that crashed into her life all those years ago.

Cassian stopped in front of her, surveying her from head to toe. His gaze sent shivers down her spine, but she stayed still as he scanned her set up on the dock, a smile gracing his lips as he most likely remembered what they’ve done out here. Multiple times.

Finally, he turned back to her and greeted her, “Hi, Nes.”

“Hey,” she said, voice low.

“What is all this?” He started to move towards her, but she held up her hand, nerves getting the best of her.

“I-- uh, we’ll get to that. But first,” she held up the note she held in her hand. “Last one.”

This time, he did step closer to her, but didn’t touch her yet. Ever observant, he knew she needed her space right now while her nerves went haywire. He stopped just in front of her, though, and asked, “Will you read it to me?”

Nesta’s eyes went wide, scanning the hazel ones she’d come to love so much. She saw only love and a hint of amusement staring back at her, so she whispered, “Okay,” and opened the envelope. With a few deep breaths, she began to read.

“Cassian. My best friend, my love. The biggest brute on the planet.

I don’t know how else to put this, but when I think about who I was when we first met, I can’t help but feel that I fell in love with you by accident. Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad that I did. But you know me, I hate accidents. I hate when things don’t go the way I want them to. And that’s you in a nutshell. I never know what’s going to happen, but I’m here for it, along for the ride for the rest of my life.

You know my past better than anyone else, even my sisters. All of the things that happened with Tomas… if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t have found you. I can even say I’m thankful for your past girlfriends, knowing that you wouldn’t be the man I know without them. We may fight, we may not be perfect, but that doesn’t stop me from loving you and hoping you love me in return.

Because I want it all, Cassian. I want you and all the complications you may come with. I want to kiss you randomly just because I can. I want to brighten your dreary Mondays, for you to wrap your arms around me while I cook, and everything in between.

You’re the one I want, Cass, in any way you’ll have me. Picture frames, dirty dreams, you name it.”

Nesta paused, steadying herself for the next part. She wiped the tears that started to fall from her eyes as she read. When she looked at Cassian, she could see the silver lining his own eyes as he gave her a watery smile. The smile she can’t imagine living without ever again. Steeling herself, she asked, “Are you going to make me do the knee thing?”

The corner of Cassian’s mouth turned up higher at that, decorating his face with that smirk that’s gotten him into so much trouble in the past. “You know how I like to see you on your knees in front of me, Nes,” he teased, making Nesta’s heart stutter.

“Brute,” she mumbled. “Fine.” Nesta adjusted her dress as she got down on one knee, holding the note in her palms. “I know this isn’t a shiny ring or anything fancy, but I don’t need any of that. I only need you, Cass. You’re the one I want until we’re taken to the next life and every moment after that as well. Will you marry me?”

Cassian hesitated for only a split second before he was on his knees in front of her, her face in his hands. “You stole my thunder,” he accused, his voice playful. When Nesta only stared at him with a cocked brow, he chuckled. She watched as he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a small velvet, black box. Nesta couldn’t contain her gasp as he opened it to reveal a perfectly cut ruby set on a simple silver band. “You’re the only one for me, Nes. You’ve always been the only one for me.”

Nesta stared at the ring. “Cass…” she whispered.

“Are you sure you don’t want the shiny things? I can return this…”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “Ring me.” Nesta stuck her left hand in Cassian’s face. He laughed but removed the ring from the box to slip it onto her ring finger.

They both watched in silence, the air buzzing with anticipation, as Cassian pushed the ring past her first knuckle then the second. Until it metaphorically clicked into place at the bottom of her finger.

A perfect fit.

Nesta launched herself at Cassian, tackling him to the deck with a searing kiss. Her heart thundered wildly, their tongues tangling as the words engaged, fiance, and future husband played on repeat in her mind like her favorite song. She pulled back to look down at her best friend, her everything, his eyes shining right back at her.

“I love you, Nes,” he said, voice low but thick with emotion.

“Until the end of time,” she replied with another kiss.

---

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[mqgriett]

Wrecker- Proposals are hard

Requested by @night-writer-writer ! I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Wrecker x Reader

Warnings: none!

Summary: for months now Wrecker has been planning to propose and what could go wrong with the rest of the bad batch trying to help him?

Note: this was so much fun to write and I love my little squish Wrecker 

“This one?” asked Tech for the tenth time today. He was steadily growing more and more irritated with his brother turning down every gemstone he held up.  

The only other person more annoyed than Tech was the jeweler, who’s eyes were starting to shut as he waited on the large clone to choose a ring. Four out of the six Bad Batch members had been inside of the small store for at least five hours now, which was evident based on the fact that the sun had set a while ago. 

Wrecker shook his head without even looking at the stone in Tech’s palm, eyes fixated on a gem that was seemingly floating in a case behind the counter. 

Tech scoffed and gave the jewel back to the clerk, who reluctantly placed it back inside the case. 

Crosshair made his way across the room, grabbing Wrecker’s shoulder and gently shaking him in an attempt to grab his attention. “I don’t know how much longer Echo’s gonna be able to distract ‘er, Wreck.” he said with a dry chuckle. When he didn’t answer Crosshair followed his brother’s gaze, looking in the direction of the case in the background. 

A loud sigh traveled through the store as Hunter joined the rest of his comrades. He stared down at his hand, mindlessly pushing around all of the stones he had picked out. “Okay I’ve got a few red ones, a couple ‘a white, and some-” his eyes found the case that Wrecker was staring at and he couldn’t speak. “Nevermind.” he said definitively, letting the gems fall out of his grasp. The jeweler let out a frustrated and muffled groan, knowing he would have to clean that mess up. 

Wrecker finally spoke, “That one. I want that one” 

The clerk glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, “I’m afraid that one’s not for sale.” 

“I’ll give ya’ three hundred credits for it.” Wrecker blurted subconsciously, slamming his palms on the glass counter. He tossed all the money he brought with him towards the worker, all without taking his eyes off the gem. 

“That is a real kyber crystal from the caves of Ilum. It will be much more than three hundred credits.” responded the jeweler with a small laugh. 

“How about five hundred?” Crosshair asked, folding his arms over his chest. He smirked at the clerk, willing to pitch in his own credits to help his brother and to see the face of the shop owner when they left the store with that stone. He set the credits next to Wrecker’s, popping a toothpick in his mouth after.

He shook his head, “I’m afraid that still would not be enough.” 

Hunter narrowed his eyes, feeling the judgement seeping off of the jeweler. He dug through his own pocket, proudly setting another three hundred credits next to Crosshair and Wrecker’s. 

“How about…” Tech’s voice trailed off as he approached the counter and counted the amount of money in his palm simultaneously, “one thousand two hundred fifty-seven credits and seventy-three cents.” he concluded proudly. 

The shop owner stroked the small beard that grew on his face, thinking hard about his decision. He snatched the silver and gold bars off the counter and grumbled, “fine.” 

Wrecker clapped his hands together, hugging his brothers so tightly that they physically needed to push themselves off of him. He excitedly repeated, “thank you,” over and over again as the jeweler carefully extracted the crystal from its case, 

“She better say yes or you’re paying me back.” Crosshair muttered as they left the store, only half-joking. 

***

Echo had been trying his best for the past five hours to distract you. For the first two you just played Sabacc, but then you started to ask him where everyone went. 

You sat on the stairs of the Marauder, staring out into the dark night sky. “Echo, they’ve been gone for hours. They didn’t even say where they were going.” you said as he sat down next to you. 

Echo scratched the back of his head nervously, “they’ll be back soon. You want to play another game ‘a Sabacc?” he offered. 

You ignored his offer, growing more and more worried by the second. “Why are we even on Lothal?” you threw your arms in the air and shouted, “it’s deserted!” A few loth cats, who had most likely been sleeping, growled at the sound of your loud voice. It was late, well past 0600 when Wrecker said he would be back. “Try Hunter’s comm again, please.” you asked Echo. 

“Just did, nothing.” he said, “hey how about some Sabacc?” he pointed behind him to the inside of the ship.

“Tech?” 

“Nope, but we can watch your favorite holodrama.” Echo placed his arm on your back.

You sighed, “Wrecker?” 

He shook his head, “no, how about we go mess up Hunter’s hair supplies, eh?” 

“Crosshair?” 

He chuckled, “he never answers his comms anyway.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your chin atop them. “What if something happened to them?” 

Echo laughed nervously, “They’re fine. Wrecker said they’d be back soon.” 

“Yeah, at 0500. It’s 0815 now.” you mumbled. The more your mind raced the more horrible thoughts filled your head. Nothing good ever came from Lothal. This was where you had originally been found by the Bad Batch, where Wrecker had rescued you from a trap that Tarkin had set. Matter of fact, you weren’t too far from where that had all happened.

A tear streamed down your face as you buried your head in your knees, careful to not alert Echo. 

Despite your efforts he noticed and scooted closer to you. He placed his hand on your back gently, not wanting to startle you . “I’m sure they’re gone for a good reason.” 

You sniffed loudly, “today is our anniversary.” 

“Who’s?” he asked, cocking his head to the side like a confused animal. 

Your sleeve wiped under your nose, “Wrecker and I’s anniversary. It’s been two years. But he’s been so distant these past two weeks.” You combed your hair back with your fingers, sighing heavily, “I just hope he hasn’t lost interest.” 

In that moment he considered telling you what Wrecker had been planning for the previous two months, but he knew he couldn’t without no-doubt receiving a verbal assault from the rest of the Bad Batch.

Echo desperately tried to hide his smile as he heard the sound of four speeders approaching, he acted as calmly as he could and tapped your shoulder to point you in the direction that he heard the noise. 

You practically jumped down the other six stairs, sprinting immediately towards Wrecker as he took his helmet off and dismounted the speeder. 

“Ner kar'ta!” he smiled, opening his arms up for you to hug him as you usually did when he returned from a mission. 

You pushed him backwards, “it’s been five hours! You said one hour tops!” 

Hunter stepped forward, “we got caught up-” 

You quickly shut him down with a warning glare and began to pace back and forth, counting on your fingers after each sentence. “First, you refuse to tell me what planet we go to and all of you, besides Echo, ignore me for a week. Second, within an hour of landing you four take off on some mission without telling either of us where you’re going. Third, none of you answer your comms the entire time you’re gone. Lastly, today was our anniversary Wreck!”

He tried his best to interject, “Wait-” 

You slapped the back of your right hand against the palm of your left, “If you’re going to leave for hours then please at least lie to me about where you’re going. You could have been dead!” You couldn’t hold the tears back anymore, allowing them to just to stream down your face and onto the dry dirt of Lothal. 

“Cyar'ika-” 

“I don’t mean to sound so overdramatic but I feel like you just don’t need me anymore.” You spun on your heels and began to walk towards the Marauder. Echo caught your shoulders and spun you back around to face your boyfriend of two years. 

Your breath caught in your lungs, a pit forming at the bottom of your stomach as you faced Wrecker. He kneeled on one knee, a small ring in between his large fingers. 

He spoke in an unusually small voice, hands trembling as held the ring, “I still love you, I promise.” Wrecker swallowed the ball in his throat, “will you marry me?” your name followed the question as he anxiously waited for your answer. 

“Oh wow.” you gasped, “that why… that’s why you…” you turned and faced Echo, “that’s why he…” Your head started to spin, “that’s why we’re on…” you stared down at endless planes of Lothal. 

He shuffled forward on his knees, capturing your attention again with those big eyes of his. 

“Yes.” You exhaled, lunging forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. He stood up and hugged you tightly, swaying you from side to side. Your feet dangled off the ground as he held you. 

The other four Bad Batch members all simultaneously let out a breath they had been holding for the longest time. Tech and Crosshair were nearly purple, Echo and Hunter on the verge of fainting. 

Wrecker gently slid the ring on your finger and the kyber crystal danced in the moonlight. The pale-blue color was beautiful, the mere thought of actually getting to marry the love of your life making you smile from ear to ear. You smothered your now-fiance in kisses, unable to take your eyes off of the ring. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you. I messed up real bad on that.” he sighed, finally able to formulate sentences again. 

Hunter scratched the back of his neck, “That, would have been my idea.” he said with a nervous chuckle. He was quick to defend himself, “but Cross suggested the shop we went to, that’s why it took so long.” 

“Oh please,” retaliated Crosshair, “Tech is the one who suggested the two-month planning.”

“And all four of you made me stay back here to play over fourty games of Sabacc with Echo.” you said sarcastically. 

Echo’s eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you liked Sabacc.” 

[laboflove]

Oikawa & Iwa X FR

•Aged up•

Word Count- 2363

❗Warnings❗{Smut, angst, praising, infatuation, ridiculing, cheating, body shaming}

A/N: Thicc Y/N who's dating Oikawa and although he says he loves her it doesnt seem that way.

He smiles as he sees your eyebrows pushed together, you were always so cute when you were angry, he just wanted to keep making fun of you to see that face. "Tooru" you suddenly say making his smile fade, "Yeah?" He says confused and your phone buzzes, "Nevermind, I have to go, Iwa is here" you say then kiss his cheek before leaving.

A frown forms on his face as he sees you walk off, you were always hanging out with Iwaizumi. It made him mad because you were HIS girlfriend not Iwaizumi's. He huffs then leaves as well, whatever, hed just make you remember how great it is to date him.

You walk in to find him on your bed and he smiles, "Hey" you both say, you climb onto the bed forgetting about today at work and he pulls you onto his chest. "Did you gain weight? Damn" he says with a chuckle making the thoughts come back, "I think, I'll lose it dont worry" you whisper as you move off and onto the side.

He pulls you close, his hands trailing your body making you anxious, you werent skinny like other girls, you had curves and Oikawa would always tease you about it, middle school to now and you always tried to lose weight but youd gain it back. An endless cycle and honestly the last thing you wanted right now was for him to be touching you like this.

Yet you dont stop him, instead closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep but his hands get more touchy, soon enough spreading your legs. "Not tonight Tooru" and his frown appears again, that's the second time this week you've called him that. "Okay" he says then turns around and you both fall asleep, one angry and confused and the other filled with dark thoughts.

"I just dont understand, shes been calling me Tooru this entire week, why?" He says as he passes the ball to Iwa, "Its your name" He says making him huff. He knew it was his name but you've never called him that before, so why now?!

"I dont like it, she never calls me that so why now? Did I do something wrong?" He says and Iwa stops, "You always make fun of her, im surprised she hasn't dumped you yet" and Oikawa's mouth goes dry. His biggest worry, something he never wants to happen, for you two to break up, you meant everything to him, youd always lift him up, give him pointers and take care of him. You couldn't leave him, you're all he had.

"S-she knows I'm just kidding, I don't mean any of it" he says then the ball flies towards him, "Iwa-!", "It always sounds like you mean it, you tell her shes fat, that shes not pretty enough, that she isnt smart, terrible shit but you never say that you're just kidding. Even then you shouldnt say shit like that to someone who already deals with criticism as it is, you especially shouldn't say it to her because shes your goddam girlfriend" he leaves and Oikawa clenches his fists.

"Hey!" And he looks back, "Do you like her?!" He yells out earning a nod making his blood boil, "I've liked her since middle school, even more in high school and the most right now, but she made the stupidest decision on dating you" and he walks off again.

"Youd never leave me right?" He asks as he rests his head on your chest, you dont answer making him look up with dim eyes, "You would?" He asks and you sigh, "If something were to happen yes but just breaking up with you for no reason would not happen" and he nods. "Um, what would be the reason?" He whispers remembering the conversation with Iwa, "If one of us cheats, I'd never do it but well..." you stop and he looks up at you.

"I-im sorry, I'll never hurt you like that ever again, so please dont leave me" you nod then place a kiss on his head.

He looks back at the tv but hes barely focusing on it, only remembering that night. He was drunk, saying terrible stuff and when he woke up he found you in front of him, sitting down, looking super tired and your eyes were so dry and red. He didnt know why till he looked around and found unfamiliar clothes, women's clothes.

You didnt talk to him about it, none of you brought it up and soon you were both back to normal but he knew that all trust created was gone.

His thoughts are broken by the familiar buzz pattern and you pull the phone to your ear, "Hey" you say with a smile, why cant you smile like that when you talk to him? Why doesnt your voice get all cute and soft with him? Why is it only with Iwa?

"Oh I'm with Oikawa" you say as your hand runs through his hair, he smiles and even more as you rest it on his cheek. "I-iwa" your hand twitches slightly and he can feel your aura change, "Dont call me until your done with that crap, God, you're worse than Oikawa" you put your phone down and he looks up at you.

"What's wrong?" He asks but you shake your head, "Its nothing, just Iwa being a bit of an asshole" he nods and you look at the tv.

"He doesnt love you, he says all that shit which he shouldnt be saying, what if he cheats on you again huh? "

You let out a sigh then close your eyes, uh oh, you're pissed.

"Hey" you hear, turning around you see them and shoot a smile, "Hey guys" you say as you slowly come to a stop. "Whatre you doing here?" One asks, "Oh uh well you know working out" you say and they nod. "Any specific reason? You look perfect already" you laugh making them confused, "Yeah right, if I was Oikawa wouldnt judge me 24/7" you say and they tilt their heads.

"Anyways, I'm gonna get back to this" you say with a small smile and they head to the other side, "Whatre you thinking?" Akaashi asks as Bokuto glares in your direction. "I'm thinking that I want to kill Oikawa", "As much as I'd love to help you do that, its illegal" he says and he huffs. "Only if i get caught".

"Whatre you doing?" He asks as his arms wrap around your waist, you step off and you smile, "Yes" you say and he rubs your stomach, it's not as squishy as before. "I finally lost 15 pounds" you whisper with a large smile and although he should be congratulating you it doesnt make sense. "Whyd you lose weight?" He asks and you look back, "For you, you wanted me to lose it remember?" You say and he looks at you in the mirror.

"I'll love you no matter what", "Haha, yeah right Mr. I want a trophy wife who's beautiful and perfect" you say then move away, his heart clenches hearing you say the words he regrets telling you. He didn't want anyone but you.

"Y-you know I love you right?" He says and you look at him, you dont say anything making his heart break. "I do Tooru, it's just hard to believe" and he looks down, "Okay".

"Y/N" he says for the thousandth time this night, "Are you even listening to me?! It's like you dont care about me! You're always off with Iwaizumi doing God knows what! Why cant you just love me! Only me!" The tears keep falling but you dont look back and you dont let a sob escape. For three days it's been like this, him finding anything to ridicule about and making sure you knew how terrible of a girlfriend you were.

You stand then look at the tree your parents gave you, well it was meant for both of you, something to resemble your love for each other, always growing and alive till death.

A sigh escapes your lips and you walks up to it, "Just as I suspec-", "If I cut this down does that mean were done too?" You ask surprising him. "What does that mean?" He asks and you turn to look at him, "I want to break up" and he looks down. You're crying, you're actually crying, hes never seen you cry, you always refused to look at him whenever you did so hes never got to see it and he wishes he never did.

"Why?", "Why? Why?! Why else Tooru?! Every second I spend with you hurts me! The love in our relationship cant even compare to the amount of pain there is! You give me so much shit and i try to be better, i try to become someone perfect for you but theres always something! I dont love Iwa like I love you! I never have! I only love you but it's like you dont think i do! Even though you're the one that cheated! You're the one that broke the trust! I should've broke up with you before!" You cover your mouth realizing what you just said and you look away.

You were right but why did you say all that stuff to him, he looks at you but quickly looks away. "I'm leaving" you say then rush past him, "W-where are you going?" He asks as he follows you upstairs, you couldn't leave, not like this. He has to say sorry, he has to fix it, he cant lose you!

"I dont know but I cant stay here" you pack stuff up as you avoid his hands, "No" he suddenly says as you reach for the front door. "Bye" you leave in a rush and he looks around, "NO! GET BACK HERE!" and he falls to ground. It actually happened, you left him, you left him and it's his fault, who's going to love him now? Who's going to help him when he gets sick and who's he going to tease?

He leans in as he holds you close, "I love you" he whispers but you stop him, "Its been two months yet you still push me away", "I didnt have sex with Tooru till we were five months in" you say but he doesnt stop, "Oh c'mon, you know you want to so ju-", "Can you stop? I'm really not in the mood for anything like this" you say as you push his hands away from your stomach and thighs.

"Oh I get it" he says as he pins your hands above your head, "You think I'm like Oikawa, that I'll point out your flaws, that I'll think you're ugly, that I dont actually want you" he says into your ear and you look away, he was right and you both knew that. "Well guess what, we all have flaws, I dont think you're ugly and damn do I want you" he kisses you hard but your squirm in his embrace.

"N-no Iwa stop" you let out with a soft moan as he rubs his knee against your clothed heat, "Why? We both want this, you just cant admit it" his tongue trails up your neck as you resist him only making him want you more. "So soft and you always smell so good" he murmurs as you grind against his knee although your mind is saying you dont want this.

"So pretty, especially these moans" desperate whines leave your mouth as he slowly undresses you, "Heh, I think we should take this to the bed" he says as he looks down at your naked body.

Your arms cover yourself as much as they can as he lifts you bridal style, "M-maybe we should wait, i-i should lose a few m-", "Shut the hell up or else I will tie you up" you nod fast and he places you on the bed. "Fuck me" you turn red seeing his eyes take you in, he reaches for his shirt and you move up to help him but he pushes you down making you bounce a bit.

"Stay right there" he undresses as you watch, once hes done he spreads your legs making your body heat up and filling you with so many emotions. "So perfect" he says as he pushes in slowly, you hiss slightly at the feeling you havent felt in such a long time. "Ah- no, Haji-!" He thrusts harder and faster making the frame hit the wall, over and over.

"So warm, so tight and it feels so good" moans leave his mouth making you bite your lip, this felt so different, way too different. "Dont think about him" he says as he thrusts hard sending your eyes wide open, "I-I dont know how he fucked you, or if hes a goddamn sub but dont! Fucking! Think about him!" He growls out with a thrust each time, feeling angry that even now you're still thinking about him. "Sorrysorrysorry!"

Pants leave his mouth as cries leave yours, "God I love you, I love you so much" he mutters as he looks at your pink cheeks and tears falling down your face, he lowers next to your ear as one hand holds your thigh as the other holds your head close to him. "I love the way you just clamp around me" his hips slow down, grinding against you, "I feel like coming every time I thrust into you, that's how good you feel" you tighten around him as the praises keep coming.

Why did this feel so good? Just his words were getting you there and it was so embarrassing that he made you feel this way. "I just cant believe that the woman I've loved since I was 13 is finally mine, that were here together and you're in my arms" he stops to kiss you and you sniffle slightly, "You can come now" a soft cry fills the room as you come and he thrusts a bit more leading to groans and a warm feeling in your core.

"You're mine, only mine".

[jae-canikeepyou]

| letting go | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst (i don’t think it’s enough ;-; )

a/n: weeee this was rotting in my drafts for months, it’s not proof read (as always) haha :D

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the strong rush of winds together with falling sharp raindrops were painful, as if multiple arrows were aimed at you by a number of huntsmen— hiding behind woods, camouflaging themselves in order to not reveal their positions.

at this point, the droplets rather felt like hailstones than water. well what difference did it make? they still sliced your flesh like knives even if they were the condensed and frozen forms of liquid.

just as your body froze when you saw him with her.

almost the whole crowd turned heads to your way. looking back, the entire picturesque looked exactly like a bride entering a chapel for her walk at the aisle, except what happened earlier was the total opposite. it looked like you objected the bind of the new couple because believe it or not, whispers from all directions grew and there wasn’t an end to them. they spread so quickly that you didn’t bother to stop them.

you stood right in front of your boyfriend, right at the middle of the dance floor, whom he had his arms around a girl’s waist. to make you respond negatively and hurtfully, his fingers intertwined, not wanting to let her away from his touch.

in the depths of your heart, you hoped he would release her and run towards you in regret of his actions. but given the fact that they continued to sway along with the music like you never existed, it was obvious he was deliberately trying to make you flip off. sober or not, you already familiarised yourself with his habits and mannerisms in the years you’ve been with him. the smirk growing at the girl’s lips confirmed it was her plan, while the look on jaehyun’s face mirrored hers.

he was in for the game he wanted to play.

these whole three years, was there a day he thought about you, cared for you, or even loved you? did you actually mean anything to him? for him to easily leave you with another? the club music began to soften, not because everyone witnessed what was going on, but because your hearing was slowly deafening from the revelation before you. what you experienced at that moment; as if you were shoved underwater and let you drown in your fears of a breaking relationship.

it was breaking now, and you’re breaking apart now.

“jaehyun?” the once dear name left your lips and you stood there frozen. his shirt disheveled from the collarbone downwards along with a stupid missing vans shoe you gifted him for the anniversary a week ago. “you said you were going to..” you hissed, and swallowed the words back to avoid giving hints of sadness. “..nevermind.”

the girl snaked her arms around his neck. “oh y/n, finish your sentence.” she was high, her words slurred but was sober enough to pay attention to you. “that would mark as a closure with him, won’t it?” her giggles shrieking in amusement. what a sadist.

“ignore her. now, where were we?” jaehyun cupped her jaw to turn her attention away from you.

it took a minute or less to realise that your fists balled at his naughty, flirtatious grin he put out. you knew your skin already was dented with crescent marks you didn’t bother checking. with courage— the hesitating kind, you walked up to him to confirm your doubts that has been clouding your mind since you last saw him. the girl rolled her eyes, irritated at the fact you were quite persistent. jaehyun did the same. “so you’re just gonna dump me like that?” you pushed him on the chest.

“if you want to hear my answer, i can say it.” jaehyun gestured the girl to leave the both of you. “give us a minute.” he shoved his hands in his pockets to grab an item. it was a watch you got for him in the first year. thinking that he was to give it back, apparently, you thought wrong.

the silver watch fell to the ground with his gaze slowly rising from it to you. “i’m pretty much sober, but i was drunk when i agreed to be your boyfriend.”

“lies.” you gritted your teeth, not buying anything that came from his lips. “telling me you’re lying!”

“it’s the truth, y/n.” jaehyun said. it pissed you off when he had the audacity to bring your hair behind your ear, as if that would make you believe him. he lightly touched the edge of your chin, bringing it closer to his face. you shut your eyes hoping that this was all a dream, but it clearly wasn’t. “it’s all one-sided. it’s easy to understand by now yeah? i don’t love you.”

“jaehyun!” the girl singsonged as she returned, pulling him with impatience. “let’s go?”

you felt your throat going dry seeing both of their figures getting smaller in the distance. you couldn’t afford to be more mad because you knew that if you did, jaehyun still would never return to you. he already enjoyed the sight of you hurting, so what much more if you reacted to his plan? the long-term plan he plotted against a relationship he was to tear apart anyway?

the heart of yours that once pounded vigorously for him now probably skipped a beat or two, or more because you couldn’t keep track in counting. you just couldn’t. everything and all else in your peripheral began to blur in your own tears. and glad they did.

sometimes you’d like to think your heart had a mind of its own. it summoned your legs to leave the place when your mind was already completely blank, and you didn’t realise that you made yourself look vulnerable and desperate to everyone in that house.

even so, no one dared to come to comfort you despite knowing who you were: jaehyun’s now ex-girlfriend. they watched all of it happen like they do with most tv series. maybe they didn’t want to get involved with the drama. the rain started to pour and that was when you gave in into the depression you’ve held inside in the span of three minutes. great timing. no one would know i’m crying now. leave him be y/n.

walking towards home from here was better than taking a bus, you’d probably embarrass yourself. and grabbing a taxi would’ve been convenient, but most vehicles were occupied or drivers wouldn’t take in customers due to finished shifts. the only thing protecting you from the rain was your endurance and patience.

you continued running; away from the source of pain, escaping to wherever your half-conscious state brings you. you weren’t close to home yet.

what felt like hours only made your body temperature drop to its lowest.

a car pulled over just when your legs were to give in. you were in a daze that you weren’t aware of the vehicle honking at you. so the flickers of the headlights did the job better. the window rolled down that the person inside let out a gasp.

the slam of the door had you turning around. voices battling each other and it was surprising you could hear them bickering so clearly under the intense rainfall and loud thunderstorms. “give me a second! it’s y/n and she’s soaked!”

that certain voice warmed the freezing you which jaehyun caused. you turned around to see yuta, your best friend, removing his coat, quickly wrapping over your heads and led you straight into his car. “why are you out here alone?! where’s jaehyun?! is he not with you?!” he tsked, telling ten to drive back to the apartment.

between your sobs you let out a bitter and husky scoff, not wanting to hear or associate yourself with that name ever again. taeyong let you wear his scarf and lend you pocket warmers to add more body heat. “o-one..” you mumbled. “i-it was one-sided. he never l-loved me.”

your friends exchanged looks and were so ready to go to the bar where jaehyun was at, to beat the pulp out of him. “that bastard— ten, turn around! i’m beating the crap out of jaehyun!”

“n-no! please!” you hugged yuta and he froze at your plead. “it’ll cause more trouble than he already is!”

“y/n he wasted three years of your time just to play with your feelings!” yuta tried to see the bar behind the moist and droplets on the window. “and i won’t allow anyone to hurt you when he’s the trouble!”

your palms covered your eyes long as you tried to explain. “but he made his word and you know he’s the type to bring in more trouble! he has people on his back and you’re outnumbered..”

“y/n’s right, yuta. we can’t afford to fight all of them.” taeyong pat your head.

yuta slammed his clenched fists on the edge along with fits of his legs. “rgh!”

you were afraid of jaehyun leaving you, yet your bestfriend gave you the most fear since it wasn’t the first time he clashed with your lover. he was against the relationship, that you began dating an enemy of their frat and that it was risky. he warned you that they both had quite a rough history and would for sure have each other’s heads if they were to meet again.

and because your cries led to this, yuta was sure he wouldn’t let his once bestfriend near you.

ten suddenly stepped on the brakes followed with a yelp. slight screeches from the tires had everyone going forwards before hitting backs against the seats. “oh my g- is he dead?” kun sat up a little to see the figure trying to get up.

“who?” taeyong’s eyes widened.

“i think it was jaehyun.” ten pulled a lever to stop the windscreen wiper.

“ha! he deserved it!” yuta’s grin was menacing and chilled you to the bone, but you understood his reasons. and you were an idiot to not able to notice the relationship falling out until the last minute.

jaehyun yelled out your name several times, asking you to get off the car. you didn’t want to because what was the point? he didn’t love you so why did he want you back now? he was crying, but he could be drunk too.

when that wasn’t enough for jaehyun to get to you, he opened the car door, in which, wasn’t locked and managed to grab hold of yuta’s arm out of the vehicle, pulling you along with him out in the rain. “get back here y/n! you’re not going with yuta!” jaehyun yelled as he made you stand on your toes.

“she’s not going with you! jerk!” yuta quickly punched him in the face, causing jaehyun to fall.

you jumped in front of him, stopping yuta from more violence. “yuta please!”

but jaehyun punched him too. back and forth of fist fights.

taeyong and kun got off the car to join you prevent yuta. “dude quit it! let’s just bring y/n home!”

you pushed your way through and passed the boys, eyes asking your bestfriend to calm down. “y/n what the hell are you doing?! he’s drunk!” yuta grabbed your wrists. “why are you still going to talk to him?”

“i’m not doing this for him, i’m doing this for me.” you sniffed and the seriousness in your eyes made yuta let go. “i just need to make things clear to him one last time.”

“you’re stubborn but i’ll credit you for being brave. give you five ‘cause i’m counting.”

you didn’t care about getting sick. all you could think of was to bid that final farewell. it hurt when he wrapped you in his arms as if what happened earlier was nothing to him. as if breaking your heart was his cup of tea. “what do you want jaehyun?”

he mumbled. reeking of the remains of alcohol, you couldn’t stand him anymore. “i want you.”

“well i don’t.” you wriggled out of his hold. “i went out of my way to tell you to stay out of my life.”

he stared at you. it was different than before. he didn’t do this on purpose. three years with him was enough to know his moves and this was one of those that he was attentive now. “i still love—”

“no!” you sobbed and struggled to catch your breath, soon pushing his shoulder and though he didn’t budge, he probably got the message. “don’t start with that word! for all i care you could be the all-star player girls love— but you’re never ever going to win my heart again! you don’t even love me to begin with and you said it yourself!”

you brushed him as jaehyun tried to reach out for you. “how many trophies have you kept on your shelf, hm? i’d say five.. ah, twenty?” you stifle a sarcastic laugh. “am i one of the trophies you desperately want to get? how about that girl you’re with? is she part of the collection too?”

he stayed quiet, and you expected this anyway. “i’ll never be enough for you. goodbye jae.” you sighed.

jaehyun saw that yuta was already waiting. he had you in his arms, giving the middle finger at him before you both entered the car. it wasn’t that you fell short, it was him. indeed it was true that you were a prize he achieved, but even all-star players had their insecurities too. he just didn’t share with you, rather he chose not to.

because what would he get in return? just a little word of encouragement would make him feel better? no, of course not. he didn’t want that and you couldn’t give what he wanted from you. the car vanished in the distance.

so did your peripheral when you looked back.

some reason, you felt better. the company of your friends now were better than jaehyun, in all the three years combined.

“hey, y/n. you didn’t take five minutes.” yuta nudged you lightly. “he’s not worth it.”

you fell silent as you deleted a picture of jaehyun posing with his watch from a year ago. tears brimmed your eyes but you promised yourself just now to never cry because of him. “i’m gonna sleep. wake me up when we arrive home.”

yeah. you counted as well. it took three years to realise how dumb you actually were and how jaehyun wasn’t the person you knew but..

it took three minutes to decide to let him go.

[cinnaminsvga]

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do. 

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there. 

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could. 

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.