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luveline · 6 months

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𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

eddie wakes up with a red string tied from his finger to yours, no idea where he got it, and no idea how to tell you that you're caught on the end of it. soulmate!au. fem!reader, 16k.

content warnings mentioned issues with self image, implied body dysmorphia, reader is insecure/a touch shy, alcohol, a short kiss after one character has been drinking, weed mentioned but not used by eddie or reader. please read with care! requested here ♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Eddie remembers the party in flashes. The feeling of his thick-soled creepers caught on the floor, wings in fly paper. Someone's headphones cracking like a wishbone between two hands and a fist fight in the backyard. Your hair touching some degenerate's cheek as they leaned down to kiss you, and the shudder that ran through you as you opened your mouth. Beer. Beer, cheap wine, another beer.

While he realises the beer may be fogging his memory, none of the fractures explain the piece of string tied to the marriage finger on his left hand.

He stands in the tiny trailer bathroom with his back against the door, the hustle and bustle of his Uncle Wayne's morning routine filtering through the flimsy door. It bends under his weight. Anymore pushing and it'll fly off the hinges.

The string withstands reasoning. Eddie wasn't particularly alarmed when he couldn't slide it off of his finger that morning, half-falling out of bed and desperate for the bathroom. He figured himself the victim of an elaborate prank, toppling out of bed to follow the red string where it stood taut. He chased it to the door and gave up when he realised that it disappeared down the dark stretch of road leading out of the Hills.

Panic set in somewhere between peeing and a pair of scissors falling apart around the string in the kitchen. Like even the touch of the string was an insult, uncuttable.

From there he tried yanking, buttering, slicing. The butter made his fingers greasy and the knife went dull. To the touch, the string is thin. Twelve pieces of strand like doubled embroidery thread, plain cotton to the eye, maybe polyester if the minimal iridescent shine is a clue. He can spread it out between his fingers and thumb, he just can't cut it off.

"Eddie, what the fuck did you do?"

Eddie winces and drops his hand from his eyes. The string slides down the doorway where it's trapped with a light shushing.

"What?" Eddie shouts back to Wayne.

"Don't what me, son! Come here."

Eddie groans and hangs his head. Pissed, he scrounges through the laundry for a shirt that's in acceptable condition and attempts to put it on but the insufferable string refuses to play nice. It bends, snags, and Eddie can't find a way to get it off —he has to pull the string toward him, pleased if sceptical to find that despite its taut nature, it will allow him enough length to get an arm through his sleeve.

"What the fuck," he mutters, looking at the mirror in disbelief. The purple-yellow bruise haunting the hollow of his right eye has shrunk since last night, to his relief. Upon reflection, Eddie doesn't think it'll draw much attention.

The string doubles back on itself, a red line up the length of his arm to his armpit where it disappears into the sleeve. From there, it snakes down his stomach to pull out from the bottom hem.

If whoever has the other end of the string decides to pull, his shirt will rise up. Awesome. Really great. He's a fucking streaker.

"Edward Albert Munson, if you don't get in here!"

"Wayne," Eddie says, pushing open the bathroom door with a suffering sigh, "what do you want me to say? I can't get the fucking thing off'a me."

Wayne is thoroughly unimpressed where he stands in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and gaze on the countertop by the sink.

Eddie's confused at first, complaint dying on his lips as he remembers the mess he made in a mad dash for freedom half an hour ago. Butter shines yellow and melted on a small plate, the broken scissors tossed frustratedly aside, a useless knife in similar fashion at the bottom of the sink.

"What the fuck, Eds?" Wayne asks.

Eddie holds up his hand. "I don't know!" he says, exasperated, eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "I woke up with it, I can't get rid of it."

Wayne's turn to be confused. But, like his newphew's, his confusion doesn't last long. "What happened to your eye?"

"The string?" Eddie asks, waving his red string around for emphasis. Bruises are commonplace, were nearly normal the summer between nine and tenth grade, this weird magic string is anything but.

"That what kids are calling shiners?" Wayne asks, taking Eddie's face in a rough hand. "At least say you got one in too."

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" Wayne asks, a mixture of unimpressed and horrified.

"No, I…" He bats Wayne's hand away, giving his tired-faced uncle an abashed smile. "It's fine, Wayne. I was at Gareth's last night."

"Ah, well that explains it. What does your bruise have to do with the state of my kitchen? You try cutting it off?"

Eddie turns from Wayne to grab the scissors and knife. He wraps both in paper towel until the sharps (or not so sharps) are covered and tosses them in the trash, scrounging for a bottle of bleach under the sink to wipe away his buttery mess. "You're focused on the wrong disaster, Wayne. Like, I tried following the string out the door and it's a half a mile long. I'm gonna follow it in the van."

"Is this, like, a trend? Speaking in tongues to get out of trouble?"

"What are you confused about?" Eddie asks, spinning back to hold his hand in Wayne's face.

Wayne doesn't look like Eddie, he's not so dark in the hair or eyes, and he obviously doesn't look like Eddie's mom, but the smile he gives him now was one Eddie's mom wore all the time, enduringly fond. Wayne takes Eddie's hand, turning his nephew's palm this way and that as the string slithers against pale knuckles. It almost writhes.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

"Wayne," Eddie says, his shirt rising as he pulls on the string to catch the light. It shines in a way that isn't normal, too many colours like the scale of a deep sea fish. "This!"

"Right… I can't see whatever it is you're seeing. How hard did you get hit? Jesus, I asked you to stop getting yourself in these messes, you could get seriously hurt."

Wayne doesn't waste another second looking through Eddie's string. The weight of a long shift rests between his shoulders, abates as he brings the chipped rim of a Garfield mug to his lips. Eddie swears the chubby cat is mocking him, cruel eyes smirking at his misfortune.

"Unbelievable," Eddie mutters, ditching the whole scene in search of his dingy black sneakers.

Wayne chuckles and opens the cabinet where they keep their cookies and coffee cakes, calling, "You want breakfast?"

"No! I have delusions to attend to. Need anything while I'm out?"

"A new pair of scissors."

Eddie pretends to stab himself in the eye by the front door, over and over. His frustration calms. He slips into loose laced sneakers and grabs his jacket where it's hanging on the coat rack, digging for his keys. He elbows the door ajar, and doesn't notice his van isn't in the driveway until he's standing at the bottom of the porch steps, flabbergasted.

"Did you wanna borrow the sierra?" Wayne asks from the door.

Garfield looks on in silent judgement.

Wayne generously lends Eddie the sierra. He's relieved when he shuts the door on his string and it behaves like regular old string (which is to say, it doesn't buckle the metal), but then he tries to grab the steering wheel and his finger almost pulls from the socket, stopped by the string. His relief ends.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he says, opening the door, gathering some string and closing it again. Righted, he pulls his shirt back down his torso and starts the car.

Eddie's hoping he can follow the string to its beginning, but at this point he's sure he got his shit rocked hard enough to forget being hexed by a devious yet loveable warlock —the string can't be a real string. It doesn't tangle around the wheels of the car as he drives over the faint line of it leading from Forest Hills into Hawkins' town centre, it just vanishes, like Eddie's winding it around a bobbin.

He takes the first exit on the traffic circle reluctantly, away from the string and toward Gareth's house, where Eddie assumes he left his beloved van. He can't believe how wasted he must have been, and now that he's accepted the string as an irksome constant but prioritised it below van retrieval, the hangover he should definitely have rears a head. His stomach hurts, his eyes are sand, you were fucking kissing somebody else last night—

Eddie might throw up. He rolls down the window and sticks his head as far out of it as he can justify while driving. The roads are quiet, a late morning in Hawkins pockmarked by the burr of lawn mowers chewing up perfect lawns and the spray of illegal sprinklers. The sun emerges slowly and then all at once, licking his naked arms with the promise of sunburn should he continue the day unprotected. Eddie never seems to tan. He hates the sun, anyway, the glare of it bouncing off of the road in a blinding dotted line. He unfolds the visor over his seat.

Needless to say, he's in a shitty mood when he finally gets to Gareth's house, spying his van wedged in the driveway between a miscellaneous ford and a buick.

Hungover, too hot, trying not to panic about the red string choking his knuckle. It can't seem to decide on how tight or loose it's going to sit. It tightens as he climbs out of the sierra, loosens as he walks toward his van.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, patting her freshly lacquered body with love. She's all jet black now, rust buffed and wheels shiny.

There are bikes crowded against the house wall like toppled dominoes. The window shades are closed but the door is wide open the hinges, the sharp smell of booze wafting out into the sun. Give it enough time and Eddie's sure the sun'll bake all the milling bodies into a brand new smell.

"Hey, man," Jamison greets, sitting on the kitchen counter and unfairly put together considering the bottle of sours he demolished alone last night, "you survived."

Gareth is face down at the table next to a plate of cold toast, jelly congealed. Jeff stands by the patio door smoking a cigarette that smells exciting, and Macy stands doing the dishes at the sink.

"Got the girl doing the dishes. Classy," Eddie says.

Macy drops the sponge she's using into the water, soap bubbles dripping from her fingers. "Thanks for offering."

He relents. The mess they've made —and it is generous to call it a mess, more apt might be an explosion, or a weather event— is extensive. Pizza boxes upturned, tomato sauce and stringy cheese smashed into the fridge like a modern art piece you'd see at MOMA. Eddie wouldn't put it past drunk or high him to have done it, declaring some statement of pretentious high horsery, so he doesn't comment on it. If it was him, he doesn't wanna know.

"Some party," Jeff says through smoke.

Eddie pulls the stopper out of the sink to let the water drain. He doesn't roll like that. "What the fuck happened?"

Gareth rouses at Eddie's question, said as it is with vigour, and remembers his toast. He takes a bite and turns in his seat to blink blearily at Eddie. For a second, Eddie kids himself into thinking his friend can see the string currently spilling water onto the floor like a tightwire.

"You lost your shit and wrecked my house, you stupid bastard."

Eddie looks to Jamison, as if to say, that true?

Jamison pushes a long arm behind his back and stretches. "Y/N was hooking up with Cory Wilson and you took it like a champ, in my opinion. We had a good time."

"She hooked up with Wilson?" he asks, dread pooling in his stomach. The string shudders as you had, Eddie remembers, your chin tilted up and your eyes closing into sweet dark lines, painted lashes squeezed together.

"She took you home," Macy says, muffled, a hair tie between her lips. She lets the thin blonde strands of her hair fall back to her shoulders. "She didn't stay the night?"

"That would've been kind of sick," Jeff says.

"He could barely walk," Jamison agrees. "Okay, I'm lying. You were fine."

"I figured she'd have to stay, the way you were begging her. Ditch Wilson, baby, he doesn't know you like I know you. We can make it work, just say you'll stop seeing him."

Eddie drops a plate in the sink with a splintering crush. The answering roar of laughter tells him what he hadn't had breath to ask. No, he didn't really say any of that shit.

"You were drunk, not stupid," Jeff says.

"Not that stupid," Jamison corrects.

Eddie frowns down at the broken plate in the sink for a breather. Nerves abated, total loserdom escaped for another day, he holds his damp hand up in the air. "Any of you fuckers seeing this?"

"Get a new tattoo?" Macy asks.

He shakes his hand, the string (still caught in his sleeve, line like a bright vein up his arm) shaking. "You don't see it?"

"Your artist is gonna be pissed, they hate cheaters."

Eddie sighs. "Can someone pass me the trash can?"

They clean the house together in fits and starts, all nauseous, all wishing they'd had the sense to have a chill get together, just the five of them. Gareth declares his home a no go scene for the rest of summer and Eddie doesn't bother offering, nobody wants a party at the trailer park. Seeing the disco ball missing a rainbow lense under the stairs, a jumbo box of popcorn sprayed over the entire downstairs bathroom, and poor Manny Gomez cup-locked where he snoozes on the Persian rug in the lounge, Eddie wouldn't agree to host a party ever, even if he lived in one of the rich kid cribs like Harrington. It takes hours to put it right.

The longer he cleans the looser the string becomes. It drops to the floor (seemingly done with no regard to the laws of physics, having magicked itself out of his sleeve at a point, unnoticed) and trips him up as he walks downstairs. Eddie led a one man search party for Gareth's pet fish who some idiot transferred to the bathtub. The fish flops around at the turbulence of his trip inside of a temporary cup, but Eddie manages to return the poor thing to its tank uninjured.

"It's fucking sick," he says, crouching down to follow the fish as it reacclimates. Its big black eyes are like sequins set in orange glitter, scales glistening, a shimmering of purple and teal blues kissing its underbelly as it swims. "You're a beautiful creature. I'm sorry somebody tried to evict you, babe."

"He's a boy."

"Yeah, and he's a babe." Eddie bites his tongue.

You bend at the waist. With the shades still drawn, the brunt of the light entering the room is from your left, and the right side, the side closest to Eddie, is lit blue by the fish tank. You smile gently at the goldfish puttering around between artificial seaweed, an expression that grabs Eddie by the intestines. You feel his gaze, turning your face ever so slightly to his.

"Don't look as nice without makeup, I know," you murmur.

You're dressed differently today, stripped back in one way and more beautiful all the others, bare-skinned, no makeup or glitters to hide behind. Eddie remembers every detail of what you were wearing last night, the details stamped into his temporal lobe (before he drank his weight in other peoples booze). Black tights that shimmered slick oil as you moved and a tiny dress to boot. You're not a small girl, thighs there and grabbable and so un-grabbed, and when you bent down Eddie's shamefaced to say he followed the line. He loved how you looked last night, loves how you express yourself, but he craves how you are now, the lesser seen side of the same coin.

"You look nice." He cringes, his reflection in the fish tank glass a horror. Eddie never actually managed to shower this morning. If he doesn't smell like pale ale it'll be a miracle. "You do. At least one of us showered."

"I'm surprised you're alive," you say with a fond smile. Eddie never takes your insults to heart because you never say them to hurt. You're easygoing. You're light incarnate. "I haven't seen you drink that much since graduation."

"Macy says you took me home." He stands at full height. You follow suit.

"Kicking and screaming. You told me you were going to drink every drop of Mr. Lashlee's bourbon or die trying, and you tried."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks. He can be volatile when he's intoxicated, like a fish out of water.

You gesture to his cheek. "Hurt yourself. You were freaking out and your hand kicked back. I didn't think it would bruise. Does it hurt awful?"

Your sympathy melts him. Eddie shakes his head, lying through his teeth, "I can barely feel it."

Your hoodie drowns you, your jeans not as oversized but hiding the feats of your thighs from view. He can't say he's not disappointed, though it's cute on you, your jeans rolled at the ends to showcase mildly mismatched crew socks and a pair of converse, their rubber shiny with newness besides a small sharpie heart on the left toe. Trapped beneath them is Eddie's string.

He tugs it out. You show no sign of feeling it as the string snaps upward like an elastic and stops short. It goes stiff as a stick, tied from the knuckle of his marriage finger and leading…

To the knuckle of yours.

Like matching rings.

Eddie thinks, Sure. If I'm delusional, of course it's something to do with you.

"Don't suppose you can see it?" he asks, pulling against the string. The red band expands to accommodate you, rather than tug you inward. It has a mind of its own, apparently, listening to Eddie only on occasion.

"The bruise?" you ask, confused. "It's hard not to see. But it's not too bad. You could buy some powder for it if it bothers you, but I think it makes you seem cool."

"I don't seem cool?"

You smile as though you're sharing a joke. If you are, Eddie hasn't heard it before.

It's weird, crushing on someone. He can't remember feeling this way growing up, spending sun-soaked days at playgrounds and parking lots and the pool, wet to the knees, you and your friends sitting under the shade of the umbrellas. The first time he saw you there, in your bikini bottoms and your big white t-shirt bent over a book, he didn't feel any sudden revelation. No spark. No pulled string. He thought you were pretty without bragging about it and he met you not long after that at a nondescript barbecue. Then he stopped hanging out with his middle school friends and flunked two years. He forgot you existed. And now he knows you again, he feels more and more of himself bending and twisting trying to be what you want him to be, or what he thinks you want, at least. If you want Wilson, he can be Wilson. Eddie can kiss like a fish and wear too much cologne, he can sell out and cut his hair to the ears.

Well, maybe not that far. I still want to be me, he thinks, eyes on your hands and the string stretched between them. The red seems darker now, onyx hued, ropey as blood.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie forces out. Not surprised, you and Macy are close enough that you've formed friendships with the whole gang of merry misfits, but wondering if his string has pulled you here. Does he have any say?

"I thought I'd help with the aftermath, see if anybody wanted to get burgers, the works."

Eddie catches a flicker of nervousness in your stance, the half-step backwards you take when his shoe nears your own. The string loosens.

He doesn't have any intention of making you uncomfortable. He probably smells like a dumpster, he wouldn't blame you for needing space. And if who you were kissing last night is indicative of who you'll be sidling up to again in the future, Eddie has low hopes for you both.

"Burgers?" Manny groans from the floor.

You turn slowly on one heel. "Hello, Manny," you say, angling your head to line up with his. "Someone's drawn on you."

"What did they draw?" Manny asks, rubbing his smeared face sluggishly.

You look to Eddie for guidance. The reality of Manny's tagging is embarrassing.

"It's a dick, I'm afraid." Eddie offers Manny a hand. "With disproportionate, uh, baubles."

"But I'm sure Benny won't care," you say.

—

Benny makes Manny wear a baseball cap pulled down low, because This is a family establishment, Man. Every time you see the thick-lined drawing on his cheek you smile and feel awful for it, but luckily Manny seems to be taking the joke well.

If you'd fallen asleep at the party last night and woke up with a semi-permanent tattoo of similar calibre you'd be too mortified to bother leaving the house until it was gone. You're not thrilled with your appearance as it is. Any cruel additions would have you housebound.

Guilty, you take a bite of your burger to hide your smile. Eddie's already clocked it, generous enough to pretend he hasn't noticed, and Macy finds it funnier than you do, so she's yet to notice your amusement. The rest of the boys are making ornaments out of plastic straws. Gareth is shit, Jamison better, but Jeff takes the cake with a three layer birthday cake, candles included. It strains to break as he adds another candle. His bloodshot eyes show no signs of anxiety.

Manny grabs a napkin and knocks your ice tea. The cup sloshes but doesn't spill, ice cubes clinking and beads of condensation racing down the sides of your glass. You pick it up to feel the cold. Lately you've been morose. The cold, any sensation, can put distance between you and the heavy for a while, but there's no cure. And now you've gone and let Cory Wilson of all people kiss you for the simple fact that he wanted to.

He's the first person who's ever wanted to kiss you.

But you don't want him to kiss you again, and you're not sure how you manage it. Do you have to tell him you're not interested? Probably not, it was just a stupid kiss. He dipped down, his lips hot, his smell nice if overpowering, and it was right for a while, it was what you wanted, but then his hand dropped down rather than up, searching for something to take rather than something to hold.

It's not how you pictured it.

"You okay?"

You raise your eyes, ice tea in hand. Eddie splits his attention between you and a basket of crispy crinkle cut fries loaded with cheese and bacon bits. He's nonchalant, his shoe tapping into yours as he leans forward for another bite. He chews, and he waits for you to answer.

"I'm alright. Thinking about work." Bad lie. "Gareth said you got a new tattoo?"

"Nope. I've been thinking about getting a new one to fill the gap under my puppeteer," he says, extending his arm to show you it in the light, the ridge and weave of his veins stark against his white skin. They're especially fierce leading down to his wrist, as is the small notch on the outermost side. You reach out to touch it without thinking, fingertip rubbing carefully over the bump.

Eddie pushes his arm closer. "I want something here." He draws a half circle with his opposite pinky in the empty space. "But I can't think of what I want. Sometimes you go to the shop and they have a bunch of flash sheets and you like one of them enough to get it, right? I don't know."

It means a lot to you that he'd let you touch him without asking. You should've asked.

He should've asked you, but he was drunk. You're not sure he was thinking straight.

You sit back in your seat and finish your iced tea, feeling the cold slide down into your chest. You shiver at the feeling.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie asks.

"Why wouldn't she be okay, Munson?" Manny asks.

"Quiet, dickhead."

Manny snorts, grabbing a greedy handful of Eddie's fries as punishment for a low blow. Eddie couldn't care less, clearly, his focus on you and your moping. You step into a sweeter smiling version of yourself that you save for times like this.

"You know I work for Deenie DIY?" you ask.

"Of course I know that," Eddie says, and not in the way people do sometimes where they assume you're insulting their intelligence, but the nice way. Like knowing where you work is easy information to carry.

He's the nicest of his friends, which is a credit to him; they aren't a bad bunch.

"So, I have this coworker that keeps bringing soup to work, and she swears that someone is syphoning off a couple of spoonfuls before lunch every day…"

Eddie listens to your story with a weird expression. You bumble through the twists and turns of the world's stupidest fable, how she blamed a bunch of different people and now no one likes her, and the soup was getting warmed up by the fridge lights —it was her own fault. He listens, he smiles and nods and offers commentary that's funnier than the original story, the entire time with a downturn to his lips. You hate seeing him like that, but you don't know what to say.

Plates left streaked with ketchup and mayo, glasses dotted by greasy prints and lip smackers, you and your friends tip as generously as twenty-somethings can afford and decide to head back to Gareth's for a couple of hours. It's barely past noon on a Saturday in late July. Nobody has to work for at least thirty six hours. You pile into two cars, arguing about what tape to play for the ten minute drive. Eddie ends up in the seat beside you somehow, and he doesn't shy away when the car takes a bend and you lean into his side.

He puts his arm behind your shoulder. "Sorry," he says.

"It's okay."

You lift your head. The memory of his face hovering close to yours, the sweet smell of cheap cherry wine on his breath, his hand clumsy with drink but kind as it climbed your back, your dress thin enough to catch your death, thin enough to feel like he was touching bare skin. Sorry, he'd said, you're just so fucking beautiful.

"I gotta take my uncle's car back. Wouldn't do me a solid and come with?" he asks.

—

You follow Eddie in the van. He can see you in his rear view mirror, your hands on his steering wheel, the window down and the breeze ruffling your hood.

Jeff was too high to drive and Eddie wouldn't trust Jamison to drive a moped. Gareth can't drive and okay, Macy can, she's good, but Eddie chose you for a reason. The string tied between your hands clings from door to door.

Eddie pulls the sierra into the driveway in front of the trailer, holding two fingers up to you as he hops out and jogs up the steps. Two minutes.

"Wayne? Brought the car back."

"How's your bruise, Eds?"

Wayne's laying on the couch with a blanket over his legs, coffee cup swapped for a plate of cookies and a bag of chips. Eddie leans on the doorway, Wayne's keys on his finger. The string bobs back through the door, as if to say, Hey, she's over here, dipshit.

"It's fine, what are you eating? Did you have breakfast after I went?"

"Yeah I had breakfast, I'm a grown man." Punctuated by the crunch of potato chips. "It's lunch time. This is my lunch."

"Let me make you a pot pie or something."

Wayne waves him off. "You're going back out. Who's in the van?"

"That's Y/N."

Wayne smiles knowingly. "Ah, is it?" He stands up with remarkable speed putting his plate of cookies on the table. He ducks down to peek through the window, and you must see him or wave, Wayne waving back. "Make her come say hi."

"I won't be making her say shit."

"She was nice last night."

Eddie cringes, having forgotten you were his saviour. "Do I wanna know what you said?"

"I said you were an idiot and an embarrassment, and that your safe return deserved a reward. You should invite her over for dinner."

"No, because that's, like, a couples thing. Come and meet my parents," Eddie says, shoulders jumping, hands up in jazz hands, "laugh at my baby photos."

"I don't have many of those. Got a bunch of you when you were fourteen and deep in the glam rock obsession."

He used to say Eddie could wear whatever he wanted and paint his face a hundred different colours as long as Wayne got to take a picture.

"Great, I'll invite her, and you can show her your nice album of reasons not to date me."

"Son, why don't you just ask her to dinner? Worked in my day."

"You're not even old. And I was going to," Eddie whines, rubbing the flat of his forehead ineffectually. "Then she was kissing this idiot Cory Wilson last night. I blew it. Lost my chance."

"I still think you should ask her for dinner. Any sense about her and she'll say yes."

It's one of those reassurances your mom says to you when you're down on your luck. Handsomest guy in the world, how could anybody say no to that face?

"Maybe I'll ask her." Eddie smiles nervously. "We're gonna go hang out, cool? You going to Dean's?"

"None of your business. Yeah, I'm going to Dean's, just to help him fix his hand saw. I'll be back before six. See you then?"

Eddie tosses Wayne the sierra keys. "See you. Don't drink too much."

"Ironic, Edward!"

Eddie leaves the trailer feeling vaguely hopeful about you; maybe Wayne's right. Kissing somebody doesn't mean you're married, but the window of opportunity to let his feelings be known is getting smaller the longer he waits. And seeing you standing against the grate of the van with your hands in your pockets, slice of your calves peeking out between your socks and jeans, big sleeves on your hoodie falling up one arm, he doesn't know if he can wait anymore.

"Hey, would you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "Like, ditch Gareth's for a bit?"

"And do what?"

The string shortens as he closes the gap between you. He twists it around his finger. It's tied to you —it must be a sign. (Or he's imagining it and he has, like, a paralytic brain worm eating its way across his eyeballs.)

"I don't know, hit the goodwill? I have somewhere between twelve and sixteen dollars with your name on it if you're interested." He tries not to shrug, can't help it. "Only if you want."

"Yeah. I want to." You worry your lip. "I'm not dressed to go out."

"Are you kidding? You look fine. You look good."

You rub your wrists together, grimacing.

Eddie can roll with the punches. "Or you could go home and change first?"

"Would that be okay?"

Eddie's glad for offering to witness the spectacle of your bedroom. The string seems to hate him but love you, giving you space all the way here and yanking him like a bad dog when he strays too far. You change behind your closet door and it forms hearts at your feet, unperturbed by the mountain of rejected shirts and skirts.

Eddie lounges in a bean bag by the door, taking in your belongings as he waits. You've crafts on your desk, little origami cranes made of paper you've painted with watercolour. Phthalo blue and alizarin crimson foiled with short, skinny strokes of gold etching. Intricate and simple, time and care poured into each sheet.

"Are you sure I'm okay by here?" Eddie asks.

"Can you see me?"

"No." Eddie can see shelves of books with creased spines, your made bed and all your mismatched sheets, the candles on your window sill —moonlight meadow, half-burned and sun-bleached; candied sweetheart, untouched; white lily and freesia, a double wick with only one melted tunnel—, and the soot stain unfurling like a soft-edged flower around the curtain pole. "Can't see anything."

"Then don't worry."

The sun ticks higher into the sky as an hour stretches into a second since you left Gareth's together. Eddie likes his room, his dense kingdom of the stuff that make him him, but he likes yours for the quiet. He can picture you sitting cross legged on your bed with a book in your lap, your back arched uncomfortably forward, a day old drink of water on the ceramic coaster with tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the glass. He thinks he'd like that, to sit here and watch you, listening to one of your CDs, the string between you bouncing with each turn of a page.

Eddie pulls on the string experimentally. Determined to fuck with him, it becomes a tauter thread, and the momentum of his tug tips you over. Your hand follows the line and the sudden slip pulls you into view without a shirt. Eddie flinches and looks as far away from you as he can.

You laugh to yourself, but the sound is bitter, like burning coffee grounds on the tongue.

"Is everything good with you?"

You and Eddie are friends. Not great ones, but enough to have been able to ask you to ditch the others. There have been hundreds of seconds alone, the two of you sitting together at tables edged by arcade machines, diner booths, bowling alley benches, waiting for the others to get back, and those are moments where Eddie found time to fall in love with you. The string must be a manifestation or those seconds, threads of time tied together that join you forever, even if you can't see them. They're there. Eddie cares about you and it makes his throat hurt to hear your unhappy sounds; you have a morosity to you that he isn't heartless enough to ignore. He doesn't want to.

Everybody has an unseen misery weighing them down. Eddie needs to find a way to hold yours for you. Just for a bit, however long you need.

Unless Cory Wilson is going to take that mantle. Maybe that's why you're sighing; Eddie would be pretty upset if he had to remember being kissed by Wilson. He was already upset about it, and Wilson didn't kiss him.

"Hey," Eddie says, peering between his fingers. With you definitely out of sight, he lifts his head. "Seriously, are you good?"

"I don't know what to wear, that's all. Sorry for taking so long."

"We could sit here till tomorrow and that would be cool. We don't even have to go, but you don't have to stress about what you're wearing. It's goodwill."

"I always get stressed about what I'm wearing."

"Is that a girl thing?"

You toss a pretty flowered dress over the closet door. It slinks under its own weight and puddles on the floor. "I've always been like this, I get too focused on looking nice, it winds me up."

"You always look nice."

Your laugh says you certainly don't believe him. "Thanks, Eddie."

"I'm not just saying it to make you feel better. You'd look nice in a potato sack."

"Like Marilyn Monroe."

"Who?"

You appear in a sliver, naked arm linked to an unseen but unignorable naked chest, your face over your shoulder and a beatific silkiness to your smile. "You know who she is. Happy Birthday mister president? Blonde, with her beauty mark." You tap your top lip with your pinky.

"Oh, right. Did she wear sacks often?"

"Someone said she was beautiful because her clothes were designer and made to fit, so she did a photoshoot in a potato sack to prove she was beautiful."

"You could totally do that."

"It's not other people I need to convince." You retreat behind your closet door again, your voice half as clear as you confess, "I think… I've always been like this. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I'm seeing. She doesn't feel like me."

Eddie's ridiculous sitting on a beanbag while you bare your heart. He swears in his head and climbs onto tired legs, his hangover beating like a dull knife between his eyes for a moment while he gets used to standing.

You take his silence for something else. "Sorry, ignore me. It's weird."

"That's not weird. It's not." He tries to say what he means and not the first words that come into his head. "You know, I used to feel that way. Growing up, in junior high, I felt like such a poser. Even when I started being myself, I didn't feel authentic. Does that… is that similar?"

"I guess so. How did you make it stop?"

"Okay, this is gonna sound bad, but my mom died." Eddie twists a ring around his knuckle, the string tangling between fingers. "And I didn't care for a while. And then I got older."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"It's okay. I didn't say it for sympathy. That's just what happened." Eddie sits gingerly on the end of your bed. He doesn't want to intimidate you —after all, you're a young woman alone with him in a state of undress. A vulnerable young woman, if you're as upset as you're beginning to sound. "I'm trying to make you feel better with the worst personal anecdote ever."

"You don't have to make me feel better. I shouldn't have brought it up, I don't…"

"You can tell me anything," he says.

You appear again, this time fully clothed. Black skirt to your knees —the sickest skirt you've ever worn— and a thin gauzy camisole, you look beautiful, and insanely uncomfortable. "Really?" you ask, hands wringing.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I promise."

"Well. Last night," —Eddie sees flashing lights, the carbon bubbles in a spilled beer— "I let somebody kiss me."

He knows. It's agony. Eddie waits for you to continue with an open expression despite the feeling your confession inspires; he assumes this is what a knife to the eye feels like, the willing horror of letting you use it.

"Nobody's ever wanted to kiss me before, so I let him. And I'm shit scared that I'm never gonna recognise myself in the mirror, so I'll keep letting him kiss me." You wring your hands meanly. "Sorry, I know I sound like a bad movie. Why is talking about your feelings this awkward?"

"That was your first kiss, last night?"

It's not the right question. You wince visibly. "I know, I'm in my twenties, it's embarrassing."

"No, that's–" Eddie sighs. "That's not what I meant." What did he mean? Fuck, I wish it could've been me, and Jesus, that doesn't make a lick of fucking sense. You aren't right, for starters, Cory Wilson isn't the first person who's ever wanted to kiss you, he's just the bastard that got lucky enough to have you reciprocate. "Wait, was it okay? Did he corner you?"

You sit on the end of the bed with a small smile. "No. He didn't pressure me."

"Was it what you wanted?"

"Not really… I guess I don't know what I want."

Is that rejection, or is he self-absorbed? Should he take the hint, or is he just another guy making it about himself? Eddie leans back into your bed to escape the heartbreak of being close to you, the string anchoring his hand in place as he tries to scratch his chest.

"It's not embarrassing to get your first kiss in your twenties," he says, eyes roving over the lines of a small paper butterfly, black cardstock like ink against your white ceiling. "That's what your twenties are for."

"Don't bother, I know exactly how you lost your virginity."

Eddie scrunches his eyes shut, can't stop himself from smiling as his wry voice scratches out, "Listen, everyone knows how I lost my virginity, but that's not the point."

"You'd think a seventeen year old would make marginally better decisions." You're teasing, not shaming, your smile playful.

"No, you wouldn't. Seventeen year olds are stupid. I thought I knew what I wanted at seventeen and now I'm twenty three and the only thing I know for sure is that I don't know a thing. The point of being twenty is doing shit for the first time. It's our first time being grown ups."

"That's wise," you say.

"Fuck off."

You lay down beside him. The string whips like a ribbon in the wind before falling into the shape of a heart again, clearly pleased to have you near.

"It's not embarrassing," Eddie says quietly. "But when you get your second kiss, I think you should save it for someone you want to kiss. Don't just let someone have it because you're not sure of yourself."

"That's a nice sentiment, Eddie, but I already gave it away."

He swallows his surprise, a tiny spike of agony. "How was that one?"

"I'm not sure about it. I don't think it counted."

"Do I wanna know?"

"I'm not sure about that, either."

"Was it Wilson?" he asks.

You turn your cheek into the bedsheets. He can hear the fabric brushing your skin, turns ever so slightly to meet you, a few inches all it would take to breathe the same air.

"Eddie," you say, very, very softly.

His heart eases into his mouth a beat at a time until it's thrumming between his ears.

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone a twin.

"I think I need to cancel our plans."

It's not what he's expecting you to say.

—

There's a black velvet jacket dotted with embroidered stars hidden under your bed, their silver thread like cosmic dust. Music pounds the floor and shakes the house's foundations, seeping down into Macy's damp basement one rippling riff at a time, the bass of it deep in Eddie's chest, but he can't stop thinking about your jacket. Did you know it was there?

The string tied to his marriage finger grows restless the longer you and Eddie are apart, bouncing like a shockwave whenever he thinks your name. In fact, all it takes is the idea of you, the slightest memory of your smile, your hands, the way you tell stories to the group with your shoulders turned to him like he's there alone, and the string flinches.

"Are you okay?" Manny asks.

Eddie drags his way up the couch. "Hey, Man. You got the dick off your face. That's great."

Manny lifts his cheek. "Had to steal some of my mom's make-up. Can't tell, huh?"

The colour match is dubious, now he's mentioned it. Eddie doesn't have the heart to tell him, flopping back into the crisp, cracked leather seat beneath him. A circle of his face is sticky where it clings to the couch. It's among the worst feelings of this earthly plane, grim as ice cream dripping down your hand on a hot day, or perpetually gutting heartbreak like he suffers now.

"I think I'm seeing things," Eddie says.

"Jeff has stuff for that."

Eddie groans loudly. With the way he feels it's not melodrama. Just pure human anguish. He groans again when nothing changes, fisting his hair in two aching hands. He's clenched and unclenched his hands for hours all day, trying to force the hurt away from his chest, chasing breathlessness to the tips of his fingers. Pins burn his palms.

He knew in the back of his mind that you weren't going to want to date him. Realistically you have options, even if you think you don't, and his being your only option wouldn't inspire romance anyways. Being someone's last resort isn't love. None of it was love, you aren't in love, but Eddie thinks he could've been. He was halfway there, falling, whatever the poets might say —Eddie wants you. Wants to do stupid shit with you. He can picture the scene like he has before, that first bouquet of flowers, lilies with big white petals and purple sunspots. The cellophane would crinkle in trembling hands pressed to his chest, their stems leaking dew into his hardly worn button up. He'd pass them to you with more confidence than he feels and tell you that you're pretty. You're always pretty.

He's not pretty, he's barely funny. He was stupid for thinking you'd like him too.

The string is pale pink. Eddie loops it around his finger thoughtlessly, worsening the sting of pins and needles.

There were times…

He clutches his chest. The nausea he's feeling can't be understated.

There were times when you could've been in love with him, he thinks. Splitting a cigarette you had no business splitting on the steps of Jeff's porch, your vanilla chapstick softening the filter. Holding his hand for support as you made the hike down to the lake, your fingers curled around his like you worried you might hurt him. In the passenger seat of his van on the way to your house, laughing as he sang along to a Van Halen guitar solo. You could've been in love with him.

But Eddie didn't ask you out. He didn't do what Wayne said, because goodwill is not dinner, and now you're probably happily sequestered in Wilson's BMW. He jumped the wrong gun and he blew it.

"Seriously, Munson, are you good?"

"Peachy." Eddie holds up the sign of the horns, pinky and index finger up, thumb holding his marriage and middle finger down, face buried in an old cushion.

"Let me go get you a joint."

"I gave it up."

"Dude. Pizza it is."

Eddie waits for Manny to leave before he turns onto his back. Last night in the shower after a knowing shoulder squeeze from his Uncle and a frankly overflowing bowl of microwave spaghetti, he pressed his forehead to the tile and let it all ache. He might have cried or water may have streamed from his hair, he genuinely doesn't know, but he knows he's in danger of another round of the same if he keeps thinking about you.

He's a big boy. He can cope with your decision.

"Eddie, what are you doing?"

Eddie sits up with a handful of clicks. "Robin?"

"Hey," Robin says, "whaddya know, I followed the smell of sadness and rejection and here you are."

She's dressed fancy, her hair in a rare updo, faux pearls dangling from her ears to kiss the collar of a leather jacket. "Shit, you're so cool, Buckley."

"Thanks. You okay?" Robin asks, sitting on the arm of the couch.

Eddie's stomach churns as her perfume reaches him, the sweet, subtle smell of vanilla under white musk. He leans his face against the starched denim of her jeans. "Who told you?" he mumbles.

"Steve. Who else?" Robin pats his head. "But Jeff told him. And I was talking about your bruise."

Eddie waves off her concern. "Where is Steve in my hour of need?"

"Smoking a not secret cigarette with Jeff," she says, a melodic cadence to her usual light rasp.

"I wouldn't risk Jeff's cigarettes."

She snorts a laugh, "Steve would risk his life for a cigarette. He loves to say that quitting was easy, but he drinks half a beer and starts gasping like a fish." Robin mimes Steve's apparent desperation, to Eddie's delight.

She smiles as his laughter peters out, tilting her head to the side. "So… was it bad?"

"I don't know." He rubs his eyes. "The last time I got rejected was in senior year, and it was– I didn't even like her, you know, thought she was pretty, but this is different."

"Sorry, Eddie," she says, pushing her bottom lip up into her top one, a bubbled pout that betrays how out of her depth she feels.

Eddie isn't trying to make it awkward. "That's okay. I liked her, she doesn't like me, it's cool." The string flails. The music from upstairs gets louder. "What the fuck is happening? I thought Macy said it was a quiet one."

Robin and Eddie start up the basement stairs to the main body of the house. The air is warmer and thicker, the faint smell of hotdogs and burgers grilling in the backyard filtering inside through the patio doors. "You know," Eddie says, glaring at the sudden crowd, "there's an atari down there."

"Sorry, I think I'll have to keep my idiot out of trouble." Robin points at Steve near the stereo with Jeff, the two of them laughing hard enough to bruise as they mess with the pitch of the music. "Steve! You'll go deaf in your good ear if you don't stop!"

"What?" Steve shouts.

Robin rushes over to drag him away from the stereo. Eddie doesn't want to be your best friend, but if it was a friendship like Steve and Robin's he would consider himself lucky to have it, smiling as she wraps her arms around his chest from behind and pulls him away, sniffing at him, her nose wrinkled as she gives a reprimand too low for Eddie to catch. "I'm serious," she says as they grow closer, weaving around the living room coffee table and retreating back into the slim hallway leading to the basement stairs, "where are your earplugs?"

"In the car, Rob. I'm fine, I promise."

"Sure. Alright, Eddie, would you keep him away from the stereo?" Robin shoves Steve toward him. "Thanks so much."

"I'm not high," Steve says as soon as she's gone.

"While that's uber convincing, honeybear, I don't care if you are," Eddie says lightly. "Not a cop. Wanna go get a burger?"

They move away from the living room and into the kitchen, where Steve nearly trips over the door jam and Eddie forgets for the first time in days how awful he feels.

He sits Steve down at the glass table next to Macy herself and a younger friend of Manny's. Jamison and Gareth stand at the grill arguing about who's doing what, but Jamison proves to be the better grillmaster and the better friend, dropping two burgers on paper plates in front of them not more than twenty seconds after they've sat down. "For you, my poor little Munson," he says, smacking the ketchup and mayonnaise down between them. "Eat up."

"I can't get the cap off," Steve complains, welding a bottle of mayonnaise at him like a dagger.

Eddie sighs. Steve is definitely high. "You know Jeff doesn't smoke plain rolled cigarettes, right? Like, you knew it was weed?"

"Whaaaat?" Steve asks exaggeratedly. "Open my mayonnaise."

"Plausible deniability," Eddie says. "I like it."

He finds that taking care of Steve is a good distraction, but there's only so much care a grown man needs, high or not, and Eddie's gaze is pulled to the string. It's impossible to stop thinking about you on the other end of it. He tries not to look at the string at all, but he can't, being as permanently tied to his finger as it is. What's worse is seeing people tread on it. The colour fades slowly, once a strong red, now a meek pink. At this rate it'll be bone white by the end of the night, like a vein with no supply. Maybe that's how this ends. You stay kissing Cory Wilson and the string dies.

As he thinks it, the string tightens. The pink turns rosy, turns healthy, red as a rose, vice-like on his finger. Eddie knows without knowing that you're near. He could've guessed without the string's shifting, your presence the antonym of sixth-sense chills. He turns back toward the house and catches a glimpse of you as you walk past the patio door in your black velvet jacket, those tiny sparse stars like needlepoints from this far away and glinting as you turn to let Robin pass.

"Holy fuck!" Robin mouths, Steve's earplugs in a small pouch meant for coins in hand as she speed walks down the short path to the table. "She's here!"

"I can see that."

Robin sits on the chair next to Steve's. He passes her the last half of his burger and takes the earplugs from an outstretched hand, shaking them from their pouch. You'd never look at him like this with mayonnaise on his top lip, thigh to thigh with loser-sweetheart Robin Buckley, and think he'd be violent. He isn't, truly, his hearing loss the result of getting his ass handed to him hard, and the motivation of a pacifist who wears ear defenders to the movies.

"You're gonna have to speak up," Steve says, pushing the plugs in.

"Yeah, man." He doesn't have much to say anyhow. His stomach is curled in knots, the string a tightrope without walkers between him and you in the kitchen. You're talking to someone, walking one way before rushing the other. "What the fuck?" Eddie asks, sitting up.

Macy stands as somebody gasps. Eddie's quick to follow, Gareth jumping back out of Jamison's reach as the grillmaster swings a long pronged fork his way. "What?" he asks cluelessly.

Eddie follows the string to you, stepping over the patio doorjam and into the cacophony of the kitchen. Blaring rock music vibrates through Eddie's worn shoes, but it doesn't occlude the vehemence of Cory Wilson's slurring. "I should've known," he hisses.

Eddie would stand in front of you, he should, he's going to, but he doesn't and he can't fathom why. He's glued to the spot as you defend, "I didn't know. And I didn't do it on purpose."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"No." You sound startled rather than scared, but the cagey way you've moved back and the curl of your hands into fists says otherwise. "No, I didn't kiss you to–"

"To what? Guess it doesn't make a difference. I should've known. Two guys in one night's a good night for a girl like you, huh?"

You flinch away. It could be the pull of the string or the panic on your lips as you struggle to speak, or maybe Eddie's done being a coward who half-asses his life even if you're not gonna kiss him like he wishes you would, whatever it is, it has him standing in front of you unafraid.

Cory Wilson is rough. Eyes bloodshot, evil on tequila sliders from the sugary brown stain on his collar, he takes one look at Eddie and starts laughing.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, a girl like her? Why don't you explain it?" Eddie asks, his voice burnt, almost acrid in his own mouth. "What, you plant one on her and you think it's alright to talk to her like that?"

"Eddie," you say.

He reaches back gently, his fingertips brushing your abdomen.

"You're a fucking classless act, Wilson, you always have been. You don't talk to her like that."

"Why don't you stay out of it, freak?"

"Dude," Jamison says. "No way. Get the fuck out of here."

"You can't stay out of it, can you? It makes sense now I'm seeing it," Cory rails.

This is so teenaged angst and Eddie's over it. You'll have to forgive him but he's feeling territorial. This is Macy's house, they're your friends, and Cory was a dick before he kissed you. "This is embarrassing, dude," Eddie says over the island, meeting Cory's eyes straight on. "Don't do this shit."

"It was you, right?" Cory asks, nodding, mind made up already. He peers around Eddie's shoulder to stare at you incredulously. "Him?"

"It doesn't matter!" you insist, stepping forward. "Why does it matter? I said no, I don't wanna go home with you, I'm sorry, I told you more than you needed to know because I thought it would help you get it, and I'm sorry I let you kiss me! I'm sorry, I thought it was best to be honest with you."

Eddie's thinking you don't have to say sorry for anything. Cory's thinking about the milling crowd of young adults haunting the corners of the kitchen and pressed in from the hallway, rounding the island with his chest puffed up.

"It was Munson, wasn't it?"

You take a step back into Eddie. "It's fine," he says to you quickly, because coward or not he'd never let someone hit you, but you're pushing him behind you. You're protecting him.

"Yes, it was Eddie!" you say. "So what? It has nothing to do with you."

Macy cuts in, all red hair and glare. "Okay, enough. Cory, you have to leave, man. You can't yell at girls in my kitchen because they don't want to sleep with you."

Eddie stares at the back of your head.

Did you kiss him? That second kiss, that was with him?

"You kissed me?" he asks quietly.

Your lips part as you look at him from over your shoulder. Macy and Jamison argue with a red-faced Cory, Steve asks Robin what someone just said and Robin shouts the answer, but Eddie couldn't tell you what anyone's truly saying if you paid him to, his attention on the pillow of your bottom lip and searching upwards as you exhale.

"Eddie, you kissed me." Your eyes are soft, the starts of your brows hooked together. "You really don't remember?"

"I kissed you? When?" He grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. "At Gareth's place?"

"I took you home," —you drop your chin, a new panic about you as your voice drops, waning, tenuous as spider silk— "you were wasted, you'd been drinking Macy's wine and Mr. Lashlee's bourbon and I didn't mean for it to happen. I wasn't trying to get you to kiss me, Eddie, I just asked why you were upset."

"What did I say?"

"You said that I was beautiful. That you wanted to kiss me, and then you did."

Sorry, he'd said, you're just so fucking beautiful.

"And then you freaked out like you'd been laced about string between your fingers. I took you to your room and told Wayne you ate a bunch of hotdogs on the turn." You won't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I never meant for it to go that far."

A glass smashes. Eddie takes your hand, pulling you away from the scene and through a curious crowd to the back door. He closes the patio doors behind you and half jogs you down past the smoking barbecue and all its leftovers, chairs pulled out haphazard from the garden table and food discarded.

He has to be quick, he doesn't know how much time he has before everyone comes flooding back out of the house.

You're strangely timid, shame having sewn your brows together. "Eddie, I'm sorry," you say, your hand wriggling weakly in his to be let go. He lets it fall.

"Sweetheart, stop. Just stop. I'm the one who's sorry… I think I–" He sighs, you're so fucking beautiful on loop in the back of his mind. "I remember. I know I made a move. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should've stepped away faster. I wasn't expecting you to kiss me."

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

"It was just a peck, Eddie. It's okay, 'cos it's not that I don't want you to kiss me ever, but you were drunk. I should have–"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he insists, cutting you off before you can criminalise yourself with a vehement shake of the head. "But that's– that's–" He chokes on his question. "What did I say about the string?"

"The string?" you ask, and fuck! Fuck, you look beautiful now, beautiful still as the night moves forward and the day's last lazy dregs of sunlight dapple your skin through the hanging branches of the surrounding sycamores. You stuff your hands in your pockets and pull your jacket around your tummy to hide from the cold, the string tugging with you. Your eyes are wide with confusion. "You wouldn't stop talking about it. That's when you hit yourself, your bruise?"

"After I kissed you, or before?"

"After, but… why does it…"

"I'm going to sound crazy."

You laugh softly. "No different than usual, then."

Eddie opens his hand and holds it out for yours. The string on his finger is loose but not long, moreso when you give him your hand. "I know you can't see it, I get that it's ridiculous, but there's a string tied from my third finger to yours. This red piece of thread like my nanna would use. I woke up yesterday morning and it was there. I thought maybe I was going crazy, because I like you," —he swallows air, no idea why this is so hard— "and I saw you kissing that loser and I figured it was some quasi manifestation of how much I want to be near you, like torture, but it was after I kissed you. It appeared after I kissed you."

"So we're connected by a string?" you ask slowly.

Eddie's genuinely ecstatic that you'd even entertain it. "Yes!"

"Show me," you say.

"I can't."

"Well, where is it?"

The string is tight as a wire again. Eddie runs his finger along it, hoping that'll help. You can't see the string but you can see the ease with which he follows it, how his finger slides from one end to the other seamlessly. Inspired suddenly by the memory of your bedroom, Eddie grabs the string near the middle and pulls.

The string deigns to do his bidding, yanking your hand forward.

You pull it back instinctively. "Is that a trick?"

"There's a string. I've been losing my mind trying to show people, I tried to cut it off. It's impenetrable." Eddie stamps down his excitement in the face of your less enthusiastic frown. "It runs from me to you."

You rub your marriage finger, the string a strong and shimmering crimson at your touch. "I can't feel it, but you pulled me." Your eyes are shiny. "Eddie, you like me?"

"Yeah, I do." He can't believe he's admitted to it out loud. No escaping it. Of the two secrets he just told you, it's the least terrifying. He wants to say more and he wishes he could take it all back, your confusion tangible in the lines of your frown, your gloss-sticky lips drawn thinner.

He's interrupted.

"Hey, Y/N!" Macy calls, slipping through the doors, Robin on her heels. "You okay?"

Eddie steps back from you guiltily.

"I'm fine! I'm fine, Mace, I was trying to let him down easy and I kept saying the wrong thing." You drop your hand out of the air. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay, I don't care. I don't want people yelling at you, that's all." She spies on Eddie out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm not yelling at her," he defends.

"Yeah? You should both come back inside, then. Have a drink. That's why you're here, right?"

She smiles until Eddie realises, defeated, that she's not gonna leave you alone out here with him. That's fine, he's glad people are looking out for you, but fuck is it annoying. He's finally told you about the stupid impossible string that links you together and you almost believed him, he could see it, and worse, his confession lays at your feet unanswered.

Macy pulls Eddie back by the t-shirt as you walk on ahead, where you're quickly commandeered by a concerned Harrington, a chocolate milkshake in his hand that he instantly attempts to share. "Eddie," Macy says, jaw dropped in emphasis, "you kissed?"

He covers his eyes with his hands, palm out, solid rings digging into his eyelids. "Not really," he says, a pounding headache emerging between his eyes. "No. I guess not."

—

Hawkins library smells musty with disuse. Dust motes swim between beams of light shining down through dirty windows, an aged yellow colour painting the pages of the book splayed in front of you. You'd originally retreated into Hawkins library in the pursuit of one thing alone: resolute, guaranteed solitude. You'd considered disconnecting your phone, but your address isn't a secret. The only sure fire way to be alone was to leave, and to hide.

No twenty-two year old Hawkinite spends their Sunday mornings at the library. You'd carried a litre bottle of water and a tupperware of sandwiches into the recesses of the old building and dropped into a creaky desk bright and early. For a blessed, blissful half an hour, you set your cheek to cold wood and closed your eyes, content to be unreachable.

It's not that you don't want to see people. Not that you don't want to see Eddie. You don't want to be seen. Not today.

Some mornings you wake up and feel wrong. You can shower, dress in new clothes, wear makeup and nice shoes and pretty bangles, but none of it makes any difference to your poor self-esteem. You figured every woman feels this way —what is there to love in a world that advertises solutions to problems you didn't know you had until they printed it in magazines? But it's been getting worse.

Now you're lonely enough to let acquaintances kiss you for the simple reason that they want to, and insecure enough to attribute that want to a specific motive, but Eddie said he kissed you because he thinks that you're beautiful. Because he likes you. Because a string runs from his hand to yours that can't be severed.

The latter feels as mythological as the former.

It's a mess. You've asked a thousand questions. Would the situation be cleaner if you rejected Cory? Did Eddie kiss you because he realised he could, that you'd let him do it? Cruel. Not his style, and mean to think of him, but a worry nonetheless. From there the questions broaden, immature in root. Does Eddie actually like you? Would he be your boyfriend? Does he want that, do you want that, is he okay? Was he high last night? Was he ill?

You flick through tomes with sweat thumbprints pressed deep into the corners and sides, scanning mildly then feverishly for an answer. Love myths, old legends, everything the librarian can give you on fantastical sweethearts —soulmates.

Eddie thinks that there's a string tied from his finger to yours to torture him as a link to what he wants, but can't have.

It doesn't make much sense. Eddie Munson could have you if he asked nicely enough.

That might be the problem. He's never asked anything of you. Eddie's a giver, constantly, a thousand little gifts. Your hair is nice like that. Do you want to sit here? You'll get the next one, but he never lets you get the next one.

His very best gift was small. Waiting for Gareth to bring the car around and hiding from the early summer rain under the Hideout's short veranda, you and Eddie sitting on a cold wall, his jacket underneath you as he insisted to stop you from catching a chill. You remember thinking he was pretty even with his hair in his eyes, his cheeks hollowed in concentration. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, offering a glimpse of a guitar pick tucked inside of the plastic photo window. "This is my best kept secret, okay? Don't go spreading it around," he'd said from the corner of his mouth, deft fingers folding the length of a receipt into a square. He tore the excess, leaving himself with an incredibly small scrap to start with. From there he made the paper crane swiftly, folding neat corners and twisting the snout, placing the finished craft on your stocking-clad knee. "Here."

"How did you do that?" you asked, awed.

He made you a square of your own, shuffled closer to you on the wall, the heat of his hands near yours to correct you and his patient demonstration booting your heart into overdrive. You remembered every step of his origami even weeks later, folds of paper brushed by the soft memory of his fingertips on the back of your hand, accidental touches, and the smell of him, so close.

Those paper cranes in your room, tens of them sewn like popcorn strings at christmas…

You shake the thought from your head and close the book. Maybe you do like Eddie. Maybe you have all along (tenuously, waiting to get let down, and thinking there wasn't a chance in hell he could ever like you back). And now he likes you back?

This obsessive retrospection is bad for your head. Sighing, you stand from the desk you've monopolised and stretch your arms over your head, taking a breath to peer down at your fruitless investigation. The string is in his head. He punched himself pretty hard the night you took him home —he's reeling from the after effects of booze and a mild concussion, no doubt. His mind is playing tricks on him. As far as you're concerned, there's no string. (But your hand moved when he pulled. But you want it to be real.)

You pull the books to your chest and ferry them back to the lonely shelf they came from toward the back of the aisles near the audiobook stand.

Fuck, you think to yourself, kneeling by the mythology section to begin putting your books back in a vaguely organised manner. Your reading provided no answers, and you're starting to worry it's none of the scenarios you'd contemplated, but a mean-spirited joke. What would Eddie ever want with me? you think, neatening the edges of the books slowly.

Realising you like him, his chaste kiss, the red string, it's a lot to take in. You aren't sure what you believe, but you'd love to believe Eddie, in both of his confessions.

You're standing and dusting your knees when you see it, a small cloth bound book shoved between encyclopaedias on the shelf above. It's more like a personal notebook than a novel. You reach for it on a whim. The cover is selenite white, slightly coruscating in the light and broken only by the weighted lines of Chinese characters painted with the bristle of a squirrel mop brush. You trace the last of the characters mindlessly, the English translation beneath it reading, Chinese Folk Mythology.

You open the book to the first page, blank; the second, the titular; and the third, contents. You flick through creation myths and cosmology, defeated before you've even begun. You really want Eddie to be telling the truth about this —if he is, it means he's telling the truth about liking you, puts real feelings behind his tipsy kiss.

The first and last burst of colour stops you short.

The red thread of fate.

A red line furls from one corner of the page to the second page opposite, shot through phrases, your eyes catching fast on choice words. Invisible to the mortal eye. Marriage of two souls. Tangled, knotted, but never broken. Fate.

You sit on your knees on the floor of the library, the pages spread flat under your hands and their minute trembling.

—

Eddie checks his hair in the rearview mirror again. "Loser," he says, looking himself straight in the eye. Then he smiles with teeth, kicks open the driver's side door, and drops out of the van with a crushed bouquet of flowers held to his chest.

Today's been a nightmare. Between you (always you, his only thought of the growing mess he's made) and Wayne, he's been flayed.

"Your room is a pigsty, Eds, I'm not happy," his uncle had said, glaring at him over the lip of his coffee mug. Garfield absent and replaced by genial Odie, Eddie still felt abjectly judged.

"I've been busy!" Eddie defended, too worried to eat and instead working his way through five pieces of nicotine gum at once, his jaw aching with each magnanimous chew.

"Yeah, busy turning down shifts and spending all your money on burgers and beer."

"I'm way too old for this," he said through gum bubbles.

"Exactly! Too old to need reminding. If we get bugs I'm kicking you out."

Wayne would never kick Eddie out, but that wasn't the point. "Wayne, I'm having a crisis. Could you have, like, a modicum of compassion for me? Your only nephew? In his time of need?" He clutched his chest. "Christ, man."

Wayne leaned backwards in his chair to fish the trash bags from a miscellaneous drawer. "This is compassion. Don't be gross."

His room was chaos rather than gross, knick-knacks in their wrong places and two hampers worth of laundry piled behind the door. The whole time he cleaned, he debated if it was appropriate to call you, and when he finally bit the bullet and picked up the phone you didn't answer. That's fine, except he called Robin (who was predictably nursing a rumpled Harrington back to health but had enough wherewithal to ask for the hot gossip), Macy (who told him to leave you alone if he was causing trouble), Gareth (who laughed), and Shauna (fucking Shauna) in search of you, and nobody knew where you were.

It got to the point where he couldn't not check on you. Couldn't stay stuck in the narrative anymore of your will we won't we. It hurt his chest too much, a real anxiety with claws to match. He hit Bradley's for a bouquet but the flowers they had were wilted slim pickings, and then he raced to the bakery before he thought about it too much and left empty handed.

Imagine buying a girl baked goods for her to reject you. Eddie in the rain with his paper bag of croissants and dying flowers.

He couldn't find you through the phone, but he has a secret weapon: the string that leads from him to you tied tight to his finger, a compass without magnets. He followed it in the van to this secluded spot overlooking Hawkins town, and knew he was in the right place when he found your car parked on the hill.

His palms clam on the way up, pine needles crushed to mulch under his cons. Dirt crusts their white toes and puddle water splashes over the tongues, seeping into his socks. The rain slows to a pittering that beads down the arms of his jacket and along the ridge of one finger, welled cold at the line of a titanium ring.

The string is trodden and dirty on the ground. Eddie toes at it as he goes, the thread red but not taut, leaving you closer than he expects you to be, perched on a picnic table with an umbrella held loosely on one shoulder.

"Hey," he says, tensing as you tense, softening his voice appropriately. "If you don't wanna see me I understand, and I'll leave, but I wanna talk to you… If that's cool."

You peer down at the umbrella handle under your fingers. "Sure, Eddie. You don't have to leave." He counts his lucky stars, more when he sits on the bench beside you and you ask, "Are those for me?"

He fights through nerves, flowers squeezed to death in his grip. "They're for you. I had to buy a couple of bunches. These are the best of the worst." He offers you the flowers, cellophane crinkled in his hand, not half what he pictured but somehow better for being real. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry for giving me flowers," you murmur in your way, not mindless but small. Not tentative, just careful.

"I'm not sorry for giving you flowers, I'm sorry that they're wilting. I wanted to get you a bunch from Leaven, you know, impress you even if it was too late. I'm sorry for a lot of things, actually. Mostly kissing you without asking first." He doesn't mean to say it like that— oh woe is me. "I want to be honest with you," he confesses, quieter. "Stuff feels weird and awful."

"I know what you mean," you say.

"But talking to you isn't like that. Talking to you is..." He scratched his neck sheepishly. "This is going way worse than I pictured."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty bad." Your voice is calm against his awkward panic. You aren't ridiculing him, the opposite. You're in the same terrified boat. It's reassuring at least to know he's not alone.

You put your hand out without turning his way. Eddie stares at it with another gasping round of chest pain but takes it swiftly in both hands, too much. Why are you this fucking weird? he asks himself.

"I think I believe you."

Eddie bites the inside of his lip. Your hand is marginally smaller in his, softer by yards, and easy to pet at your admission. He feels this bone deep longing to stroke the back of it and he does, the side of his thumb tracing the faint indentation of bones beneath your skin with the care of someone handling a more delicate artefact, the string shortening, shortening, until it's all but disappeared. You're hardier than a rough hand-hold, he's wanted to do this for so, so long.

"About what?" he asks. The string? Or his affection?

"About the string." You struggle with the flowers and the umbrella in your other hand but make no attempt to take the first back from his grip.

He waits for you to say more, seconds turning to minutes, his palm growing sweaty in yours. Eddie wants to be cool like a rockstar who knows you want him and doesn't care, and he wants to be sweet and gentle and give you the respect you deserve, but mostly he wants to make it out of this conversation with you at his side. He's not sure how to do it, but holding your hand as you want him to is a start.

"I have to ask you something," you say finally, as though the words have been dragged from the root of you. "This string… this isn't all a joke, is it? That would be– that would be sick. If it's not real."

"No!" Eddie interrupts. "It's not a joke, I get if you think I'm crazy but I'm not trying to mess you around–"

"I don't think you're crazy. This whole situation is crazy. It doesn't make sense."

"But you believe me?" he asks. What he's really asking is Would you believe me, please? He's so tired of being alone with this.

"I found this book at the library." Your hand livens in his, your fingers pushing between his to twine together solidly. "Talking about the red thread of fate. There's a myth that people who are destined to get married have an invisible string tied from their fingers. It gets bigger and smaller, and you can't cut it no matter how hard you try, but I still didn't know if I believed you. You could've read the same book."

Didn't know. Past tense. "What changed your mind?"

"How would you know where I was if you were lying? We're twenty minutes outside of town."

"I could be a stalker."

"Do you want me to believe you?" you ask with a laugh.

"Of course I do," he says warmly, spurred by your laughter, pulling your arm bodily into his and encouraging you closer. "You don't have to believe that we're destined to be together, but the string is real."

"And you like me."

Eddie's turn to laugh. "I do, yeah. So much it's embarrassing."

"Everybody knows but me?"

"Kind of."

"Oh." You lay your cheek against his shoulder. Almost like you're testing his limits to see if you're allowed.

Rain dots lightly on his jacket arm, the chill of the weather sudden and obvious. He covers your wrist with his hand to hide you from it, knowing he should offer to take you somewhere warmer but needing to stretch this moment, his chest alleviated of anxiety pangs for the first time in almost a week.

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask quietly.

Eddie stares at the top of your head. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever seen. Even if you don't believe it yourself, you're beautiful."

It's not that Eddie thinks you're going to cry but you come apart, slow fissures in the last of your strength. He takes the bouquet from you to lay on the table behind and closes your umbrella, letting the drizzling rain kiss the tops of both your heads. You look as nervous as he feels. "Come here," he says, desperate for you to feel better. "C'mere."

You sew your arms under his as he wraps his around your shoulders, the string stretching so as not to hurt you. Your voice comes rushed and low, honesty now that you're no longer face to face, "I like you too, Eddie. Ever since you made me that paper crane, I think."

He rubs your back. "You don't have to sound upset about it," he teases, trying to rescue you from tears. He'd hate to see you cry.

"This has all been such a mess."

He hugs you harder. "I know. I promise I'll make it up."

"But it's not your fault."

"Maybe, but that's kind of the point of being with someone. Looking after each other, cleaning up messes. I want to."

"You're with me," you repeat carefully.

Eddie pulls back, taking your face into his hand. The string lines your cheek like a teardrop curved down the slope of it. He strokes the red thread gently with his thumb. "I want to be. You think that could work? Us?"

Your fingers curl into the crook of his elbow. You nod into his touch. "If this isn't a trick."

"It's not a trick. I'm in love with you," —he wants to lean in, and he can't, not yet, not while a fraction of you still thinks he couldn't want you sincerely— "everything about you. I think I have been for a while."

"In love…" you murmur into yourself.

You lean forward slowly, stilted, and when Eddie leans in to meet you your eyes flutter closed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks. He might have kissed you before but he doesn't remember it anymore than a phantom, a ghost, the echo of a memory. He remembers what he said and the blooming pain of his hand kicking back into his eye a thousand times clearer than how your lips felt, he has no idea what you like, where to put his hands—

You kiss him first. You lean in, and you kiss him gingerly, waiting for an impending cruelty or rejection that's never going to come. He keeps it gentle, holding his breath as the tip of his nose slides across yours and his head tilts to allow better access, a proper, full kiss.

For someone who hasn't had very many, you're a good kisser. A little too still. Eddie sees no harm in it, moving back a millimetre to wade in again immediately, his left hand rising to join the right on your warming face and prompting you into a braver reciprocation.

He smiles at the feeling of your bottom lip pressed against the seam of his mouth. His jacket sleeve creaks as your grip tightens.

It's a lovely kiss, even if it's tenuously taken. It's everything. For a while the rain doesn't matter, steams off of him, but it must fall too harshly for you to ignore, peeling away from him, so, so carefully. He meets your softened gaze with a similar expression. For once, you seem completely present, and better, your smile is real.

"Was that okay?" he asks, sliding his hands down the lines of your neck, feeling for nothing in particular. Feeling to feel, wanting to learn every hill and bow of you.

"It was better than the first two," you say, an endearingly bashful answer.

"That's not difficult. One was from a wet-nosed, mouth-breathing imbecile and the other one was from Cory Wilson."

You laugh without restraint, a full-bodied sound that echoes down his arms. "I think you mixed that up," you say nicely.

Flirting! Eddie could burst into tears. "You think? How about slimy, frizzy loser?" His hand lives a life of its own, squeezing your shoulder as he suggests, "Desperate and unobsequious uggo?"

Raindrops catch your forehead as you tip your head back briefly, laughter bubbling on your lips, your relief a palpable saccharine. "In what world are you an uggo?"

"What, do you like me or something?" He takes another kiss, lips lingering, longing for just a few more seconds. "Notice how you didn't disagree with 'desperate'? 'Unobsequious'?" he murmurs, a quarter inch from your mouth.

"You're not desperate," you murmur back, almost inaudible under the patter of rain.

"But?"

"But I don't think unobsequious is a word."

"No?" he asks, kissing you again. The awkwardness is gone, replaced by a melding need. "You don't think so?"

"No," you defend. He can hear your fondness.

Eddie presses a tight kiss hard enough to feel the impression of your teeth over your lips before tearing himself away. Kissing you isn't a tenth of what he wants from you; there's a lot to tell you. He needs to start now.

Your lips part as though you've a question to ask, too, but you bring a distracted hand to his hair. "Your hair's getting curlier in the rain. It's…"

You falter.

"I'm drowned, huh?" he asks.

You try to say no. Your hand wavers shy of a coil, listless, "No way," you whisper, eyes on your hand now, on your marriage finger and the red string playing at your knuckle, shimmering with a fish-scale sparkle as you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger on the opposite hand. "I can see it."

"You can see it?" Eddie asks, leaping onto his feet.

Your face is transformed, infinitely, impossibly prettier by your beaming smile as you clamber to stand in front of him, stretching the string between your bodies experimentally. "I can see it!"

"You can see it?" he asks, vaulting his weight into you, his arms working around your back in a squeeze.

You pull your arm up between you both and twist your wrist this way and that, the string following your whims as you lean back in the circle of his arms. Your eyes flicker between him and the string, as though you're working out which one is an illusion. Eddie and the string are both real.

"We're really soulmates."

Eddie doesn't know if he believes in soulmates, but he believes in the hopeful colour to your voice as you say it, and the tacky skin of your cheek as he leans in for your fifth kiss, your sixth, each one better than the last.

If his soulmate were going to be someone, he'd want nothing more than for it to be you.

—

"Come on! We're so late!"

Steve detaches himself from the frankly killer novel in his lap to turn, his sunglasses casting you and Eddie in a sepia tone as he drags you bodily down the path to their picnic spot. You giggle girlishly at Eddie's telling off and the bodily nature of his pushing, flopped like a fish out of water in his arms.

"I'm hurrying, Eds, you're just faster than me."

Eddie pretends to drop you, to your roaring delight, your laugh echoing across the park and drawing the eyes of Steve's summer club.

"Here comes happy and happier," Robin groans.

"You wanted them to date," Steve says, turning to his best friend where she lays on the blanket beside him, his jacket a pillow under her neck. "You have sleep in your eyes."

"I'm tired," she defends, struggling into a sitting position. She wipes her eyes with the bottoms of her palms, mean, words stretched with a yawn as she continues, "Please tell me Eddie has the basket."

"Nope," Max says, slamming down on her knees next to Robin, her jeans already grass-stained.

"Y/N has it," Lucas clarifies, sitting down with them in similar fashion.

Steve's daunted by them when they're together, but he leaves his commentary at an unintelligible curse word, his head tipped back in annoyance. They're constantly pulling the carpet from under him, practically manufacturing flaws to tease him about, Max whip-smart and Lucas loyal to a fault.

Still, he likes them.

More than he likes Dustin when the curly-haired boy sits down next to Steve and takes his hat off. "Feel how sweaty this is getting."

"Rather not, dude."

Eddie speaks, closer now, and Steve misses the words but not the tone of them. Dripping, almost sleazy affection, the kind that knows what it is unabashedly. You stand on toes to kiss the highest point of his cheek as quickly as you can, your hand on his trap.

"Hey!" Eddie shouts to their turned head, waving a hand of rings, calluses and bandaids. "You guys look like meerkats."

His cheeks are rosy red with blush despite the moderate temperatures today, the sun set to come out in an hour or two when the cloud cover moves. Said meerkats make room for you on the picnic blanket, where you share the bounty of your basket, sandwiches and cut fruit. "There are chips in the car," you say.

"You cut up fruit?" Robin asks.

"Eddie did. I watched."

"And ate the best cuts," Eddie says proudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to drown you in a hug. You slink an arm begins him to hug him in return, your face pressed with delight to the curve of his neck. "As is her right."

"Don't be disgusting!" Mike calls, a baseball bat in unconfident hands.

"You sure you know how to use that thing?" Eddie calls back. "Lucas, I thought you were helping him, man? Help him!"

"Some people are beyond help."

"Shut up, Dustin."

Despite an abundance of company and a ton of shit to do, you and Eddie are distracted by one another, and Steve isn't stupid enough to not get why. They didn't see you both for a week, and then you emerged from your self-imposed quarantine as grossly in love with one another as Steve has ever seen two people be. Like, maybe the happiest couple ever. In some loud ways but mostly quiet ones, hands held, fond cheek kisses to say hello, these weird paper birds you make for each other whenever there's a scrap of paper left lying around. Eddie's doing it now, having stolen the sticky note Steve was using as a bookmark to craft a teeny tiny crane, Steve, their called cranes. One second it's a pink diamond and the next he's performing an intricate twist, four last folds, and placing the finished product on your knee.

Steve's sort of jealous, but you guys are too in love, honestly. It's nice if you're in it but too intimate if you aren't (nothing maliciously done, of course), so he rounds up the troops for the first round of baseball to give you guys some privacy.

If he's expecting you two to start French kissing when he leaves, he's not correct. He wouldn't know it, back turned to you as he takes first bat, knees bent and waiting for Erica to serve, but you guys talk. Talk talk talk. Eddie can talk for Indiana and you listen in your way, wryly amused, promising any minute now that you're gonna get up and spread out on the field.

"Is this a bad idea, sports? What if it beheads someone?"

"It knows how to behave," Eddie assuages, hand on the blanket next to your thighs, turned toward you, effectively locking you in. "We don't wanna get that involved. You look too good right now to ruin."

Nothing can fix the insecurities you hold instantly, but knowing someone wants to kiss you regularly has helped. Eddie's constant compliments have done even better. He's easy about it, no fuss, no bravado, praise said like fact. Come here, pretty girl, I got a present for you. Hey, gorgeous. You should do my hair, yours always looks so good. And the photos —he has a disposable in the glove box, and insists on taking photos of you when you're especially happy. Now that he's your guy, that's often.

"You're saying I wouldn't look good if I sweat this off?" you ask, gesturing to your face and your makeup.

"I know you'd look good." He dips down for a kiss, as if daring you to suggest otherwise. It's a touch rough, twice as devoted. Things are heady for a time, the two of you stealing another short moment to add to the list, your kiss made of twin smiles. "Maybe we can use it to our advantage," he suggests, pulling back to stroke your cheek.

"The string?" you ask.

Eddie steals a last quick peck before his hand climbs onto your leg, giving your denim-clad thigh a pat. "We'll use it to trip people up. Come on, it'll be fun. We'll get Harrington flat on his ass," he says, clambering onto sure footing.

"No way," you say, leaning back to see him, your hand nudging aside a plate of sandwiches. You shield your eyes from the sun as it comes out, sunlight like spun gold spilling down your arm. "I'm not helping you hurt your friends."

"What, those guys? They're just my D&D subs."

You shake your head at him in disapproval.

"I'm kidding!" he says, reaching down for your hands. "Get up, sweetheart, we'll only trip someone if we need to win. Stop fighting me, you know it's useless. I always win."

"You cheat," you sigh, letting him help you onto your feet.

"I cheat," he agrees, kissing your cheek, then the opposite, before holding them in both hands and leaning in. "I love how you sound when you know you're losing–"

"Shut up–"

"You get all breathless," he says, his face drifting closer, and closer, "all shy on me."

"If I knew you were gonna try and embarrass me this much I never would've said yes to being your girlfriend," you say, half-glaring at him with a wave of affection brimming behind your poor acting.

"Really?" he asks. His voice is low, a little rough.

"No. But you have to stop, okay?" You laugh, nudging him in the stomach with your knuckles. "I wanna play baseball."

Steve waves Eddie over from home base to field on his team while you join Max, Robin, and Lucas in line to bat. "This isn't enough people for baseball," Eddie says, crushing emerald green bluegrass beneath his shoes. The rainfall last week made for lush vegetation.

"Yeah, which is why you were supposed to invite more people," Steve quips.

"I was busy." Eddie rolls his shoulders. "We don't need more people to win. We got this."

"We do not got this! And no going easy on Y/N, okay? I don't care if you're together, we need to play to win. Loser's buying the winner's pizza and I just got Sheila out of the shop."

"Are you kidding?" Eddie asks, stretching his arm behind his head, his eyes across the field where you laugh at Robin's side. "Obviously I'm not going easy on her. Why would you think that?"

"Seriously? This is the worst honeymoon phase I've ever seen. I figured you guys wouldn't even be able to play on different teams, like, major separation anxiety."

Eddie does this thing with his hand, his thumb plucking an invisible string. "I don't need to worry, man. I know exactly where she is."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, especially if you got all the way to the end! hope you enjoyed ♥

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months

Text

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005.

8:02 a.m.

You don’t get it.

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role.

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport?

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then.

You go as still as a statue.

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system.

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?”

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard.

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh.

“Just a bit.”

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head.

“Gonna come with?”

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found.

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?”

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?”

“It’s almost like a ghost town.”

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point.

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one…

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says.

You blink.

“On… the first day…?”

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.”

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future.

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious.

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later.

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image.

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other.

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth.

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable.

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience.

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning.

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away.

The creature continued to sip.

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way.

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel.

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them.

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four.

You hope you can befriend everyone.

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book!

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment.

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines.

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten.

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself.

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs.

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground.

Dodging isn’t an option.

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone.

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters?

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can.

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds.

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest.

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed.

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares.

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind.

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.”

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges.

“Are you okay?!”

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense.

You inhale shakily.

“Never better. You?”

He sounds chipper.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over.

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?”

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.”

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch.

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells.

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger.

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan.

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?”

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely.

How did he pull that off…?

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go.

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess.

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?”

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”

You make a face. “Eh?”

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?”

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes.

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble.

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.”

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines.

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.”

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.”

“That was the most egregious part!”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you.

“By the way, how do you know my name—”

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison.

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.”

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up.

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets.

You introduce yourself as well.

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?”

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.”

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.”

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue.

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color.

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him.

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Any spell you were under withers and dies.

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say.

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own.

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him.

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly.

You wonder what everyone else is like.

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class.

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.”

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.”

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?”

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly.

“What’s up?”

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.”

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?”

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.”

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face.

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun!

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information.

This has been the first proper school day.

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking.

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball.

This guy really irks you.

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up.

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.”

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha.

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response.

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite.

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?”

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.”

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.”

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums.

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.”

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.”

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory.

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back.

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.”

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually.

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down.

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high.

“Need help?”

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares.

“I’ve got it,” you insist.

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.”

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out).

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.”

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon.

You take a deep, deep breath.

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?”

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.”

“...”

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known.

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face.

“Wait, really?”

“Really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really.”

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow.

“For you, madam.”

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along.

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.”

Gojo gives a hearty salute.

“Yes ma’am!”

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.”

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space.

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.”

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway.

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose.

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.”

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?”

Gojo furrows his eyebrows.

Geto blinks.

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?”

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist.

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.”

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce.

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?”

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

“Geto-kun, care to translate?”

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…”

Geto trails off and clears his throat.

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him.

You nod.

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?”

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.”

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw.

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask.

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever.

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.”

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?”

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor.

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.”

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear:

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?”

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes.

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally.

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.”

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest.

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance.

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?”

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?”

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal.

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.”

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.”

“You do?” Geto hums.

“He does?” You ask.

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?”

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment?

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

Geto and Gojo exchange looks.

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.”

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that.

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.”

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?”

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—”

You clap to redirect their attention.

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.”

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses.

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.”

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off.

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon.

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I think I get it now.”

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.”

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.”

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?”

“Are you?”

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it.

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on.

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums.

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.”

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say.

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said,

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.”

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right.

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed.

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex.

What could be better than learning from the best?

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors.

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children.

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration.

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment.

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident.

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time.

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read.

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight.

Painfully so.

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested.

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life.

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines.

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location.

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.”

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?”

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival.

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak.

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions.

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?”

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.”

You shiver.

“... Oh.”

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.”

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.”

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out.

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different.

This cuts and it cuts deep.

Are you that incompetent to him…?

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building.

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument.

Leaving no room for you.

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru.

This is destruction in its raw, purest form.

This is what it means to be the strongest.

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant.

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description.

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed.

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage.

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace.

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—”

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack.

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else.

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating.

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him.

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.”

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby.

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown.

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…”

You hear a sniffle.

Then a whimper.

And a gurgle.

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—”

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources.

All is still.

All is silent.

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain.

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon.

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions.

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.”

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise.

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them.

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit.

The appendage plummets down.

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name.

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe.

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable.

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge.

You dismiss your cursed technique.

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run.

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in.

Is that really the only way?

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up.

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing.

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?”

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—”

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.”

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back.

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.”

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—”

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.”

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession.

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?”

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.”

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures.

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks.

“Just a few sprains.”

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.”

You exhale shakily.

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?”

How does he know that?

You’ll worry about this oddity later.

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?”

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you.

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse.

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.”

Seventeen sources?

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says.

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?”

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.”

“Seriously?”

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?”

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all.

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant.

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind.

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage.

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well.

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is.

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers.

“Cursed Technique: Null.”

Your ability is versatile if not simple.

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth.

There’s an additional application beyond this.

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within.

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds.

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer.

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood.

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast.

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them.

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you.

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down.

Time to leap across.

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you.

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two.

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too).

Three.

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops.

…

So does your breathing.

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design.

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping.

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud.

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh.

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp.

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups.

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking.

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his.

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.”

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter.

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.”

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.

“What kind of suggestions?”

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.”

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?”

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.”

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed?

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?”

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation?

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children.

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.”

“I’m getting this over with.”

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.”

“... Oh.”

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat.

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward.

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?”

He nods without hesitation.

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?”

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self.

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down.

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain.

It stops you from shattering.

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.”

… Is that what you meant?

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace.

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back.

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage.

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace.

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day.

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak?

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side.

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway?

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed.

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still.

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down,

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.”

“Eek!”

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure…

“Satoru? You’re back?”

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic.

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning.

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!”

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything.

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable.

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though.

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility.

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs.��

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless.

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp,

“Welcome home, Satoru!”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet.

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out.

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.”

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that. “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

(He holds up two).

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat.

“Funny girl.”

“I learned from the best.”

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath.

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being.

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier.

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch.

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off.

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.”

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?”

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—”

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.”

You blink.

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow.

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?”

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane.

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught.

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric.

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since.

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.”

That sounds like your mentor alright.

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?”

You point to yourself and he nods.

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation.

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.”

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now.

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?”

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.”

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection.

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done.

“It’s—”

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?”

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.”

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!”

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight.

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—”

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—”

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication.

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.”

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in.

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact.

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.”

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you.

“And that happy medium is…?”

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it.

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.”

What is he, a member of the mob?!

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe.

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff.

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.”

Wait, what?

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish.

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!”

“But I did.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.”

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning.

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.”

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you…

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere?

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.”

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum.

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs.

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out.

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder.

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?”

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight.

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”

December 23rd, 2017.

8:02 p.m.

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him.

Or so you thought.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.”

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!”

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take.

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching.

“Is that genuinely what you think?”

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record.

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future.

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate.

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends.

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not.

“... It isn’t.”

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.”

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo.

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell.

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion.

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.”

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?”

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t.

“I know.”

“... Could you?”

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through.

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile.

He quickly abandons the farce.

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out.

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.”

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition.

He whispers your name.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then do this for me, baby.”

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?”

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.”

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice.

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you.

“And this is all based on a hunch?”

“Mhm.”

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you.

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth.

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available.

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school.

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up.

His explanation upon answering the phone?

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!”

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.”

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile.

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

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yerimbrit · 2 days

Text

10 hour flight : p. hanni

synopsis: you bump into a girl more than once at the airport. you learn that she's on the same flight as you, and to top it off, sits right next to you on the plane.

# pairing ! trainee!hanni pham x art student!reader

# tags ! fem!reader, slowburn...?, strangers to lovers, fluff, hanni's debuting soon, reader did some... insane shit in her past, but tbh she's not all that insane herself i swear, she's just reckless, hanni's afraid of flying, reader is '04, reader is a loser unfortunately

# wordcount ! 16k

# warnings ! lots of mentions of injuries/scars

today was probably one of the biggest days of your life.

you had just graduated from high school in australia in may about 2 months ago, getting into SNU's college of fine arts. you intended to pursue your passion in painting. ever since you were a baby, you've loved to have a hand in art — always scribbling colorful images on everything you could touch, from big pieces of scrap paper to the walls of the living room.

from a young age, you have won a significant amount of trophies and medals for your paintings entered in art competitions. your parents were highly supportive of your hobby, pouring months worth of paychecks into your art lessons and academy tuition fees.

although you were quite grateful, you thought they could be overbearing sometimes. that's why you chose to attend a school far away; to have a breath of fresh air, away from your overprotective mother and father. you could never relax and let loose like you wanted if they were worrying over every little move you made.

for example, the time your parents had left you alone in the house for the first time because they were going to a friend's wedding. they made an extensive list of things to do and not do, and of course, you used the 'not do' side as a checklist.

in your defense, you hadn't planned to have so many people over, just your friend group. but your friend chaeyoung knew a girl that knew another girl that knew a guy, and suddenly your house was hosting a massive party for the entire student-body. it was an honest mistake on your part, vowing to never host a party like that ever again, and sticking to stunts that you could do yourself for some healthy adrenaline.

obviously your parents weren't pleased when they returned, seeing the aftermath of the events taken place the day prior. you were given a big scolding, but you didn't let that stop you from attempting to wreak havoc the next time they were out.

now, family gatherings weren't your favorite. you couldn't get away with anything so long as someone older was watching you. they thought you were a demon. an artistic prodigy demon. they didn't understand how someone like you could be so good at something that was supposed to be so peaceful. you think you've matured enough though; it's been years since you've actually done something bad.

a few of your relatives stayed in seoul after your parents left for melbourne, including your idiot cousin hyein and her parents. it was decided that you were going to live with them, since you've already stayed there on previous visits.

speaking of hyein, it had been a while since you've seen her, last being christmas, which was a disaster. did you say it's been years since your last incident? well, you lied.

all the adults were out for something that you don't remember anything about, and you, being the troublemaker that you were, had convinced the younger girl to help you hang yourself from the ceiling right above the tree. your reasoning was that you'd "wanted to be the star for the night," and sweet little hyein agreed because why wouldn't she agree to her cool older cousin?

(you don't know where hyein got the harness and rope, or how hyein managed to wrap the rope around the beam on the ceiling that extended past the second floor, but the younger lee's eyes practically sparkled at the thought of accompanying you in one of your schemes, so you decided to ignore it.

hyein buckled the harness, tightening it as you squirmed against the restraints. she flashed a mischievous grin at you.

"ready?"

"i was born ready.")

both of you failed to realize that the rope you were using was extremely frayed at the ends and had definitely gone through years of wear-and-tear. it ended up snapping, and in the process, dropped you onto the christmas tree that had just been decorated that morning.

your relatives came home to you and hyein on the floor, wide-eyed, with wounds littering your face and arms from falling onto the tree.

needless to say, you and your little cousin were never allowed alone without supervision again.

on another note, you finally arrived at the airport!

your dad went around the car to open the trunk and started taking your luggage out. shortly after, you and your mom got out of the car and went to join your dad in getting your things.

"so, SNU huh? you're going too far, kid!" your dad chuckled, extending his hand for a handshake.

you gripped his hand firmly, feeling the roughness of his palm, and moving your hands up and down once.

you grinned. "i'll be back before you know it, dad."

you were about to let go until your dad brought you into a tight hug, leaving a kiss on top of your head.

"i know... it's just, we'll miss our star girl, you know?" he patted your back. "it'll be hard for this old man without his little girl around all the time."

you stared amusedly. "even though i always cause trouble when you're not looking?"

your dad let out a hearty laugh and ruffled your hair, much to your chagrin. you took this moment in, absorbing as much of it as you can so you could remember every detail. there were more wrinkles in his skin, and there were visible bags under his eyes. even though he's aged physically, you could tell in his laugh that he was still the same old dad that you've adored since you were little. (he was always the more spoiling parent between him and your mom.)

he stepped back, allowing your mother to rush in for a passionate embrace. you slowly felt your sweater getting damp as your mom sniffled into your shoulder.

"be sure to call when you land, okay? and eat on the flight, it's a long way there. also, the plane is cold so use that blanket i put in your backpack, and-"

you gave your mom a squeeze and briefly pulled away.

"i got it, mom. you told me all of this last night, remember? i even checked everything you said off before we left this morning so i wouldn't forget, so don't worry about me."

she managed a small smile and brought you back into the hug.

"let us know when you've arrived at hyein and her parent's house. and tell them we said hi and to take care of you."

you gleamed. "of course."

after making sure you had everything you needed, you gestured to your parents for a big group hug.

"i love you guys."

"ditto." your mom slapped your dad's shoulder, and you all laughed.

once you made it to the security checkpoint, you waved your parents one final goodbye, before the start of a long journey ahead.

"excuse me," you mumbled, narrowly avoiding bumping into others in the bustling crowd of the airport. there was a lot of people going back home after vacation, or going back to school or work after visiting home.

heaving a sigh of relief after making through the crowd, you took a moment to look around the area, a plethora of shops and restaurants standing before you. in doing so, you failed to realize you were still in public with thousands of people walking around you, and bumping shoulders with a girl.

"ah!" "ow!"

you widened your eyes as you turned to look at the person you just walked into, swiftly picking her bag up from the ground and handing it to her.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry. i wasn't paying attention," you said, bowing out of habit. the girl giggled. 'oh my god. she has the cutest laugh ever,' you thought to yourself, before looking up to see her face. 'oh my god. she's the cutest girl i've ever seen.'

"it's okay. at least we didn't fall over, right? are you hurt?"

snapping out of your daze (you were staring, and she definitely noticed, you think), you shook your head.

"no, i- i'm okay. are you?"

"mhm, i'm fine! don't worry about me."

you tried to muster out any words relating to asking the girl out, but when you opened your mouth she was already waving to you and turning around.

you cursed to yourself, frowning. "damn it, y/n. you can do all sorts of stupid stuff but you still can't even talk to a girl?"

for as long as you could remember, you've always been unlucky with the girls you talked to. for example, the girl you met at a music festival, who you went on a few dates with. she stopped talking to you after hearing about all the risky things you've done. or the girl who you were paired up with in your advanced painting class, who you almost dated. she cut things off with you because you were too much of a "genius" in art. you still thought that was an asshole move, because what does that even mean?

shaking your head, you forced yourself to stop thinking about your love life in ruins and instead started strolling around the spacious corridors of the airport. you made a mental note to buy something for hyein upon seeing the variety of gift shops lined up next to each other.

you sipped on your steaming cup of coffee, mindlessly scrolling on your phone to pass the time. your croissant laid half-eaten on the plate. the chatters of the people around you became white noise as you fell into the cycle of liking a post and scrolling down to the next one. if you zoned out enough, you could make out some of the conversations around you. you sighed.

'i miss mom and dad already...'

a bag being placed on the table interrupted your inner monologue before it could even start. startled, you looked up to see a girl. 'oh, a very pretty girl. wait, isn't this the girl from earlier?' you blink. 'shit! it's the girl from earlier!'

"excuse me, but could i take this seat?" she glanced around, then met your eyes. "there's, well. not exactly anywhere else to sit, ahaha..."

opening and closing your mouth, you wordlessly moved some of your things so she could set her cup down. she smiled at you, eyes crinkling up into slight crescents, and you think you've met the love of your life, judging by the way your heart thudded in your chest after seeing the human embodiment of an angel.

she took a sip of her drink. "thanks."

the atmosphere became suffocatingly awkward, and you nervously tried to redirect your gaze to anything but the pretty girl sitting in front of you. your attempts failed, unfortunately, because apparently trying not to look at someone is a lost cause, and your mind automatically filled with the brief memory of the stranger's laugh, smile, and face. giving up, you let your eyes find their way back to her face, surprised to see that she was already looking at you. you coughed.

"so," you started, "whEre-" 'what the hell. leave it up to me to have a voice crack while starting a conversation.' she giggled, and you bit your lip trying not to scream.

fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you cleared your throat and started again. "ahem. i um, meant to say... where, where are you headed to?"

she hummed, taking another sip of her drink. "korea. i'm... hoping to make music there. where are you going?"

you nodded. "music, huh... that sounds really cool," a look of realization dawned on your face, and your eyes widened. "wait, did you say korea?"

a questioning look appears on the girl's face, and she nodded. "yeah, korea. why?"

"i'm going to korea too! i got accepted to SNU's college of fine arts. i paint and stuff."

her mouth formed an "o" shape and she gave you an impressed look.

"that's impressive! it must've been stressful for you."

you grinned, taking a small bite of your almost-forgotten croissant. "it was. i almost lost hope, refreshing my email page over and over at night," you said, shaking your head. "by the way, what's your name?"

the girl looked startled, clearly not expecting the sudden question. the flash of surprise only lasted briefly, however, and she hastily cleared her throat to reply.

"hanni," she smiles, "hanni pham. what's yours?"

"y/n. lee y/n."

"well, y/n... it was really nice meeting you. maybe i'll see you in korea. you could design one of my album covers, haha."

you gulped, trying to ignore the burning heat rushing to your cheeks at the way your name rolled off her tongue. "oh! yeah. it was great talking with you, hanni. and if we do meet again... i'll do my best with the design."

she took her finished cup of whatever she ordered, and her bag, and waved to you with that angelic smile of hers as she walked away with her suitcase.

"nævis, calling-" as if right on cue, your phone's ringtone went off, the beat drop of aespa's next level playing at an extremely loud and embarrassing volume. you sheepishly mouthed sorry to the people around you, who were staring because of the noise, and picked up the call.

you cleared your throat, lowering your voice. "hello?"

the excited voice of hyein rang out into your ear, "unnie! y/n unnie!"

you winced and moved the phone speaker slightly further away from your ear.

"hi, hyein. what's up?"

you heard some shuffling around, and what seemed to be like your aunt's voice scolding hyein for yelling.

"hello y/n, sorry about hyein, she's really excited to have you here soon."

you subconsciously smiled at the thought of your little cousin counting down the days until your arrival. "don't worry about it, auntie. did you need something?"

there was some whining from hyein in the background, and your aunt sternly called her name, effectively shutting her up. "nothing, nothing. just wanted to check in with you. you're at the airport now, yes?"

you nodded, even though she couldn't see you. "yeah, i am. i got some coffee at a cafe and i'm about to head to the gate. by the way, did you guys want anything for the last time in a while? the chocolates at the gift shops are always good, i know you and uncle like them."

there's a thud, and you blinked at the silence that followed. you waited, checking your phone to see if the call was still connected, and raising an eyebrow when hyein's voice finally crackled out into the microphone.

"haah... haaaah... finally..."

"hyein?"

"i want a kangaroo keychain! the cute plush ones!" you once again pulled the phone speaker away from your ear when she yelled again.

'aren't those really expensive?' you thought, slightly grimacing at the thought of your soon-to-be empty wallet. 'oh well.'

you laughed as you pressed the phone to your ear to speak again. "okay, okay. anything else?"

"get two. i wanna match with you, unnie!" by now your wallet was really crying. 'the things i do for you, hyein.'

"alright... well, i have to get to the gate now. i'll see you later? say bye to auntie for me," you told hyein, finishing your pastry and cleaning up your table before getting up from your seat.

"okay! bye unnie!" and the call dropped. you sighed, shaking your head while smiling, and started making your way towards your gate.

(you held the small keychains in your hand. they were the size of your palm, and you turned it around to check the price tag.

"holy shit, 15 dollars for this tiny thing?!"

"it's for hyein, she wants to match. it's for hyein, it's for hyein, it's for hyein...")

"hanni?"

"y/n?"

well, that was sooner than you thought. as soon as you made it to the seating area, you spotted a familiar face: the pretty girl named hanni that you bumped into earlier. before, you couldn't start a conversation with her without stuttering and stammering, but the feeling of your lighter wallet must've left you more easygoing after mourning your diminished funds on the way to the gate. (you were at least glad you could make hyein happy.)

she gestured to the seat next to her, her bag occupying it moments prior. grateful, you thanked her, and moved to sit, setting your suitcase in front of you. just as you started to relax, hanni gently tapped your shoulder, nearly making you jump.

"fancy seeing you here?" she said, her grin accompanied by a lighthearted tone.

you breathed a sigh of relief. her lopsided smile sent waves of comfort through you, allowing you to ease into the moment.

"yeah, what are the chances? we're on the same flight," you remarked, a small grin settling on your face as well—hanni's smile was very contagious when you weren't distracted by her beauty, you noted.

hanni nodded, grin widening. "seems like the universe has its plans. maybe it's fate?" she quipped.

"haha, maybe."

a moment of silence passed, and you both burst into a fit of giggles.

you never believed in fate, despite your friends talking your ear off about it. whenever they asked for your input, you brushed it off as a silly superstition. comes with messing around doing stunts all the time, you supposed. after all, you were unpredictable, and so was the world. the thought of your future being predetermined made you shudder.

wanting to continue the conversation, you racked your brain for anything she told you earlier. what was it she was doing... ah, music!

you cleared your throat, bringing hanni out of a daze. she turned her attention to you, eyebrows raised.

"you're doing music, right?" she nodded, "yeah, i've already signed with a company and all."

"really? which company?"

she hummed thoughtfully, and pursed her lips. "sorry, i'm not allowed to tell."

"ah, that's okay," you said, scratching your neck. "do you play an instrument? or do you sing?"

"i do both, actually!" she said with a smile, her voice warming. "but i'm focusing on singing. what about you? you do art, right?"

you perked up at the mention of art. "yes, i do, i love painting," you said, eyes brightening.

"actually, there was this time where i tried to smash my head through the canvas for a project- hey, don't laugh, let me finish! i tried to make it so that the end product would be my face, with action lines outside the rip marks, but the canvas broke in half, and i ended up with a ton of scratches on my face..."

the two of you continued to chatter away, the conversation flowing effortlessly between you. your surroundings became a blur as you lost yourselves in the moment, unaware of anything happening outside of your bubble of conversation.

you suddenly remembered that you were waiting for a flight, and frowned. "hey, don't you think it's been a while since they've said anything? it's close to boarding ti-"

the calm voice of a flight attendant interrupted your question.

"attention all passengers going from melbourne to incheon: there's been some technical difficulties, and we are disappointed to inform you that your flight will be delayed. departure time will be pushed back by approximately one hour. thank you."

as murmurs spread through the gate and disappointed voices filled the air, you felt a sense of frustration wash over you. fishing your phone out of your pocket, you quickly sent a text to your aunt about the delay, your irritation evident in your furrowed brow.

hanni puffed out her cheeks in frustration. "ugh, unlucky."

you nodded in agreement, a sigh escaping your lips. "yeah, it's frustrating. now we're gonna be there even later in the night," you replied, your gaze shifting from your phone to meet hanni's disappointed eyes.

"i guess there's nothing we can do about it now."

"yeah, i guess so."

hanni always thought she led an honest life, steering out of trouble and focusing on her passion for music. she made sure to feed the dogs, keep up with her studies, help her mom cook, and get along with her younger sister. she had a lot of friends, and she was in a dance cover group with some of them too. she played the ukulele, guitar, and piano, and she sang as well.

then she auditioned for hybe, and passed. her family was proud of her, and she left to korea for training shortly after. she missed home a lot. like waking up to milly and mia's excited barks for breakfast, or bickering with her sister in the car on the way home from shopping, or having family bonding time during dinner.

love was the last thing on her mind when she started training. sure, she's had some crushes here and there, but she's never pursued any of them. that was all there was to it; just a silly crush. when she became a trainee, any thoughts of crushes in hanni's mind were pushed aside for dancing and singing lessons, as well as korean classes.

but after your fateful encounter (or, well, encounters) at the airport, hanni thought she could forget about coming back to training for at least one day.

from the moment she saw you, hanni pham was dazzled. when you bumped into her, you immediately apologized, and even picked up her bag for her. when you finally looked at her, and she could see your face, hanni almost screamed. you were so, so, beautiful. and she had to make her leave before she actually screamed.

then hanni saw you again at a random airport cafe, and everything clicked. lady luck must've finally looked on her side this time, because there were clearly open tables all around you, but you still let her sit with you. with that, she let the conversation flow between the two of you.

by the end of your second encounter, hanni must've thought her luck ran out by now and left with an open offer, knowing you would never see her again after she left.

and then you finally reunited at the gate. well, if hanni thought her luck ran out at the cafe, then it had definitely run out now. there was absolutely no way she could get any luckier than being on the same flight as you.

was it bad she's started to develop a crush on you?

there was a thump next to her, and hanni felt an added weight fall on her shoulder. she turned to see if you dropped something, but it seemed that your head dropped on her shoulder, having fallen asleep. your head. on her shoulder. you fell asleep on her shoulder.

hanni's face was bright red at the realization. you fell asleep! on her shoulder! her body immediately tensed, instinctively trying to get you off, but gave up after you only shifted closer to her. and well, she didn't want to interrupt your sleep, since you seemed exhausted just moments ago.

she couldn't help but think your sleeping face was beautiful too.

"attention all passengers going from melbourne to incheon: apologies for the wait. boarding will begin in 15 minutes. thank you."

the announcement jolted you awake, and you sleepily rubbed your eyes and lifted your head from where you were leaning it on, stretching your neck to hear a few satisfying cracks.

"did you sleep well? you just suddenly passed out; i was worried," a soft voice asked.

you tried to blink out more of the sleep out of your eyes and focus on the voice next to you, finally seeing hanni's concerned expression.

clearing your throat, which was hoarse from your nap, you offered her a sheepish smile. "yeah, i slept well. i was so anxious last night that i went to sleep really late, that's probably why. sorry about that."

hanni nodded. "no worries! going away from home is scary, i agree."

you tried to reach for your phone, only to look down and see hanni's jacket draped over you. 'huh?' you thought. 'wait, come to think of it, what was i sleeping on?'

you shot a glance over to hanni, who tilted her head. you squinted your eyes, trying to connect the dots. then, it hit you like a pile of bricks: you fell asleep on hanni's shoulder. your cheeks dusted pink in embarrassment, and you cringed at even the thought of it.

'god, that's embarrassing!' you thought, feeling a sense of mortification burning in your chest. 'she even used her jacket as a blanket for me, and she asked if i was okay when i woke up...'

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!" you blurted out, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. "i really didn't mean to fall asleep on you, i mean i didn't even realize i was falling asleep, but-"

hanni giggled, the pleasant sound resounding through your ears.

"it's okay, y/n. i don't mind."

'ah... it's almost like an angel got sent down from earth.'

despite you intruding on her personal space, hanni was still so kind and considerate to you, even though you only met each other a couple hours ago. a heavy blush overtook your face.

"here's your jacket back, at least," you offered, a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment showing in your tone.

she shook her head, waving her hands. "oh no, you can keep it on. you must be cold in only that sweater."

you opened your mouth to protest, but ended up just smiling.

was it too soon to say you liked her?

the flight attendant walked up and down the aisle, checking for everyone's seatbelts. you and hanni sat comfortably towards the front of the plane, flashing friendly smiles at each other.

you and hanni sitting next to each other? what? wait, let's rewind. how did you find yourself sitting next to hanni, the girl of your dreams who you were talking to at the gate, and at the cafe, and outside of the security checkpoint?

well, the two of you were in the same boarding group. and taking a look at your tickets, you were actually seated right next to each other.

funny how fate plays out, huh.

it seemed like hanni was thinking the same thing, because she started giggling, nudging your shoulder.

"it's funny how fate plays out, huh?"

"absolutely," you replied with a grin, matching hanni's playful tone. "seems like fate has quite the sense of humor, doesn't it?"

hanni giggled again, her laughter echoing softly in the aisle.

"definitely," she agreed, a hint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "who knew our paths would cross like this? and especially so many times in a day?"

as the flight attendants made their final rounds, you relaxed in your seat and turned to observe hanni, who was looking out the window. her gaze wandered, from the people on the ground crew to other planes preparing for takeoff. you noticed her shiver, and quickly took her jacket off from your shoulders and draped it over both of your laps.

surprised, she looked over to you with raised eyebrows, then smiling at you, mouthing a 'thanks'. she turned her attention back to the window.

you directed your gaze to your lap, leaning back in your seat. your seatbelt kept you from slouching back. you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you unlocked it to see a text from hyein.

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) UNNIE!!!!!! 😚😚 what do u want for dinner moms asking also did u get the keychains 😈

you laughed to yourself, typing in your response. you purposely waited between each message sent, to tease her; hyein always hated when you did that.

to: mom's favorite child (🐣) hi hyein 🤓 i want kimchi jjigae!! also [attachment: 1 image] yes i did

you almost drooled at the thought of your aunt's kimchi-jjigae. the first time you had it, you were hooked. no matter how many times your mom tried to recreate her sister's cooking, it never hit the same as when you'd stay at hyein's house for the holidays and wake up to the smell of your favorite dish in the morning.

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) got it o7 (replied to [attachment: 1 image]) ↪ AHH THEYRE SO CUTE OMGOMG (replied to "hi hyein 🤓") ↪ who are you calling a nerd.

giggling to yourself, you decided to leave hyein on read, swiping out of her contact after reacting to her text confirming your request with a heart.

the jets of the plane fired up, starting to taxi down the runway, and you pocketed your phone and joined hanni in looking out the window.

"have you flown here before?" she asked, keeping her gaze outside.

you hummed, thinking back to your very eventful past visits to your aunt's place for vacation.

"yeah. i have family here, that's where i'm staying for college." you said. "i've gone over a bunch of times for the holidays."

the girl next to you stayed quiet, still staring outside. the plane started to tilt up, and you could see hanni bite her lip. as the aircraft gained elevation, going higher and higher, her eyes grew shut and her face scrunched up.

then her hand flew to yours, clasping yours with an almost crushing grip, eliciting a slight wince from you.

"hanni...?"

her eyes remained tightly shut as she stuttered out a response. "so-sorry! i'm a bit... afraid. of- of planes."

you felt the plane make a sharp tilt to the right, and the left, and hanni's grip only intensified.

"no matter how many times, i- i fly... it doesn't seem to get any better... i'm sorry," she mumbled. if you weren't craning your head to listen, you wouldn't have caught half of what she was saying, considering she was trying to focus on containing her fear.

her hold on you loosened, almost as if she was ashamed, but you only responded by firmly squeezing her hand back. if she's scared, then you should comfort her, right? it's only the right thing to do.

the action caused her to whip her head towards you, her gaze darting between your hand tightly grasping hers and your face. this went on for a few seconds, your concern for the girl growing as the moment stretched on. you watched her closely, noticing the furrow in her brow and the tension in her soft features.

when she finally stopped at your face, you offered her a comforting smile. she blinked a few times, widening her eyes, and reciprocating the gesture.

the plane started to stabilize in the air, letting hanni's anxiety simmer down while you rubbed soothing circles into her palm. it seemed to help, since her shoulders visibly relaxed as she took deep breaths, flashing a grateful smile to you. despite the plane now flying steadily, you never let go of her hand, continuing to offer a sense of solace in case the girl's anxiety spiked.

after around 10 minutes (you didn't really know, your watch was in your bag and you still hadn't let go of hanni's hand) a flight attendant started making her first round down the aisle for drinks and biscuits. as she reached your row, her cheeks raised up in a cooing smile, her gaze clearly lingering on you and hanni's now-intertwined hands.

"aren't you two just the cutest couple," she remarked, her smile widening.

hanni's cheeks flushed, and she quickly shook her head, stammering, "oh, no, i'm, we're not-"

before she could deny the attendant's assumptions, though, you swiftly interjected, flashing a grateful smile to the attendant. "thank you. we'll have a cup of water," you glanced at hanni, thinking for a moment, "and some hot tea."

the attendant gladly poured your refreshments, sending you a "hwaiting!" gesture before moving on to the next row.

"i'm so sorry," you turned to hanni, releasing her hand. a wave of disappointment hit you at the loss of hanni's warmth. she seemed to share the feeling, although you didn't notice.

"it's fine. it would've been embarrassing for all three of us, anyway."

"yeah..."

the two of you turned away from each other, blushes overtaking your features.

'the thought of dating her doesn't seem so bad.'

it had been about an hour and a half since takeoff. you texted some of your friends, who checked in on you frequently, asking things like 'are you dead' or 'did the plane crash yet', to which you replied 'not yet sadly' or something similar. you were doodling random cats in your notes app in between texts.

to your left, hanni had pulled out a book, seeming invested in the pages filled with words of plot. she was almost at the end, you noticed—there were only a few pages left.

a few more minutes passed, and the girl closed the book with a content sigh. after tucking the book safely into her carry-on bag, she peeked around her, her eyes landing on you, scanning your features.

"hey, how'd you get this scar on your cheek?"

you felt a poke on your upper cheekbone, hanni's finger pressing lightly on the tender patch of skin. you brought your hand up to your face to touch the already fading scar, and tried to remember which incident it was from.

"i think it's from when i jumped out one of the school windows," you answered, turning to look at hanni.

"oh," she replied, then raised her eyebrow. "wait, what? you jumped out the window?"

you scratched your neck, feeling embarrassed. 'she's definitely gonna be scared away after i tell her,' you thought ruefully. glancing over to hanni, you quickly realized you weren't going to get away with not telling her the backstory of the scar.

you sighed. "it's not that interesting, i mean..."

the girl beside you watched with expectant eyes, eagerly awaiting your next words. you pondered, wondering if you should really tell her.

"i set off some firecrackers on the school roof, and they found out it was me not even five minutes later," you explained, "i sped down the stairs and hid in some cleaning closet. but they somehow knew i was in there, so i had to jump out the window and run home before they caught me."

a few beats of silence followed, your self consciousness catching up to you as the tip of your ears flushed bright red. when you sneaked a glance to your left, you saw hanni's mouth agape.

"wow," she blinked. "that's insane."

"i know."

you rubbed your elbow, fidgeting with the fabric of your sleeve. 'she's definitely weirded out. see, y/n, this is why girls never-'

"but you're okay, right?"

'huh?' you thought to yourself, then facing hanni. she had a worried smile on her face, head tilted to the side. your cheeks burned. you couldn't win against pretty girls.

"oh. yeah, i am. i just landed in a bush, and a branch scratched me."

she nodded, scanning your features. aside from the one on your cheek, there were a few other minor scars on your face, from similar events, although those were more hidden. there were a lot of them around your body too, from burn marks to scratches and cuts.

"what's this one from, then?" she pointed under your ear, where a small scar from a healed cut laid.

"this one? it's kind of recent. i was trying to make an outline of myself with throwing darts, but my friend had terrible aim. it grazed my neck."

hanni winced, cringing as she imagined how that felt for you. "yikes."

she thought for a moment, a memory resurfacing at the mention of darts.

"that reminds me, there was a time me and my friends were playing darts, but we all kept missing the board," she smiled, reminiscing on the past moment. "we hit everything in the house but the dartboard."

you smiled as well, finding humor in the similarities between you and hanni's experiences. well, except for the fact that your friend was supposed to miss you, the target.

"what did your parents say?" you asked, genuinely curious. your parents usually restricted your actions, like not letting you go out after school or supervising your purchases, but ultimately let you off the hook in the end. you thanked them for that mentally, albeit feeling a tad guilty for being spoiled.

she tapped her chin. "they just scolded us and told us not to do it again. and we had to clean up our mess—there were a bunch of darts on the ground, and things that fell because of the darts."

you laughed, finding her memory relatable. there were countless times you were made to clean up your messes, although you didn't exactly learn from your "mistakes." (you considered them "happy accidents," as bob ross said. alas, your peers, relatives, and teachers alike, disagreed.)

"how did your parents react to your injuries?" hanni questioned, her expression softening.

"well..."

you and hanni started getting to know each other better, warm and lively conversation filling the air. you learned that she was raised in melbourne, and that both of her parents were vietnamese. she had two dogs and a younger sister, and she played a variety of instruments.

you told her about some other incidents, to which she was amused by, and touched lightly on the awards you've received for your paintings.

topics shifted constantly, the two of you seeming not to run out of things to talk about. with debates on something as trivial as which juice flavor was better, more memories from your childhood came flooding back, the two of you sharing your experiences and bonding over them.

'this is nice,' you thought, a glimmer of hope rising. 'maybe, things will go well this time.'

from: 🆕👖 (soon) meanjee 🐻 hanni are you on the plane? kitty kang 😾 did you bring the tim tams dani ☀ omg did you get tim tams for us 🥺🥺 you yes dw i also made a friend meanjee 🐻 who dont lie 🤣😂 you excuse me her names y/n shes an artist guys shes so cute 😭 we kept bumping into each other and guess what kitty kang 😾 you tripped over yourself? dani ☀ you asked her out!? you (replied to kitty kang 😾: you tripped...) ↪ do you want the tim tams or not kitty kang. (replied to dani ☀: you asked her...) ↪ NO we just met but i was TRYING to say that we bumped into each other accidentally like 3 times and we're on the same flight and sit next to each other dani ☀ it's destiny!! meanjee 🐻 i never thought i'd see the day hanni having luck in girls 💀 you WOW im js gna ignore that. remember my fear of flying? she held my hand the whole time bc she saw i was scared :(( shes js so AUGH :] i think she likes me too kitty kang 😾 she has more game than you im glad she could comfort you though dani ☀ AWW that's so cute you two are so cute i wanna meet her! you maybe if things go well with her hyeinie THE BEST MAKN😎E hiii whats going on (replied to you: excuse me her names...) ↪ wait did u say y/n?? you yeah why? hyeinie THE BEST MAKN😎E um actually its nothing i have to help mom with cooking bye unnies!! you ???

hanni stared at your hand, which was holding out an earbud, in confusion. she tilted her head.

"ah, sorry. do you want to listen to something with me? you can choose the song," you smiled, showing your phone screen which displayed the spotify search menu. (you made sure that it stayed on the search bar and not showing one of your many embarrassing playlist names.)

her eyebrows raised, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes as she processed your words. you swallowed nervously, about to retract your hand until she took the earbud from your hold, her hands brushing against yours briefly.

"sure," she agreed, then reaching for the device from your other, outstretched palm. "do you like daniel caesar?"

your bangs fell over your face as you nodded eagerly, blocking your vision. you moved to tuck your hair behind your ear, though hanni beat you to it, her cold hands contrasting with your now-burning-red ears.

hanni cleared her throat with a quiet cough, breaking into a smile shortly after. the two of you listened to the melody of the song that was being played into your shared earbuds, hanni occasionally humming along.

"and i'd love to make you mine," she softly sang, her gentle voice filling your ears. she sounded like cotton candy, so sweet, like honey drizzled over warm toast on a sunny afternoon. each word that she sang sent you into bliss, arrows of cupid piercing your heart. 'maybe,' you thought, 'just maybe. i'll ask her out on a date by the end of this flight.'

the last few seconds of the song faded out and started playing whatever was recommended by your spotify (which was a wave to earth song) but you couldn't pay attention as you found yourself replaying hanni's singing in your head.

noticing your furrowed eyebrows and your dazed look, hanni nudged your shoulder. "sorry, was i too loud? i tend to sing along sometimes; it's always been a habit of mine."

you widened your eyes, shaking your head no. "no, you're fine! i think your singing is quite nice, actually. you have," you blushed, "a very pretty voice."

her cheeks lifted into a closed smile, sending a flutter through your chest. you took a few deep breaths, trying to calm your thumping heart. at least you didn't panic at everything she did, unlike the past 10? 20? times she did so much as smile.

"thank you," she giggled, leaning her head on yours. deep breaths were not going to help in your situation, since it seemed to get even worse for your heart every time. instead, you focused on the song playing in your ear, and the rise and fall of hanni's chest. it wasn't too long after the next song started when you started hearing small snores next to you.

'ah,' you thought. 'she must've been tired.'

moving her head to sit more comfortably on your shoulder, you brushed her bangs out of her face, unconsciously smiling at how peaceful she looked asleep. you adjusted the jacket that was laid over both of your laps to cover more of her legs instead of yours, slightly shivering as you instantly felt the cold from the cabin aircon replacing the warmth from hanni’s fleece jacket.

‘oh, well.’

you rested your head on top of hers, sarah kang’s once in a moon quietly playing into your shared earbuds, and you let yourself slowly drift off to join hanni in dreamland.

"mmph..."

you groaned as you rubbed your eyes sleepily. your neck was stiff, your shoulder was sore, and you had 12 different cramps in your legs from your uncomfortable position in the airplane seat.

hanni shifted on your shoulder, and you panicked, thinking you might've woken her up from your stretching. thankfully, her soft snores continued after a few moments.

you sighed in relief. you would've felt insanely guilty if you ended up waking her.

stretching your shoulders back, (though still careful not to wake the sleeping girl leaning on you) you reached into your backpack under the seat in front of you, and pulled out your sketchbook.

the thing itself was around a year old. over that year, you'd nearly filled it to the brim with dozens of drawings, including ones you drew on buses, trains, at parks, in history class, on your bed, everywhere. similarly, you kept a sketchbook for each year prior to the one currently in your hand. it was almost time to retire this one; you only had about 3 pages left.

taking a small pen out from your wallet, you pressed the fine tip to the smooth beige paper, soon letting your arm move freely across the page, sketching things you could see around you—the overhead aircon, someone's paper cup of water from the recent beverage round sitting on their tray table, and...

you looked to hanni, then back to your sketchbook. you'd subconsciously started drawing hanni while looking around your surroundings (or, lack thereof). although it was quite difficult to get a decent look of her features as a whole, you managed to sketch out the way her bangs framed her face, the curve of her eyelashes, and her mouth slightly ajar.

the people around you must've thought you were crazy watching you try to lean forward to look at hanni, while also trying to keep your movements minimal as to not wake her. but that was okay. people back home already saw you as crazy when you did anything, especially after the wheelie incident, which you didn't want to think about.

after finishing the initial sketch, your hand appeared to have a mind of its own, because it moved to the next page over and started doodling more of hanni. you squinted your eyes, trying to remember what she looked like when she bumped into you, when she sat across from you at the cafe, and when she was sipping from the cup of tea you called for her a few hours ago.

the page was filled with hanni's face in the blink of an eye. you didn't know how it happened, but it would be really embarrassing if said girl woke up and saw this right now.

"mmm..."

...why didn't anything go your way?

you flipped back to the page full of doodles of the cabin before she could see anything, covering the page with your sleeve. you tensed your shoulders in nervousness, quietly clearing your throat.

"sleep well, hanni?"

hanni's lips upturned into a sleepy smile (you screamed a little mentally at her cuteness) and she nodded, giving you a thumbs up.

"thanks for letting me use you as a pillow," she said, rubbing your numb shoulder.

you laughed to yourself, mostly because you couldn't feel your shoulder as hanni touched it. "it's no problem. i wasn't going to let you have neck cramps from leaning on the wall."

she nodded again, stretching out her muscles and letting out a big yawn. her eyes shifted back towards you and down at your lap, where you placed your sketchbook.

"what's that?"

a bead of cold sweat rolled down your forehead, and you gulped. what if she was creeped out at your drawings of her? then, your mind wandered to the moments you shared just earlier, and you thought, 'there's no way hanni would act like that.'

you shyly uncovered the page, passing the book to the girl, watching intently as she pored over the details that you'd meticulously drawn. her mouth gaped in astonishment, in awe of your ability to capture the scene around you.

she turned her head towards you, eyes sparkling. "this is amazing, y/n!"

you bashfully scratched your neck, giving her a sheepish smile.

"it's nothing, really," you tried to say, but her attention was already on the next page.

"this is... me?"

crap.

"um, yeah. it is. there's not much to see from our seats, so i ended up drawing mostly you," you tried to defend, hoping she wouldn't take your actions badly. "you're also, very," you cleared your throat, blushing, "pretty. very... pretty, yeah."

she grinned, cheeks dusted pink, and trailed her hand down the page, tracing over the soft features—her features—that you'd effortlessly drawn as she slept.

"can i keep it?" she asked, looking into your eyes for approval.

shrinking back from the unexpected eye contact, you gulped and nodded. you were thinking about giving it to her anyway.

"yes. i'd love to give it to you, as something to remember me by, haha."

after you finished your sentence, you gently grabbed the sketchbook from hanni's already offering hands, and left your signature on it. the ripping sound of the book hummed as you removed the page from the confines of the spiral spine, handing it to your seatmate.

her grin grew wider as she accepted the paper. "thank you so much, seriously. this is so cool!"

"it's no problem," you laughed, tipping your invisible hat to her.

the flight intercom beeped.

"hello, this is your pilot speaking. we have arrived in incheon, local time is 10:42 pm. please make sure your seatbelt is secured and your seat trays and window blinds are up, and also unplug any devices you may have. enjoy your stay in korea and have a good night."

hanni, who just tucked your drawing into her bag, looked over to you with surprised eyes. "it's the end already? i swear we've just been here for like, 3 hours."

you were shocked too, your eyebrows raised. "i know, right? but i guess we did spend a lot of it sleeping."

"yeah, you're right," she giggled.

you took a deep breath, not knowing what to say. "it was, um... really nice getting to know you. i know it was weird seeing each other so much in a day by chance," you said, "and uh, if you'd like, we could, um, go out on a date sometime?"

a scarlet blush overtook your face, and you think the people behind and in front of you must've heard you say that because you heard a gasp or two from your surroundings.

hanni's face was terribly red as well, and it made you feel a little better knowing you weren't having one-sided feelings.

"o-okay. deal."

the rest of the time spent after that was a blur to you, and it took you until you sat down on hyein's living room couch that you forgot to give hanni your number.

holy shit, y/n. you asked a girl out on a date. and after spending basically the whole day together, you forgot to exchange contact info with her? this was on a whole new level of sick and twisted, even for you.

"we're home!" a gruff voice called, followed by the sound of the heavy door closing, and the sound of excited footsteps followed, rushing in your direction.

a minute later, you got tackled by a very hyper hyein.

"unnie! unnie, you're here!"

her hold on you was incredibly tight. you don't think you could squeeze out even if you wanted to. nonetheless, you returned the embrace, patting her on the back and nuzzling your nose into her messy hair.

"hey, hyeinie. i missed you," you murmured, moving your hand up to card through her dark brown locks.

your younger cousin's eyes sparkled, and she broke out into a huge grin. you felt yourself being squeezed even tighter, before you coughed and wheezed out, "can't- breathe."

your uncle gently separated hyein from you, and you stood up so you could bow and give him a hug.

"welcome back, y/n!" he laughed, giving you a rough slap on the back which made you stumble a little.

your uncle was a warmhearted man, much like your father, even though they weren't blood-related. you didn't exactly know what he worked as, but he was always dressed to the nines whenever he went out, regardless of the occasion.

"i'm glad to be back. i'll be staying for a while, too," you added.

turning and smiling at hyein, you ruffled her hair, making her stand up and do it back to you. thankfully, you dodged in time. wait, did you shrink? or...

"hyein, you got taller again!" you exclaimed. last christmas, she was at about your height; a little above average, a solid 5'6. but looking at her now, she was probably around 5'7, almost as tall as her dad.

the younger girl blinked, staring wide-eyed at you. she slid her hand from the top of her head to the empty space above yours. being honest, the difference wasn't all that much, but your brow twitched at having to even slightly flicker your eyes up to make eye contact.

"did i?"

this was starting to irk you. you knew that hyein just realized this was something she could hold against you, and that was the last thing you wanted to happen.

defeatedly, you sighed.

"dinner is ready!" your aunt called from the kitchen. your eyes lit up as the scent of your favorite kimchi-jjigae wafted through the air. bless your aunt's soul.

you slowly turned to your cousin, a glint in your eye.

"last one there is a rotten egg."

and then, chaos.

"y/n, you haven't been here in a while. now that you're here to stay, would you like to do anything in korea?"

you adjusted the bandaid on your knee, and hissed as hyein pressed on the bruise just below it. of course, you hurt yourself while trying to race the younger lee to the dining room.

snapping your eyes to your aunt, who was setting the pot of stew in the middle of the dining table, you tried to think of something you've never had a chance to do. but you've been to korea countless times before, and you'd always gotten to do something new. it'd been around a year since you last came, since your relatives came to you for christmas 7 months ago.

"i guess... just walking around like a local? going to a café, walking around the city. and..." you bit your lip, struggling to remember the name of the theme park that was so famous.

"oh!" you snapped your fingers, "lotte world!"

hyein's hand twitched. one glance at her, and you could see that she was practically buzzing with excitement. she looked as if she was about to bounce off the walls like a pinball. you pinched her arm, causing her to yelp.

"lotte world! that sounds fun," your uncle commented, "i wish i could join. work's been busy lately."

your aunt laughed, "me too! but y/n," she shot you a stern look, "don't go causing trouble for people. i don't want to see you on the news for the wrong reasons."

'that's very encouraging and totally non-threatening!' you shivered. still, her words only tempted you. knowing you, it wouldn't be long into the school year before you were a known figure on campus.

portions of the stew were distributed to everyone's bowl, and you licked your lips. you didn't have anything on the plane, since you'd slept through most of it and missed the in-flight meal.

"thank you for the food," you said, before bringing a spoonful of the stew to your lips.

with that single bite, you think you've ascended to heaven and above. you wolfed down the rest of the food, eating like you hadn't eaten in a week (which you felt like you didn't) and before you knew it, you'd finished your dinner. seeing this, hyein also tried to finish her food quickly, but was stopped by your aunt.

taking a few swigs of water, you looked to your aunt, who watched you in bewilderment. "auntie, that was so good. seriously, that was soooo good. can i have seconds?"

everyone at the table broke out into a fit of laughter.

"of course, y/n."

as dinner went on, and you caught up with hyein and her parents, everyone had finished their serving, and you, your third serving. you tried to help your aunt with the dishes, but she just shooed you away to you and hyein's shared room.

despite already having been in the bedroom to drop off your luggage, you let your cousin lead you to it. it was very spacious, having enough room to hold a sizable tv that you could watch netflix on from the bed, and enough room to walk around comfortably. hyein's desk was messy, as always. it was filled with school papers, colored pencils and highlighters, and a book you got her the last time you visited.

speaking of the bed, it had been replaced by a very charming bunk bed, complete with fluffy white comforters and a surprisingly stable ladder. you already claimed the bottom bunk as yours, your phone laying on the plush pillow.

"tada!" hyein presented to you, doing jazz hands towards the bed. "i know you've already seen it, but try laying in it! it's pretty comfy for a bunk bed."

following her suggestion, you went ahead and sat yourself on the bed, immediately sighing in content. moving your phone so you could lay down, you swung your legs over the bedframe so you could soak in the comforting feeling of the bed. the mattress was fairly soft, perfect for your strange sleeping positions. you flashed an upraised thumb to hyein, who grinned triumphantly.

she puffed up her cheeks. "see?"

"i do see, hyeinie," you said, reaching for your backpack, "before i forget..."

the younger lee gasped at the sight of the matching kangeroo plush keychains, even though she'd already seen them over text. one was purple, her favorite color, and the other, blue. attached to their hands were small magnets, which would allow them to connect together.

she squealed, holding the purple one to her chest. "they're so cute! i love it, thank you y/n-unnie."

you were, once again, brought into a soul-crushing hug. 'at least hyein is happy.'

10 minutes later and you and hyein were now wrapped up in a fiery race of mario kart. you had successfully hooked up your switch to the tv just a bit ago, and of course you had to compete with her in your shared favorite game. it was a tradition for the two of you to play through at least two rounds of the grand prix mode, usually playing for the special cup for one of the rounds.

a hand covered your field of vision, and you batted it away, groaning at your little cousin. "stop, i was winning!"

she cheekily stuck out her tongue, swiftly overtaking you in the race. you cursed whoever picked the mushroom cup (you did) because the piranha plants in sweet sweet canyon were beating your ass, and your rank just kept dropping after hyein rudely interrupted your groove with her hand.

"ahhh..." you sighed as a bot passed you on the second lap. setting the cpu level at the maximum was a mistake. hastily, you collected the power up block, your eyes lighting up seeing the formidable blue shell on the dice roll. spotting the shortcut, you performed a sharp-angled drift that you were only able to do after years of perfecting the technique, and expertly boosted yourself to catch yourself up to 4th place.

it appeared that hyein was too focused on smoothly driving through the track, so she didn't notice your newly-acquired trump card. you smirked. 'she won't see it coming,' you mischievously thought.

it was now the third lap. you were saving the shell for right before the finish line, and you were currently in a solid 3rd place, with hyein in 1st and a bot in front of you.

the younger lee glanced at your side of the screen and widened her eyes. 'did she just now notice i had the blue shell?'

"unnie! you can't! i'm so close to winning!" she shouted. the finish line was nearly in sight. the bot slipped on a banana peel and your smile only widened as you watched the flailing animation while passing by. hyein tried kicking you to distract you, but it was no use. you had already thrown the power up that would help you win the race.

"checkmate," you smugly said as you patted hyein's back. the girl was watching the finish screen in despair, gripping her controller tightly in annoyance.

she slowly turned to you, a menacingly determined look on her face. "i'll win the next one. it's thwomp ruins, you suck at thwomp ruins."

damn it. she was right.

hyein ended up winning the next race, as she declared. you always had trouble avoiding the obstacles on the track, much to your dismay. with that win, she also won the cup, because she also won the first two races. you blamed it on the jetlag.

(when you awoke, you felt a heavy weight on your chest. you blinked, barely making out the image of hyein laying on you, softly snoring. you checked your phone. 5:12 am. well, whatever. it was too early to think about anything. gently combing your fingers through her hair, you fell back asleep.)

“y/n?”

the door to your shared bedroom creaked open, and you shoved the covers over your face.

“y/n, it’s 11:30, wake up,” the voice called.

slowly, you peeked from under the comforter that was very much doing its job at keeping you comfortable, to see your aunt standing in the doorway with a ladle. reluctantly, you climbed out of bed.

"morning, auntie," you mumbled as you rubbed your eyes, making your way to the bedroom door.

she stepped aside to let you exit the room. "good morning, sleepyhead."

you spent a few minutes to brush your teeth and wash your face in the bathroom before coming out to the living room. the house was eerily quiet without the presence of your uncle and hyein.

...wait, where's hyein?

looking around suspiciously, you still found no trace of the younger girl in the house. she was gone when you woke up, too. where could she have gone? it was summer break, and hyein was barely entering high school.

coughing, you asked your aunt, "um, where's hyein gone?"

"oh, she's at the company. she has practice today, didn't she tell you?"

"what practice?"

"...dance practice? vocal lessons? she's debuting this month, remember?"

debut... dance... vocal... that rings a bell...

'wait, what the fuck? is hyein a kpop idol?'

your heart beat faster at the revelation. hyein? your cute little cousin who you swore had just graduated from elementary school two years ago? you knew she took dance lessons, and her other activities that came to a halt last year, but... debut? she was still a kid! and it sounded like this debut was serious, the real next step in her career.

your emotions were all jumbled up upon thinking more on the matter. why didn't she tell you?

"y/n? hey, how about you eat now," she placed a bowl in front of you, "and maybe later you can talk to hyein about it. don't worry until then."

"easier said than done," you replied, digging into the rice with your spoon. but she was right. you could talk to hyein later; you still had to unpack your bags.

breakfast tasted dry and bland, even though you were sure your aunt cooked it with perfection and love in mind. there were just too many thoughts in your mind.

putting your finished bowl in the sink and washing it, you shuffled back into you and hyein's room, intending to tidy up the space and also set your things down. this was where you'd be living for the next four or more years, after all.

this bedroom brought back memories. what used to be a guest room that five-year-old you would sleep in during the holidays, was now turned into your dear little cousin's haven of comfort. from the moment she was born, you've adored her—it was like having a little sibling, since you were an only child. the guest room was more lively, more full of energy with hyein there.

as she grew up, there were times where she, of course, kicked you out of the room, because it was 'too embarrassing' to have her older cousin sleep in the same room with her. although you always woke up in the middle of that night to see a hyein-shaped lump on top of you. it was endearing, really, to see, to know that the girl loved you as much as you did her.

you traced your finger along the edges of the old closet in the corner of the room. there was a barely noticeable dent on the side, from when you were playing a game of operation and accidentally threw the tweezers too hard in a fit of rage.

a piece of duct tape you'd painted white that was stuck onto it for a good week, because that was the best that a 14-year-old and a 9-year-old could think of. your mom and auntie still got mad, though.

you got to cleaning and unpacking, patiently waiting for time to pass so hyein could come home and you could talk.

dinner came and went, and you were now sitting on the bed, waiting for your cousin who was washing up in the bathroom.

"hey unnie... why are you just sitting there?"

you wordlessly patted the space next to you, your silence being an indicator that what you wanted to talk about was serious.

"why didn't you tell me you were a trainee?"

"..."

"hyein?"

she stared at her lap, guilty. "i..." she choked out, "every time you came, i was just having so much fun. and i didn't know when to tell you because i thought you would make fun of me, or something. i don't know."

hyein sniffled, and looked at you with tears streaming down her cheeks. you sighed and wiped them away with your thumb. she continued.

"and this training, i know you think it's a lot for me and it is, but my members, they make it so much fun. and i'm so close to achieving my dreams, y/n-unnie! july 22nd. that's in 20 days, i'm gonna be a real idol. topping the charts, i just, urgh-"

you brought her into a hug, rubbing her back as she sobbed into your shoulder.

"...i support you. i'm not judging you, i was just worried about you," you planted a kiss on her forehead.

"you're my baby cousin, of course i wanna protect you from the nasty entertainment industry. but... if this is what you want to do, then i'll cheer you on from debut to retirement."

she sniffled. "that's in like, a gazillion years, you're gonna be dead by then."

"shush," you pulled her back into your embrace, "let's just go to sleep."

at 6 am, you woke up with hyein sleeping soundly on your chest, again. this time, you carefully slid out of bed, brushing your teeth in the bathroom, and then sauntering over to the kitchen where your aunt was already awake and cooking breakfast.

"up so early?"

you groaned. mornings were never for you, especially since you always stayed up to paint during your spurts of inspiration.

"i talked to hyein." a pause. your aunt took a minute to wash her hands, and turned around to face you.

"and?"

"i told her i support her. and we fell asleep talking about which member of bts was the best. and now my eyes are super swollen 'cause we had a crying session right before that."

in the background, you could faintly hear the sound of rushing water. hyein must be awake.

"morning..." the younger girl walked in, rubbing her eyes.

you smiled. "good morning, hyeinie."

"woah, you're awake... you're usually passed out at this time."

"are you disappointed?"

"settle down, kids. breakfast's ready."

you ate in silence, occasionally asking for a napkin, or asking how each other's sleep went, and hyein went in to go get dressed for the day.

the sound of the garage door opening resounded throughout the house; uncle must be back from running errands.

"that's me," your cousin said. you adjusted the cap on her head.

"you're sleeping on the bottom bunk tonight, just so you know. i don't want you falling off in the morning, while i'm 'passed out'."

she slipped on her shoes, grinning widely at you. then, she set off with a skip in her step. you shook your head at the sight, giggling.

a few hours later, around noon, your aunt came into your room holding a wrapped... lunch? it looked like the ones you would get from your own mother for field trips, a boxed lunch wrapped with a cloth with a cute design on it. you paused in the middle of your painting of the view from your window. it was time to take a break, anyway.

"what's this?" you took it from her. the cloth concealed the smell pretty well, so you couldn't tell what was in it.

your aunt crossed her arms. "hyein's lunch."

okay... that's weird. why would she come in and give you hyein's lunch? wasn't she supposed to- oh. "you want me to bring it to her, don't you."

she only nodded, leaving the room right after.

hybe entertainment was a big building. like, a seriously big building. it was also weirdly pleasing to look at, but you thought that way with how the city looked in general with all those big buildings with their fully windowed walls.

hyein's manager was supposed to come get you at the lobby. it felt awkward waiting there, since it was so prim and proper compared to any other place you'd been to. you felt out of place. you were just a trainee's cousin, not some important figure in the industry. hell, you weren't even in the industry!

from: mom's favorite child (🐣) why'd mom tell me to send my manager down? are you here? to: mom's favorite child (🐣) yeah from: mom's favorite child (🐣) why???

you chose not to answer that. 'did she really forget her lunch?'

after around five minutes (and after receiving some curious looks from staff members) the manager led you to a dance(?) practice room, nodding and opening the door for you.

"unnie!" you were immediately crushed by the tall girl. you think the cramp in your spine was fixed by her intense embrace.

she gave you an excited look. "why're you here?"

you held up the box, dangling it in front of her eyes. "you forgot your lunch."

she took it from you with a straight face, but then changed the topic without saying anything else. what the...

"meet my members!" hyein stepped aside, revealing four girls who looked almost as confused as you were.

but they were all very pretty, you noted. especially that girl on the right, with the bangs. and those pretty eyes. and ah...

'oh my fucking god.'

"y/n!?"

"h-hanni!?"

you stood there in shock. out of all the places you could meet again, it was at your cousin's workplace? and, it turned out that they even worked together?

you were pulled into the practice room, and now you were sitting on a metal folding chair, in an icebreaker circle that took you back to middle school. it all happened in a blur, one second you were staring at hanni and the other you were forced into a chair by hyein. everyone else looked slightly uncomfortable as well.

"this is y/n, my older cousin!" she introduced you to the other girls. then, she pointed to them one by one.

"this is haerin-unnie." the cat-eyed girl nodded at you.

"minji-unnie." she waved, offering you a tight lipped smile.

"dani... danielle-unnie." she also waved, though with much more energy and a wider smile. cute.

"and this is hanni-unnie, but i suppose you two are acquainted already."

you ignored how hyein's posture became stiffer and how she suddenly started talking in a formal tone, like what she did when she was starting to plot something.

nonetheless, you bowed in your seat and waved. "i'm lee y/n... incoming first year at seoul national university. i'm looking to major in painting."

there was a brief period of silence, and you awkwardly traced the bruise you got two days ago through the hole in your jeans.

danielle(?) started clapping, the other members (including hyein) following suit.

"can we see some of your works?" she excitedly asked. you, once again, found it hard to resist a pretty girl.

"yeah, for sure!" fishing your phone out of your pocket, you pulled up the album titled 'finished paintings' and chose a landscape painting of the blue mountains which you did on a short vacation to newcastle in march. you used the pictures your dad took on his professional camera as reference, and it ended up being one of your best projects in your portfolio.

you tilted your phone horizontally so they could see the full piece, chest swelling with pride when their faces lit up with wonder.

"it's beautiful," minji commented, her eyes trailing from your phone screen to you. you blushed at the sudden eye contact.

danielle loudly gasped, shaking hanni back and forth. "oh my gosh, it's the blue mountains!"

another aussie?

"yeah, went there during a trip to newcastle," you replied in english. the girl's eyes seemed to light up even more, if that was possible. her smile became so blinding that you felt you had to shield your eyes.

"newcastle!" she pointed to herself, "that's where i'm from!"

"really? it's so pretty there, especially by the beaches," you said. "i wish i could go back and paint the views."

your stomach growled. right... you hadn't eaten since way earlier in the morning. you scratched your neck in embarrassment when haerin and hyein started giggling.

"have you girls had lunch yet?"

at seeing their heads shake 'no', you stood up and stretched your arms back. "wanna go eat something? it's my treat," you suggested. "i think i saw a tonkatsu restaurant on the way here."

the cat eyed girl, haerin, made a sound akin to the squeak of a cat (ironically) and tugged on minji's sleeve. she whispered in the girl's ear, and minji turned to look at danielle and hanni for approval.

"fine with us," she affirmed, sending you a gummy smile. "i'll tell our manager."

hyein poked your shoulder. "what about my lunch?"

"uh... we can watch something tonight and you can eat it then, i guess. i won't tell your mom?"

"deal!"

[hybe -> new area unlocked: tonkatsu restaurant]

the seating arrangement went as follows: haerin, hyein, and danielle on one side of the booth, and minji, you, and hanni on the other side. you mentally braced yourself for kicks from hyein, but your heart also sped up at being next to hanni again.

the group made their orders, you prepared to empty your wallet, and were now engaging in conversation with danielle and hanni. next to you, hyein, minji, and haerin were having a separate conversation—something about sparklers and filming.

"so, danielle," you started, folding a napkin into an unlimited amount of halves. she interrupted you before you could continue, smiling, "you can just call me dani! i find being called my full name a bit... you know."

you nodded in understanding. "dani, so you're australian too? must be nice to have a fellow aussie in your group," you nudged the girl sitting on your right. she nudged you back, but her hand made its way to yours under the table. you tried your best not to freak out.

"yep! speaking of which," danielle pointed between you and the 'fellow aussie'. "how do you two know each other? there was that whole thing when we first saw you and everything."

by now, the other three girls have tuned into your conversation. it seemed that they too, were curious.

the vietnamese was the first to explain. "we met at the airport, after i visited my family. we bumped into each other like, three times before finding out we also sat next to each other on the same flight."

minji raised an eyebrow, "wait, this is the y/n you were talking about?"

hanni looked to the side and tucked her hand behind her ear. she was talking about you?

you gave her hand a squeeze, causing her to look down at your now-intertwined fingers. when did that happen?

across the table, hyein eyed you suspiciously.

thankfully, the food came and you enjoyed your lunch, which sufficiently tamed your prior hunger that led up to this situation. you recounted more of you and hanni's first meeting, but the more you talked the more it felt like you were introducing yourself as her girlfriend.

"wow, is that why you left me on read?"

you snorted. "no, i just wanted to annoy you."

hyein kicked you under the table. you made a mental note to check your foot for another bruise later.

"to be honest," you said to the group after you finished your last bite, directing everyone's attention to yourself. "i didn't think i'd end up spending the afternoon with soon-to-be idols."

next to you, minji laughed. it tickled your brain, the way her deep voice was so sooth and calming.

"i don't think anyone here expected to spend the afternoon dining with our youngest's relative."

you laughed along with her, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "but i mean, we'll probably be seeing each other often. i'd love to get to know all of you."

the girls made noises of agreement, either nodding or approving verbally, and soon everyone was done eating. you paid the bill (rest in peace, wallet) and when you came back from the counter, hanni, danielle, and haerin are gone.

"they went to use the restroom," minji informed. you made an 'ahh' expression and gave an 'ok' gesture, and made to sit down to wait for the three. hyein stared at you and minji.

"i think you're really cool, y/n."

you almost did a spit-take with your glass of water. that caught you way off guard. what are you supposed to that?

"...and i was just wondering, could i get your number?"

you blinked. minji blinked. and out of the corner of your eye, you could see that hyein also blinked.

but... who would turn down an offer from a(nother) pretty girl? not you.

so obviously you punched in your digits onto the girl's phone, saving yourself as 'y/n 🎨' and by the time you were done, the rest of the group had returned to the table.

when you and the girls arrived at the company, minji left with a wink toward your direction, danielle and hyein hugged you goodbye, and haerin waved at you. only hanni was left, but both of you were reluctant to go.

"i hung the sketches up in my dorm room."

your eyes slightly widened. "really? i'm glad you like them. it's embarrassing, but you're sort of turning into my muse."

you coughed as to hide your scorching blush. hanni giggled, her cheeks also tinted red.

danielle called for her from the entrance, and you both looked to the building.

"i should go."

"yeah... oh, here." you handed her a torn piece of napkin paper with your number written on it. "my number, 'cause my dumb ass forgot to give it to you earlier."

she pocketed it and sent you an eye smile, before waving and turning around to catch up with her group members.

score!

one week later and you and minji became quick friends. she was funny, very dry but very funny. and you were too shy to text hanni much despite your show of confidence when you gave her your number.

you also hung out with the oldest member a lot. just the other day, you went to the mall with her and got frozen yogurt, and since the day you met her you've been texting every night. though not as much as you did with minji, of course you hung out with the other girls too, like when you visited the company a second and third time. (coincidentally, it was because hyein had forgotten her lunch, again)

you actually just got back from visiting minji at the dorm. it was your first time there, and you mostly just stayed in her room after being given a tour. (you ignored the disappointment in your heart after finding out hanni had a schedule, and wasn't at home)

hyein already had some of her things moved to her dorm room, but she was allowed a few more days at home until she had to stay there long-term. but lately, you've been noticing her staring at you. it often happened when you were texting or hanging out with minji. you would just see the younger girl stand in the corner of the room, 'distracted' with her phone as soon as you turned to look at her.

you were resting on your bed when the door burst open. startled, you sat bolt upright and turned your attention to whoever rudely interrupted your peaceful hour of doom-scrolling.

"unnie, do you like minji-unnie?"

"what the fu-" you stopped yourself. auntie would scold you if you slipped up in front of her kid. "no! what!?"

"oh." she sat herself next to you on the bed. "but you talk to her all the time. it's like you don't even like hanni-unnie anymore!"

it took you a second to process the younger girl's words until you exploded into a blushing mess. "how- how did you know i like hanni?"

"it's way too obvious," she shrugged.

hyein left the room, leaving you confused, until she came back in with a rolling whiteboard. where did she even get that?

you watched as she wrote on the board with a pink marker. 'operation... confess... to...' wow. you didn't like where this was going. at all. why should you confess? shouldn't she be focused on debuting? you wouldn't want to be a distraction to her. and you're pretty sure she didn't like you like that.

hyein put a bullet point under the heading, the marker squeaking as the ink dried within a second.

you frowned. "i don't think i should confess, hyein. you can put the board away."

she looked disheartened for a moment, but shook it off and faced you. "i'm like, 95% sure she likes you back. she doesn't shut up about you when she's alone in her room. i don't think she knows that we can hear her talking to herself."

choosing to keep quiet, you laid back into bed and covered your face with a pillow. that was a matter to think about later, and it was hard to stop hyein once she'd started.

"let's see... hey, pay attention; this is for everyone's sake!" the pillow was snatched from your hands. you groaned and sat up. guess it wouldn't hurt to at least hear her out. "you should do something to catch her attention."

you scoffed. "like what?"

she finished drawing two stickfigures (you and hanni, presumably) holding hands with an obnoxious amount of hearts surrounding them, and rested her hand on her hip. "you could... mysteriously take her away after one of her schedules?"

"absolutely not! that's kidnapping."

she crossed the prompt off the list. "take her on a romantic tour around the city with a rented double decker bus?"

"i don't have money for that..."

"you don't have to pay for a driver, can't you drive?" hyein pouted.

you sighed. "what's the point of renting it for her then? also, hasn't she been here long enough to know the city? plus, i don't have a korean driver's license yet."

another prompt was crossed off the list, and you waited patiently as hyein thought of another idea.

"you know, the other day..." you blinked, and now she was in front of you. 'oh god.'

a wide grin spread on her face, and you paled. "i saw some window cleaners the other day. they looked like spiderman."

"hyein..."

"and like, that's so cool! you could do that. we could get a harness from that store down the street..."

"hyein, please."

"and a rope from there, too."

"but-"

"don't you want to catch her eye?"

it was tempting. it'd been so long (christmas) since you've done something fun (insane) and hyein knew just how to push your buttons.

...damn this kid.

from: hany/n supporters mom's favorite child (🐣) added you, haerin, and mj to the group. mom's favorite child (🐣) heyy 😍 you what is this 🙁 mj ^ haerin ^ mom's favorite child (🐣) planning for hany/n to succeed also dani unnie isnt here bc she cant keep a secret mj oh finally mom's favorite child (🐣) updates will be here 😈

over the next few days, you'd been spending more time at the newjeans dorm, discussing the "plan" in depth with minji, haerin, and hyein. whenever danielle and, you smiled, hanni, dropped by, you always just changed the topic and let them join the circle, leaving the discussion to be finished in the groupchat or the next day.

but hanni's schedules had slowed down, and she was at home more often. on the other hand, it was haerin and hyein's turn to be busy, leading to you and minji hanging out on your own.

it was clear that you and the taller girl had grown way closer since your first encounter, to the point that you could joke around with her with no repercussions or shame. this year's sketchbook was a gift from minji, and the first few pages were drawings of her as a show of courtesy from you.

minji was slowly becoming your best friend since moving to korea long-term. back in australia, you didn't have a best friend, just some people that would tolerate and get along with you. but you could really connect with the stupidly tall girl that reminded you of a bear.

naturally, neither you nor minji didn't think that hanni would pay any mind to your blooming friendship.

according to minji three days later, you were wrong.

"this is giving me deja vu," you grinned at hyein, who was currently fastening the straps of your climbing harness bought from the sports shop close to hyein's home.

she rolled her eyes, tapping your helmet. this time, there would (hopefully) be no injuries. or splinters... you hated splinters.

"i'm gonna go back to them, i'll let you know where we are so you can drop down with your," she gestured to the piece of cardstock which you decorated last night, "poster."

the ropes were checked for secureness for a seventh time, and you were assisted with being lowered down the side of the building before hyein descended the stairs and to the elevator which would take her to the second floor.

[||] hanni

"what's up with you and y/n?" hanni questioned minji. it's not like she was jealous, or anything. not of how minji got close to you faster than she did, and hanni was the one to spend a whole day with you, alone, with no interruptions before they even found out you were connected. not of how she could hear the two of you laughing away at night, sometimes even including hyein and haerin in your little hanging out sessions. not of how you flashed minji, not her, minji, your signature smile which made her heart go ten times faster, because she had gifted you with a new sketchbook to replace last year's.

okay, maybe she was jealous. just a little bit.

but it didn't help how you called her 'mj' so naturally, like you'd known her for years before. or how you always snuck off or changed the topic whenever hanni appeared, acting like you were talking about something else even though she knew you weren't.

"huh?" the taller girl stopped in front of the window at the end of one of the second floor corridors. hanni tutted, "it's like you're... you're dating! or something."

minji froze, mouth agape. that wasn't a good sign. but then she started laughing like a crazy woman, making hanni even more frustrated.

"we're not dating. i don't like anyone," she paused, a shit-eating grin slowly overtaking her face. hanni scowled. "what, were you jealous i'd steal away your c-r-u-s-h?"

she dodged hanni's punch to the shoulder, still laughing at the absurdity that was her friend's thoughts.

"but you guys are so close. and hang out all the time," hanni emphasized, making wild gestures in the air with her hands.

that would be a fair point. but to minji, letting her win would be the end of the world.

"that's because-"

"hey guys!" the sounds of three sets of footsteps became louder upon approaching the pair.

"hey, hyein. hey, haerin, danielle." minji greeted, turning to the window as if she were looking for something. haerin and hyein joined her from behind. 'what the fuck?'

"what are you guys doing?" danielle asked, trying to tiptoe to see over their shoulders. unfortunately, she couldn't get past the obstacles that were freakishly tall giants named lee hyein and kim minji.

sighing, she stepped back to face the vietnamese girl, with a pout. "oh yeah, what were you talking about? we watched you try to punch minji earlier."

"it wouldn't hurt to ask for a third opinion," she mused. "do you think there's something between y/n and minji?"

danielle's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "y/n and minji?"

"i mean... they do spend a lot of time together. but i don't think... she—minji i mean—likes y/n like that. actually, it also seems like y/n's got a different vibe to her when she's with minji, but it's not a romantic feeling-y one, you know?"

drats.

"there she is!" hyein shouted, pointing at something that hanni couldn't see from where she was.

haerin quietly dragged her by the hand to join them in looking at the thing hyein was pointing at and- was that you!?

hanging from a rope that did not look like it supported your weight, there you were, in all your glory, outside of the window holding a sign that hanni had to squint to read.

"what the heck," she pressed her hands into the glass. "why is she outside of the window? also, is that rope even secure? and," she was nudged by minji.

"read the sign, bro."

she grumbled but squinted more to make out the words on the paper. there were flowers painted onto it, with two stickfigures holding hands, and the letters written in bold...

"han, let me take U on a d8 <3" with two comically large exclamation marks following after. han? as in, her? hanni? hanni pham who you met two weeks ago? on a date? a date!

hanni was about to shout her answer until she realized you literally couldn't hear her, because there was a window separating you two, and the rope snapped.

the rope snapped! you just fell down the side of the building! what the hell!

next thing she knew she was running out the lobby and on her way to the hospital while the ambulance carried hyein and your unconscious body.

white walls. blinding lights. faint smell of disinfectant. it had been a while since the last time you landed in the hospital.

except you don't recall the absence of a cartoonish hygiene poster that was always visible immediately when you woke up. or the presence of another girl resting her head on the side of your bed topped with plain white sheets.

on the other side of the door, you could just barely hear two people conversing in korean.

that's right, you were in korea, not melbourne. and you'd fallen from the building after the rope holding you up had snapped.

you knew you were the definition of "fucked around and found out" but... holy shit, your body hurts like hell. looking down, you could see that your right leg was in a cast, and you were unable to move your upper body, feeling immense pain whenever you tried. to add on, there were many, many, bruises along your arms and from what you could see, your other, non-broken leg.

normally, your mother would barge in at this time, scolding you for doing something stupid again. but it wasn't "normally" today. a warm, wet sensation, a tear, rolled down your cheek. maybe it was the pain that finally triggered it, but it was the first time you cried since leaving your home for college.

"fuck," you murmured, lifting up your arm that wasn't occupied to wipe away the waterfall of tears that threatened to burst. in doing so, the girl holding onto your hand shifted. she scrunched her nose, wiping the sleep away from her eyes, and you could finally see her face. hanni. why was she here?

she stopped and stared at you for a moment before her eyes widened. "you're awake! you're- hold on, i'm- here's some water."

hanni helped you sit up, your upper body burning in pain, and you gulped the liquid down in seconds, gratefully handing the glass back to her.

"are you feeling okay?"

that was a good question. "i feel like shit."

she burst out in laughter, and you tried to as well, but ended up groaning in pain. damned body. you felt soothing rubs on your back from hanni, and you shot her an endearing smile. her actions made you feel all warm inside. like a cozy campfire on a cold, dark night.

"be careful," hanni chided, "you broke two of your ribs. and if you didn't know already, your leg too." that explained the extreme pain when you laughed.

you fell into a silence, getting lost in the girl's eyes before she coughed, blushing. "careful, can't have you falling before the first date."

breaking out into a dopey grin, you squeezed her hand. "i'm afraid i've already fallen."

"well then you better hurry up and get better so you can take me out on that date you promised, before you ended up here."

date? promised? the... the... what was it... you searched the depths of your sluggish mind, which was really hard considering you woke up five minutes ago.

sign. the... sign? oh, she saw it! the sign that you and hyein had stayed up making yesterday, to ask hanni out. it was a last minute thing, since you kept putting it off and forgot about it before last night.

a pair of lips pressed onto your cheek, but left as fast as they came. you snapped your head to hanni, touching the affected area with your palm.

without thinking, you surged forward and crashed your lips together, melting into a (not so) perfect kiss, but it sure felt perfect to you. hanni kissed back with even more fervor, hands tangled in your hair and leg moving in a slight crawl in an attempt to get closer to you without hurting you.

you pulled away, stupid smiles on both of your faces.

"you have no idea how long i've been wanting to do that," you said, sneaking in another peck on her lips.

"you have no idea how long i've been wanting to kiss you." she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

an idea popped up in your head after spotting your sketchbook on the table next to your hospital bed. you'd been wanting to paint her properly since the first time you drew her on the plane. "han, let me paint you. please? after i get discharged, whenever that is."

she blushed, blinking at you without saying a word. then, she pulled you into a short, but sweet kiss, and pulled away to plant a small kiss on top of your intertwined hands. you recalled minji saying something about hanni's strong distaste for kisses, but her behavior at the moment was contradicting minji's words.

"you'll have much more time to paint me, wherever, whenever you want."

you giggled, giving a squeeze to her hand. "does this mean i get sneak peeks of songs?"

"no."

"aw..."

"...maybe a little. just a little bit, because i like you so much."

you pumped your fist, whispering a "yes!" before she captured your lips in another passionate kiss.

"i like you a lot, too. more than painting. wait..."

"y/n!"

you, lee y/n, were a girl who could not get a girlfriend no matter what you tried. but on that fateful day, the day you met hanni, you only had the stars and fate to thank for letting you meet the love of your life.

10 hours, in the sky, let hanni pham wiggle her way into your life. and you had to say, it was a change for the better.

a/n : i'm finally done... THIS was hell to write let me tell you omg it's been in my drafts since early january GOODBYEE but now i can focus on all my other stuff so....... chaewon next! LOL (and also lovergirl pt. 2 i didn't forget i swear) thank you so much for reading 10 hour flight, sorry it's so long it wasn't supposed to be 😭 ily guys

#hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans #newjeans imagines #hanni pham #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #hanni pham newjeans #gxg

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missrosegold · 3 days

Text

someone new

Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.

He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.

Word count: 16K

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)

Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!

Title is from Someone New by Hozier

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.

It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.

A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.

He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:

He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.

It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.

It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)

He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.

He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.

That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.

For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.

That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.

Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.

He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.

Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)

He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.

The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.

The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.

It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.

The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.

His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.

He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.

Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.

And then he met you.

Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

-----

He remembers the first time he met you.

After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.

There he had started his rehabilitation.

It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.

In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.

Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.

He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.

Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.

He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.

Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.

He was more relieved than he thought he would be.

More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.

Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.

Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.

He remembers the day you met for the first time.

He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.

You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.

“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.

You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”

He sat.

He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.

A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.

He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.

You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.

A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”

You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”

“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”

That caught his attention.

“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.

He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.

He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.

He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.

“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”

That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.

“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”

You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.

“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”

“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”

“Of you? No.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”

That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.

“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.

You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”

He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.

“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”

“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”

He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.

“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”

You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”

It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.

He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.

You were lucky you were attractive.

The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Todoroki?”

“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.

“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”

You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.

“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust.

Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.

“So, what now then?”

“Now we talk I guess.”

“About what?”

“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”

Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.

“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”

To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”

That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.

“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.

Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”

He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”

He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”

You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.

For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.

He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.

He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.

True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.

He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.

You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.

There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.

Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.

In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.

He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.

“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”

“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”

It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”

“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”

For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you.

Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.

“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”

“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”

“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”

“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.

“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”

“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”

“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.

In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.

There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.

He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.

Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.

Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.

There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.

It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.

You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.

He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.

It had been nice. Comfortable, even.

He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.

“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.

“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”

It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.

He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”

“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”

You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.

At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.

Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.

It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.

When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.

The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him.

Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.

You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.

You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”

You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.

When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.

You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.

He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.

He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.

He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.

There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.

You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.

He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.

He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.

For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.

When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.

He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.

A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.

Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.

You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.

“You left.”

You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”

“Why did you go?”

You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”

You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.

“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”

You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”

He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”

He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”

For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”

“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.

“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”

“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”

“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”

Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”

You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.

“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”

That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.

He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.

What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.

Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.

“What do you want Touya?”

What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.

“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.

“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.

“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.

“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”

He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.

You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.

“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”

In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.

“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”

��I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”

A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”

You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.

“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”

He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”

You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”

He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:

“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”

You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”

“Oh. They not in the country, or—”

“We’ll go with that.”

Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”

You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”

He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.

“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”

“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.

The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.

“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.

In the end, you’d kept your promise.

It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.

Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.

You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.

“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.

He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.

Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.

Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:

He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.

The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.

His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.

The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.

His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.

“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”

You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.

“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”

“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.

To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.

His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.

“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”

The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.

He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.

Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:

He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.

He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.

He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.

He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood.

He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.

He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.

As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.

As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.

Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.

“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.

Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.

He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.

It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.

Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.

As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.

He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”

He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”

He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”

You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.

The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.

You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.

He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.

“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”

Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.

He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.

“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.

“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”

Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.

He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.

Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.

A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.

He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.

You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.

You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.

“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”

It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.

He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.

He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.

“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”

“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”

“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.

“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”

“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”

He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.

You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”

That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.

That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.

After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.

It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being.

All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.

For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.

While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.

He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—

-----

The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you.

He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:

His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.

He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.

It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.

His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.

Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.

He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.

He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.

He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.

Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.

He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.

If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.

He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.

He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.

He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.

He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.

He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.

Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily.

He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.

The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off. He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.

“You’re home early.”

You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”

He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”

You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”

“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”

You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.

The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.

“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.

“I really missed you; I mean.”

You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Mmmm.”

His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”

He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.

“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.

“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”

“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.

He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.

He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.

He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.

He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.

“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.

You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.

“Not today babe, let me do the work.”

He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.

“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”

“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”

He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.

The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.

He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.

He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”

“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”

Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.

He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.”

“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.

“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.

“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.

“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”

He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.

“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”

He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him.

“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.

“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”

“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”

“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”

“You weren’t so bad.�� You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”

“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.

“I’m crazy remember?”

“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”

You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.

“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.

“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:

“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”

“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.

“No, you were better.”

He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”

“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.

“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”

He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.

He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.

You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.

“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”

FIN

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x y/n #touya x you #post war!au #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya todoroki x reader smut #tw: mental health #see a03 for more detailed tags

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vimeddiart · 8 months

Text

I DREW MY OC TOAST AAAAAA

The folks at XPPen sent me the XPPen Deco Pro (Gen 2):

XPPen is having its 18th anniversary, and is celebrating with sales and product promos, so it's worth checking those out.

My thoughts on the tablet (and purchase links) under the cut!

⭐ Review ⭐

First impressions: After unboxing the tablet, I thought it sleek and professional-looking, especially after setting it up with my PC.

The remote I LOVED right out of the box because I enjoy fiddling with buttons and wheels. The keys are super satisfying to press.

The pen and storage case are nicely complete, lots of spare nibs to switch out (though I mainly stuck to the default nib while drawing, the textured ones have a nice gritty feel similar to paper).

I had some troubleshooting when I started, as connecting to Bluetooth wasn't happening with either the tablet or the remote. I tested the Bluetooth connection with a different device and my phone successfully, but couldn't with my work PC. I was promptly helped by XPPen Support, and it turned out to be a Windows update messing things up, so I uninstalled it and Boom; I could connect both the tablet and remote, no problem. Up until then, I used both via cable, which was a convenient option!

The tablet: The XL model at 15 x 9 inches, with plenty of space to work (although you'll need space to put it, luckily I have a lot of desk to spare), and can connect via cable or Bluetooth. It also looks so dang pretty.

The tablet was so smooth, and the pressure (16k pressure levels) felt amazing to draw with. After fiddling around with the pen settings, I barely had to press down to get a nice flowy line.

I usually work on a screen tablet, so it took some getting used to returning to a pen tablet and looking at my PC screen again, but it came back to me quickly. It actually helped my posture, as I tend to shrimp-curl over my screen tablet while working.

As lovely as it was to work on, I feel this size may be too large for me, despite it being perfectly proportional to my PC screen. I like to draw quickly, and I noticed myself making more effort to travel over the surface of the tablet and tiring my arm out faster than usual. I needed to take more breaks and stretch often, although I could classify that as positive. That said, this tablet has a sloped resting area that helped. All my drawing tablets have been medium-sized, so I'm probably just conditioned to that surface area.

The battery lasted as long as it took to draw this piece and more! I didn't need to charge it the entire time.

The remote: I love this thing so much. It has ten shortcut keys and a wheel you can configure to your heart's desire. Five sets of key functions!!! That's fifty shortcuts!! I only configured four sets and struggle to memorise them, but it's very convenient. I have my keyboard right next to the tablet and would bang out shortcuts there, but this remote changed my life.

I've been using it for a month now, and it still hasn't needed charging!

The pen: Comfy to use, with a design I was already accustomed to, and one thing I noticed was that the nib wasn't scratching the heck out of the tablet. After all the drawing I did with it, not a single mark.

I LOVE popping the case open to retrieve or store the pen, and it's one of those physical things that I find satisfying and so rare with digital products. I thought it would be nice to have a pen stand too, but I have pet birds that will (and have) run away with my tablet pens, so a storage case is a strong solution.

Final thoughts: This is a solid tablet with the potential to become an essential tool for industry professionals and freelancers. I didn't think I could be convinced out of a screen tablet, but I was offered a super strong contender. I can confidently recommend it, plus my experience with support was a positive one that boosted my trust in the brand. Overall, I had a great time using this tablet and really appreciate the opportunity I've been given to try it out!

⭐ Purchase links ⭐

US Walmart Store

CA official store

#mine #xppen #review #toast

346 notes · View notes

sanjisboyfie · 4 months

Text

one piece smau: dating sabo edition

liked by sabosbf, kokoala, and 10k others

[name]sblondie: this is exactly why im always late to work

tagged: sabosbf and d.dragon

sabosbf: DONT TAG YOUR BOSS????? HES GONNA FUCKING KILL ME??????

-> kokoala: LMFAOAOOA

-> sabosbf: i'm fuckin scared what is going on koala

d.dragon: This is hardly an acceptable reason to be late to work, Sabo.

-> [name]sblondie: boohoo just say youre sad and single

-> divaiva: SABO you're so dead.

freeluffy: cuddling is worth it

[liked by d.dragon, kokoala, and 200 others]

-> kokoeala: just heard dragon-san gasp in his office hold on u might be saved

-> [name]sblondie: thankgodthankgodthankgod

-> freeluffy: huh?

liked by [name]sblondie, divaiva, and 18k others

sabosbf: he's urethral guys idk

tagged: [name]sblondie

[name]sblondie: i think you're urethral too baby

-> sabosbf: i love u i knew u would get my humor

-> [name]sblondie: of course i would my love <333

portgasace: no fucking way u two are real

dni_nami: something is telling me theres something wrong with the caption, but lemme not

-> sabosbf: what's wrong with it :0?

-> dni_nami: ....

divaiva: u two are the cutest (please change that caption, i'm telling you this out of the kindess of my heart)

[liked by kokoala, portgasace, and 140 others]

-> [name]sblondie: my boyfriends caption is perfectly fine

liked by [name]sblondie, sabosbf, and 19k others

portgasace: barfed in my mouth i hate them

tagged: [name]sblondie and sabosbf

[name]sblondie: be nice to ur brother in law damn

-> freeluffy: [NAME] IS OUR BROTHER IN LAW NOW !?!?!?!?

-> [name]sblondie: future* brother in law my bad

-> freeluffy: booooo :(

sabosbf: yeah i hate u too ace, the only rzn u ever go out w us is so u can leech off our wallets

-> portgasace: thats a fuckign lie asshole

-> sabosbf: BROKE ASS

[liked by [name]sblondie, freeluffy, and 100 others]

boahancock: luffy's brother and luffy's brothers boyfriend are so cute <3

-> [name]sblondie: damn she don't even know our names

-> portgasace: professional luffy dickrider (for some rzn)

kokoala: my favorite gays <3333

-> [name]sblondie: ?????

-> sabosbf: thank u koala ;)

-> [name]sblondie: ???????

liked by sabosbf, portgasace, and 20k others

[name]sblondie: guys do u think he loves spiderman more than me

tagged: sabosbf

sabosbf: if peter parker hit my line, im sorry

-> [name]sblondie: ????????

sabosbf: his theme song is my ringtone for u so i guess it connects?

-> [name]sblondie: YOU GUESS???

-> sabosbf: that just means ur my spiderman baby >///<

-> [name]sblondie: DONT TRY TWISTING THIS IN A COMPLIMENTARY WAY U JUS CONFIRMED THAT IM UR SECOND CHOICE

kokoala: spiderman >>>> any other man

-> sabosbf: u get me koala ughhh

portgasace: good taste [name], gooooddd tasteee

-> sabosbf: hehe

-> [name]sblondie: WHAT THE FUCK????????? STOP FLIRTING WITH OTHER MEN RIGHT NOW???

liked by [name]sblondie, divaiva, and 16k others

sabosbf: got jumpscared by this pic in my cameraroll pls someone buy this guy brown contacts

tagged: [name]sblondie

[name]sblondie: me looking at u when u wake up 🧿🧿

-> sabosbf: its ok babe jus please maybe think about blinking a little bit longer

kokoala: cannot hold a conversation with him without feeling like hes thinking about murdering me

-> portgasace: what i said

divaiva: nooo you'd ruin his natural beauty :<

-> [name]sblondie: thank u iva <3

-> [name]sblondie: YOU JUST VENMOED ME 40 BUCKS WITH THE MSG "listen to [name]" ???

-> sabosbf: LMFOAOA babe don't actually buy contacts i love ur eyes theyre pretty :3

d.dragon: They are quite terrifying.

[liked by kokoala, divaiva, and 90 others]

liked by sabosbf, kokoala, and 19k others

[name]sblondie: boyfriend appreciation post because even though hes got a weird sense of humor, hes still mine (...i guess)

tagged: sabosbf

sabosbf: HEHEHE he loves meeeeee

sabosbf: ok why that ugly ass photo of me as the second one what the hell is wrong w u u just hate me

sabosbf: I LOVE U SABO, LOVE UUU

-> [name]sblondie: love u too handosme (...i guess)

-> sabosbf: STOP WITH THE I GUESS i'd choose u over peter parker anyday baby pleaseee

portgasace: not [name] picking up on me and luffy's appetite too

[liked by kokoala, [name]sblondie, and 100 others]

-> freeluffy: bigger appetite is the best appetite !

sabosbf's story

RESTRAIN ME??? MY SEXY BOYFRIEDN IN MENSWEAR HOLY SHIT IM CREAMINNNNGGGG

[name]sblondie replied to your story: u shouldve told me sooner, i'll wear them more often now just for u babe ;)

#≡;- ꒰ ° smau series ꒱#one piece smau #one piece modern au #one piece x male reader #x reader #x male reader #one piece imagines #sabo x male reader #sabo male reader #male reader #sabo #sabo imagines #male reader imagines #one piece male reader #sabo x reader #sabo reader

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gimmethatagustd · 2 years

Text

paint me naked | jjk

After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

» pairing: artist!jungkook x f!reader (ft. taehyung) » genre: BTS, 18+, college au, fluff, smut, angst » warnings: alcohol, marijuana, brief mention of drug dealing, fingering, cunnilingus, protected sex, reader struggles with self-esteem issues (due to misogyny), tae fuckboy antics, everyone is obsessed with jk’s thighs 😂 » date/wc: april 2022 | 16k » notes: this one was really fun to write! i’m a slut for art student aus tbh. it’s the depressed writer in me lkhsdks 😂 anywayy, the poems were written by me as well. let me know what your favorite part was in a comment or reblog! special shoutout to @jjkeverlast for being so supportive of me when i’m stressing out about my writing

» masterlist | ao3 | send me ur thots 👅

» what was jai listening to? paint me naked - ten // don’t - bryson tiller

“Jungkook, I don’t think this is gonna work.”

“Let me try.”

Your eyes strained to see the boy standing in front of you, but the room was pitch black. It was good, though. You’d purposefully blocked out as much light as you possibly could. It had been a surprisingly difficult feat, mostly because the two of you hadn’t thought this through very well. A rolled up towel was shoved against the bottom of the bedroom door to keep the light from the hallway out. Blackout curtains had already been drawn over the windows when you got there, so that made the window problem easier. Luckily, you’d remembered to unplug the digital clock sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, the last piece of light you could have some control over putting out.

To make things weirder, you were in Jungkook’s parents’ room.

“It’s the darkest room in the house!” he’d insisted and you hadn’t objected because, well, it seemed on brand for the way the entire night was going.

With arms stretched out, your fingers pressed into something bumpy and hard. You could hear Jungkook’s breathing beside you and a light laugh alerted to you that he was much closer than you’d initially thought. After a quick prod, fingers gliding slightly upward, you realized you were grabbing his abdomen. The hard ripples you’d felt were his toned abs beneath his thin t-shirt.

“Sorry,” you whispered, though there was no need to be quiet. Jungkook’s hands wrapped around yours and took the objects you had clutched between them: scissors and an undeveloped film roll.

Drawing your hands back to your side, you waited in silence. The sound of metal scraping against plastic was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet rustle of wind blowing through leaves outside. You don’t think you’d ever felt silence before until that moment. It was electric, a pulsing sizzle that sparked up your fingertips and jolted into your heart as you stood beside Jungkook. The harmony your breathing had fallen into made the moment feel far more intimate than you’d expected. Why was standing in the dark with someone so intimate?

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered, and you heard what you imagined was him stabbing the scissors into the film.

“Oh my god, please don’t cut yourself, okay? I don’t know where the hospital is from here.”

His only response was another quiet laugh and you knew from the sound that his nose was doing that scrunched up thing that it always did when he was making fun of you. After only a few months of knowing Jungkook he was certainly very comfortable teasing you. He was pretty comfortable with you in general, you were beginning to realize.

And why were you here? Standing in the dark with a boy you barely knew from a shared university class, one who towered over you in height as well as being much larger than you physically. Trying to pop open film because Jungkook somehow thought you could actually develop this film without having access to a real darkroom. Sure, all throughout high school you’d taken film photography classes. You had the development process memorized by heart, from the length of time the film needed to soak to the different types of chemicals needed and what order you were supposed to submerge the prints in. You’d even emailed your old high school teacher to double check.

But doing all of that in Jungkook’s parents’ house? You knew it wasn’t going to work, but the guy had insisted on you helping him. Was it concerning that he had all these chemicals stored in a plastic tub in his closet? Maybe. And was it the safest decision to use scissors to pop open the film instead of the proper tool (which Jungkook had forgotten to order off of Amazon in advance)? Absolutely not.

On top of that, no one knew where you were; you’d simply told your roommates that you were going to hang out with the guy from your university poetry class.

“Jungkook? The weird one with all the tattoos and piercings?” Your roommate, Amiriah, had asked.

“He’s not that weird.”

“Y/N, he wrote a poem about eating pussy for a class assignment. You said so yourself. Please tell me how that’s a normal thing to do.”

“And didn’t he have to read it outloud to the class because he turned it in late?” Now it was time for Courtney to pipe in from her position lounging on the couch, an episode of Love Connection paused on the TV screen.

“Okay, yes, he did do both those things. But I swear he’s actually really sweet. He’s just misunderstood.”

Courtney had launched a pillow at you, though the object zoomed past your head and landed against the refrigerator, knocking down multiple of Amiriah’s magnets. Much to her dismay.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to reality, or at least some semblance of it. You couldn’t understand how someone could have such a soft voice. Listening to Jungkook speak was like floating on a cloud. His cadence was a gentle caress against your skin, a sound that could easily flutter your eyes and lull you to sleep. It didn’t matter what he was saying; everything sounded better coming from Jungkook’s mouth.

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you. A few moments and a bit of shuffling later, the lights sprung on. Your eyes instantly shut and slowly pried open again from the blaring brightness.

The poor film looked like it had been mauled by a bear, but it was still somehow intact. Jungkook slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping and turned to look at you. He had this thing about eye contact that really made you uncomfortable. When he met your gaze, he looked straight into your eyes, as if he was looking into you rather than at you.

“Do you want a drink?”

His question caught you off guard, but he was already picking up the towel from the floor to open the bedroom door. Without answering, you followed him through the house and into the kitchen. You stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of you, eyes following his large frame navigating the kitchen cabinets.

“All my parents have is rosé, is that okay?”

He uncorked the chilled bottle and poured each of you a glass. Then he did something that your roommates could add to the list of weird things they'd developed for him.

He sat on the floor.

You stared at him with your lips slightly parted, unsure if you were supposed to follow him. There was an entire kitchen table with multiple chairs. Why was he sitting on the floor with his back leaned against the doorframe? Bottle of rosé sitting on the tile next to him. He looked up at you with impossibly soft doe eyes and you couldn’t just stand there with your glass. So, you slowly sank to the floor, your shoulders brushing against each other as you sat next to him.

“Y’know, I just realized the film you have is color film.” You spoke slowly, hating that you were about to burst his bubble. “You wouldn’t be able to develop it at home, anyway. The chemicals you bought are for black and white film, and color film has to be developed using heat.”

“Damn.” Jungkook tipped his head back to take a very deep drink of his wine.

“We gave a valiant effort, though.” You flashed him a small smile and the grin you got in return made your face grow hot.

Your roommates weren’t really wrong. Jungkook didn’t have the best reputation on your university campus. There were rumors that he sold drugs (marijuana and acid, specifically) and had gang affiliations. He was quiet, kept to himself, and didn’t seem to have a whole lot of friends aside from a few guys who were equally just as questionable. Yes, you knew he’d gotten arrested the day before spring break started for getting into a fight with a guy on campus, but based on what your friends had told you, it was definitely the other guy’s fault.

You’d also heard he had great head game, but that was a whole other thing. You just had a really hard time believing all the bad things people said about him, even when he’d admitted to a lot of the rumors being true.

“A gang tried to recruit me when I was fresh outta high school, but I like selling on my own. Can’t trust people for shit.”

He’d said it so casually, and you wondered what was wrong with you for finding a conversation about dealing drugs attractive.

The thing your roommates, and a lot of other people, didn’t understand was that there was more to Jungkook than whatever dumb rumors got spread around (real or not). He was an exceptional writer. His poetry weaved in elements of hip hop, almost sounding like eloquent and lyrical rap lyrics rather than your typical stuffy poem that other students in your class tried to pass off as profound. He didn’t shy away from writing about mental health, sex, relationships, and loss. Everything he put down was raw, and you liked that it made other people in the class uncomfortable. Jungkook wasn’t afraid to be himself. Wasn’t that what art was supposed to be all about?

And he was artistic in every way. Not only did he write well, but he was obviously into photography, and he also dabbled in multimedia sculpture. But the most impressive was probably his paintings. You’d seen the work he’d posted on Instagram, and during one of your hangouts he’d told you about how he’d been commissioned by the city to work on a public mural with another local artist.

Very few people knew these things about Jungkook. They saw the tattoos, the piercings, the occasional blunt wedged between his lips, and they painted him in a way that was so distorted it annoyed you.

“Thanks for helping me, though. I appreciate you.”

You bit your bottom lip into your mouth to suppress another smile, instead opting to simply nod your head and cover up any expression by taking a drink.

At this point, the two of you had been hanging out at least once a week. Usually you just sat outside on his parents’ front porch and smoked and talked about life. His parents seemed to always be out of town, and although Jungkook lived across the hall from you in the university dorms, he stayed at his parents’ house a lot to take care of their dog.

It felt weird, though, hanging out with Jungkook. It was like all your interactions could only happen during those moments; otherwise, he didn’t talk to you when you saw him around campus. Even in your advanced poetry class, he would lock eyes with you across the room, but he never said a word.

And it didn’t help that he was best friends and roommates with Kim Taehyung, the campus casanova who’d fucked you like you were the only girl in the world for an entire semester until you saw him cuddled up at a party with some other girl who didn’t even go to your university. The next day he was standing at your dorm asking for his skateboard back, weaving some lie about how summer break was the time to be single and have fun, but that he would “never forget” the fun times you'd had.

Then Taehyung got a girlfriend.

So maybe you were a little bit bitter over how things ended with Taehyung (and maybe you’d spent the entire summer crying yourself to sleep at night and aimlessly scrolling through Tinder, looking for anyone who might replace him and finding nothing). But the worst part was knowing that Taehyung had probably talked to Jungkook about you, and you had no idea what he might have said.

“Hopefully the film is still okay,” you said after a moment, trying to pull yourself out of the cyclical negative thoughts you were often consumed by.

You finished your glass, shaking your head at Jungkook’s offer for more rosé. He nodded, pushing himself up to stand and reached out to take your empty glass.

You watched him from the floor as he washed the glasses in the sink. Your eyes lingered just a bit too long on the way his forearm muscles flexed while he cleaned, a few veins popping out along the back of his hands and the inside of his arm. Tattoos and piercings hadn’t ever been your thing, not that you didn’t appreciate the allure of body modifications. You’d just found yourself going after boys who looked polished, good boys to take home to mom. Jungkook had been the one to initiate your friendship, asking to hang out while you worked on your poems or read the many poetry collections due for class. You’d be a liar if you said his sudden interest in you hadn’t sparked your own interest in him.

Just one glass of wine was enough to make you a bit lightheaded, and Jungkook was a heavy pourer, apparently.

“You good?”

You blinked and stared into Jungkook’s face. He was drying off his hands now, watching you with an amused look on his face.

“Umm, yeah. Just a lightweight,” you said with a breathy laugh that sounded a little too forced for your liking. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice.

“You wanna go to my studio with me? The one on campus?”

You looked down at your phone, a few text messages popping up from your roommates demanding to know where you were. Swiping to clear the notifications, you looked up at Jungkook and gave him a small smile.

“Sure.”

“That thing so fire baby, no propane. Got good pussy, girl, can I be frank? To keep it 100, girl, I ain't no saint.”

Music came blaring out of the car’s speakers at an alarmingly high volume, causing you to exhale a startled shout. Jungkook quickly lunged to turn down the volume and accidentally honked the car’s horn when his shoulder leaned against the steering wheel.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Talk about fucking sensory overload, fuck,” you mumbled, heart still dazed in your chest.

“It was actually nice outside for once. I was whippin’ with the windows down, so the music’s gotta be louder.”

All he was getting from you was rolled eyes and the sound of your seatbelt clicking into place.

Jungkook turned around to look over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. He grabbed onto the back of your seat to position himself; once again, you found yourself eyeing his arms, exploring the exposed tattoos. It kind of pissed you off how hot it was when guys drove backwards. What was evolutionarily advantageous about that attraction?

“If you wanna change it, I got a couple CDs.”

Jungkook motioned to the middle console. You flipped through them, finding the album that was currently playing. You’d recognize it anywhere; he was one of your favorite musicians.

“Bryson Tiller?” You turned the CD case over in your hand, eyes scanning the tracklist on the back. “You listen to sex music while you drive? And off a CD instead of Bluetooth, no less?”

Jungkook barked out a laugh, all teeth and crinkled eyes that you could just barely make out as the streetlights streaked over his face.

“Yeah, I guess I do. You got a problem with Bryson?” His fingers lazily tapped against the steering wheel to the relaxed beat of Don’t - which happened to be your favorite song on the album. “This car is twenty-one years old. You’re lucky we’re not sitting here listening to cassettes.”

“Who doesn’t like Bryson Tiller? That’s the baby-making music of our generation,” you said with a laugh. “Honestly, I can’t believe this song came out in fuckin’ 2015. Why does that feel like such a long time ago?”

Jungkook sat in the driver’s seat with his legs spread as much as possible; this position was what had made you realize just how thick and nice his thighs really were. Plus, he drove with one hand on top of the steering wheel, left elbow bent slightly. He usually let his right hand rest against his thigh, though sometimes he held onto the gear shift in between the two of you.

There was rarely any traffic in your college town, and especially not at 10pm on a Tuesday night. The two of you fell silent, Bryson Tiller’s soulful lyrics swirling through the car in the absence of conversation. Jungkook was typically a man of few words. You’d grown accustomed to carrying the conversation. With most people, that would have bothered you, but with Jungkook it was different. You knew he was paying attention when you talked; you could see it in the way the corners of his mouth twitched when you said something dorky (which was, apparently, all the time).

And when he did have something to say, it was always worth the wait.

“You’ve got good taste,” Jungkook said after driving a few blocks. “Guess I should probably add him to my sex playlist.”

Before you had time to process his comment Jungkook was pulling into the east parking lot of your university, the part of campus that was off to the side and only held art-related facilities.

He led you to an unmarked backdoor of the building closest to the parking lot. Pushing the door open, he held it for you with a sweep of his hand.

“Ladies first, noona.”

Scowling at the honorific, you still obliged, entering a long hallway. The walls were bare, just an eggshell white, a few black scuff marks here and there, as if someone had been carrying something large and struggled to fit it through the narrow space. Jungkook maneuvered past you to lead the way to another unmarked door.

The studio was a lot larger than you expected. One side of the room had a large rack of painted canvases to dry. You turned to inspect the left side of the room, finding multiple easels with additional canvases of varying sizes, most blank or seemingly half-finished. A rather worn-looking couch was placed in the middle of the room. Beside it was a coffee table and a Bluetooth speaker. (So Jungkook did know about modern technology.) Paint-covered tarps protected much of the concrete floor, and there were paint buckets and other supplies scattered in every corner. The entire room was pure chaos, but it seemed like there was an organization to it that only Jungkook knew.

“So… yeah. This is my studio.” Jungkook closed the door behind you and locked it.

Your heart skipped a beat at his action, but you swallowed down the spike of fear that had threatened to bubble up inside of you. You’d spent plenty of alone time with Jungkook. There was nothing to worry about.

“I had to practically beg the school to let me have my own space since I’m not an art major, but they eventually let up,” Jungkook continued with a shrug.

You were impressed, honestly. Jungkook wasn’t known for being the most reliable student academically; it was surprising they’d given him such privileges.

“I like it,” you said simply, eyes still roaming the space. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now. Studio art wasn’t really your thing, poetry was.

Luckily, Jungkook had a knack for reading your mind.

“You can sit on the couch if you want. I got a project due tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna work on it. But if you wanna paint, just lemme know.” He scrolled through his phone as he spoke, and eventually more R&B music started playing from the speaker.

“Tomorrow morning? JK, it’s fucking 10:30.”

You stared at him with your head tilted to the side in disbelief, but you were only met with another shrug and a grin. Living on the edge. King of Procrastination, Jeon Jungkook. You were already getting secondhand stress.

With a quiet hum to himself as the music took over, it was clear to you that Jungkook had switched to his serious side. He began prepping one of his easels with various paint brushes and paints. Dragging a heavy-looking but small filing cabinet next to the easel, he used the surface to store his supplies while he worked.

You flopped onto the couch, adjusting so you could have a clear view of Jungkook. He looked cute in his jeans and black hoodie, a blunt pencil tucked behind his ear. His lips pouted slightly as he planned what he was going to do with his painting. Occasionally the pencil would be plucked from his ear and a few sketches appeared on the canvas, too light for you to see what they were from your position on the couch.

The vibration of your phone tore your eyes away from Jungkook’s figure. It was no surprise that your roommate group text was blowing up.

Courtnayyy 😘 [10:00] BITCH WHERE ARE YOU

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:01] pls tell me the weirdo didn’t murder u

Courtnayyy 😘 [10:04] If he did can I have your Mac Miller poster?

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:15] court how tf would she approve of that if she’s dead? she ain’t gonna see this shit

Courtnayyy 😘 [10:18] Ouija board

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:25] stfu 🔫

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:25] Y/N you better answer ur fucking phone right now

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:40] hellooooooooooooooooooo

You let out a sigh loud enough for Jungkook to look over at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“My roommates think you killed me.”

Jungkook grinned and turned back to his easel with a shake of his head. You’d expected him to say something, but then the reminder that Jungkook was… unconventional slithered into your mind.

[10:45] I’m alive. Can you pls stop blowing up my phone now? 💀

Courtnayyy 😘 [10:46] FUCKING FINALLY

A Mili Amiriah 👑 [10:47] what are you doing??

[10:50] We’re just hanging out at his studio. I’ll probably leave soon

You tossed your phone next to you on the couch and lifted your arms into the air to stretch. It was rather warm in the studio and the smooth music of whatever playlist Jungkook had on was making you feel sleepy. What kind of lame college student were you?

“I was serious about what I said.” Jungkook didn’t look at you while he painted, too focused on mixing the right shade of brown.

“About what?”

“You can paint if you want. All the paint and brushes are in the cabinet.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyes flitting from the filing cabinet next to Jungkook to the easel off to the side with a blank canvas. What if whatever you painted looked like shit? You had no idea what you were doing.

But when did you ever get to paint in your adult life?

Pushing yourself off the couch you approached Jungkook to start rummaging in the drawers for supplies. You were stopped in your tracks, however, the moment your eyes landed on his painting. Considering that much time hadn’t passed, Jungkook was far along in his work. You came face to face with a woman, or at least the naked body of a woman. She was painted in soft earthy tones, curves accentuated by what looked like a gold silk ribbon that wrapped around her. The painting was certainly abstract because she was missing a head and her limbs weren’t finished, but just having her strong torso and thighs, and a long regal neck, somehow made her feel complete.

“That’s beautiful, JK. She looks so realistic… How can you do all those little details so quickly?” You spoke quietly, desperately wishing you could touch the canvas.

“Painting nudity is easy.” Another classic Jungkook shrug. “That’s why it’s so overdone. There’s nothing more beautiful than humans in their purest state, right? We’re the original art.”

You would have never considered nudity to be pure, but you liked Jungkook’s analysis. Society saw nudity as all about sex. Despite his depiction of breasts and genitalia, Jungkook’s painting was a reflection and appreciation of a body.

You wondered if it was anyone’s body in particular.

The thought soured your mood a bit, and you quickly returned your focus to finding the supplies you needed. Satisfied, you took up the easel beside Jungkook. What the fuck were you going to paint? Especially now that you had this beautiful work blooming next to you.

“Don’t think about it so much. Just go for it.”

There was Jungkook reading your mind again.

You weren’t sure how much time passed with the two of you working silently. At first you’d considered doing something abstract, but eventually you felt compelled to do something a bit more realistic. You’d retrieved your phone (ignoring your roommates’ texts again) to pull up a photo for reference as you painted.

After a while Jungkook lifted his finished painting and carried it to the rack to dry. By the time he had completed his painting, you were putting your final touches on yours - one that was far more simplistic. You found it entertaining, though.

“Who is that?”

You’d been so absorbed in getting those final details perfected that you hadn’t noticed Jungkook standing right behind you. You jumped slightly and that elicited a chuckle from the boy.

“It’s a portrait of Bad Bunny.” Your greatest celebrity crush.

“He’s cute. You did a good job considering you looked so scared to start.” His comment left your cheeks burning. You’d hoped it hadn’t been so obvious, but Jungkook was too observant for his own good (and for yours, too). “Maybe I should hire you as my assistant.”

“Thanks. It’s not as good as yours, though.”

Jungkook waved you off and the action made him realize he had a good amount of paint on his hands. Rather than find a towel, he simply rubbed his hands against his thighs. You watched him, eyes lingering on the way his thighs stretched the tight material of his jeans. Looking up to return to his face you were met with a smirk. You were doing a real shitty job at being subtle, apparently.

You chose not to say anything and focused your attention on finishing your painting, not wanting Jungkook to be waiting for you longer than he needed to. He sat down on the couch, now distracted by his phone.

“So,” you spoke as you lifted up your finished painting, following Jungkook’s instructions to put it on the drying rack. “What was the inspiration for your painting?”

Was it a bold question? You were trying to play it off like you weren’t going to cling to whatever his answer was.

Jungkook patted the space next to him to encourage you to sit down. Once you were sitting next to him, your body turned slightly to face him, Jungkook leaned forward. His face was mere inches from yours and you could feel his breath tickle your cheek. He watched you with those brown doe eyes, such an innocent feature on an otherwise devious-looking face. The smirk that formed on his lips strongly contrasted the sweetness of his eyes.

Jungkook’s tongue poked out to play with his lip ring before he answered your question. It was impossible to look away from his lips, and you thought you felt your heart stop.

“The deadline.”

The smirk grew deeper as he pulled away, running a hand through his hair. You were more than disappointed, feeling yourself deflate and finally realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your shoulders slumped slightly, but you managed to mask the reason for your disappointment by pretending you were disappointed in him.

“Boy, you need to work on your assignments earlier so you can come up with something good,” you huffed, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Was it not good?” He grinned, a cocky twinkle in his eyes, no longer doe-shaped but narrowed in mirth. “Come on, let me drop you off. It’s almost 2.”

“Fuck, I have an 8am.”

With a quick check on your phone you saw that it was indeed almost 2am. How had you spent almost four hours in the studio without realizing it? Nevermind the fact that you’d spent another three or four hanging out with Jungkook before you’d even gotten to the studio.

“I’d skip if I was you.”

Jungkook led you through the art building and to his car, making sure that the music didn’t startle you half to death when he started the car this time.

“Unlike you, I’m a good student, thanks.”

It wasn’t a terrible dig because you knew Jungkook enough to know he didn’t give a shit. All he’d do was give you a small smile and melt your heart with the confusion of how it was possible for someone to look both so soft and so dangerous.

Your dorm was on the other side of campus, so the drive over was quick. But rather than drop you off at the sidewalk, Jungkook pulled into the parking lot, much to your surprise.

“I thought you were staying over at your parents’?”

Jungkook kept the car running, but he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back in his chair.

“Me and Tae are gonna go smoke. I got this new strain of indica we wanna try.”

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, instead facing forward to peer out the window. Once he brought up weed, you realized you could smell the remnants of weed smoke in Jungkook’s car, partially masked by air freshener.

At the mention of Jungkook’s roommate you felt your stomach drop. The feeling was only intensified when you followed Jungkook’s gaze to see a figure with long legs and broad shoulders make their way down the sidewalk, heading right in your direction. You felt ice shoot through your veins and panic settle into your chest.

“Oh,” you squeaked out. You needed to escape, but you couldn’t force your hands to unbuckle yourself and open the door.

“Do you wanna come with us?” Jungkook took your lack of movement as a desire to get high.

You looked at Jungkook with an open mouth, but nothing came out. And even if you could speak, Taehyung was already flinging the car door open.

“Oh, shit, Y/N. I didn’t even see you there.” Taehyung leaned against the car door, eyes sweeping over your small figure as you attempted to look as relaxed as possible.

Did he lick his lips or were you just imagining that?

“Want me to sit in the back?”

Taehyung leaned down so he could poke his head into the car and talk to Jungkook right over you. The position gave you a perfect view of his neck and his collarbones peeking out from beneath the silk button-up shirt he was wearing, the first few buttons undone as usual. His cologne smelled like cedar and you could faintly smell something fruity, likely the strawberry-flavored vape he smoked.

All of that was enough to send you mentally screaming into the void.

“ThanksJungkookIgottago,” you sputtered, doing your best not to touch Taehyung as you moved around him to get out.

“Y/N!”

You ignored Jungkook’s call, not daring to look back. Despite your exhaustion you took the stairs two at a time until you made it to your dorm, nearly dropping your keys as you unlocked the door. The kitchen and living room were dark, so you knew your roommates were asleep - or at least in their own rooms. You didn’t even bother to do your nighttime routine, opting to strip down to your underwear and collapse into your bed face-first.

Darkness and silence brought you no solitude; quite honestly, they had the opposite effect. All you had in your head was Taehyung’s face… in your ears, his voice… in your nostrils, his smell.

Groaning, you flipped onto your back and grabbed your phone to put on your favorite thunderstorm white noise playlist. In the middle of picking the perfect sound, your phone buzzed with a text.

Jungkook (Poetry) [2:15] you good?

You bit your lip, not wanting to leave him hanging so late, but also knowing if you went down this rabbithole you’d never fall asleep.

[2:16] I’m fine

Your phone vibrated almost immediately, but you forced yourself to put it away. Whatever Jungkook had to say could wait until the morning. Or until never, because right now you never wanted to speak to another human ever again.

Jungkook (Poetry) [2:16] you don’t have to lie to me

Jungkook (Poetry) [3:02] lying destroys our intrinsic value as human beings by corrupting our ability to make rational choices and have free will

Jungkook (Poetry) [3:03] immanuel kant said that

You didn’t realize you’d be hit with a philosophical lecture the moment you woke up, but then you remembered that Jungkook had gone smoking with Taehyung. The two of them got all philosophical when they were high, as if they really could achieve some kind of superior knowledge.

They were idiots.

“Oh my god, when the fuck did you get home last night?”

Anyone speaking that loud and harshly so early in the morning was an assailant. You glared at Courtney, brushing past her to get to the bathroom. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the girl stayed outside the bathroom door as she waited for you to finish.

“It was definitely after 1am ‘cause that’s when we went to bed,” she kept on talking even when you turned the shower on. “What could you guys have possibly been doing that whole time? Did you hook up?”

“No.”

“What?” Courtney strained to hear you over the sound of the high-pressure water.

“I said, no!”

It was ridiculous that you were standing there, rubbing your naked body down with lavender exfoliating soap, while you discussed your alleged hook up with a guy you barely knew.

You thanked the Lord Almighty that your schedule didn’t line up with your roommates on Wednesdays, or else you would have had to suffer Courtney and Amiriah’s interrogations the whole day.

Instead you sleepily dragged yourself through two morning classes and a work shift at the university library before you’d eventually have to face Jungkook head-on.

Your Advanced Poetry class was small enough that all the students could sit around a large table together. The small, intimate class size made it easier for collaboration and made workshops feel a bit less ruthless. You’d gotten to the point that you could read anonymous poems from each of your classmates and know exactly who wrote what. You were like a little family who met every Wednesday evening for two hours and poured your thoughts, dreams, fears, and goals into each other with every written piece. This class was going to be what broke your heart when the semester was over; you could already feel yourself missing it.

“Alright, y’all, we’re going to workshop the imitation poems from the exercise last week.”

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. Whatever else Professor Mendez was saying didn’t compute; she sounded like she was speaking underwater and all you could do was shift your eyes to look at Jungkook across the table from you. You hadn’t expected him to be already looking at you nor for him to hold your gaze until you quickly looked away.

The poem you’d written for the exercise was about Taehyung.

You’d thought only your professor was ever going to see it. And now she was calling on you to read yours aloud first. No one else would know who it was about, but you knew Jungkook would know.

“Y/N?”

Professor Mendez looked at you, her star pupil, with an encouraging smile. You swallowed, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze though you felt him staring. If you kept the piece of paper on the table in front of you, you wouldn’t risk showing everyone that your hands were slightly trembling. And then you opened your mouth.

I SAW YOU ONCE IN A FEVER DREAM

(After Kaveh Akbar)

I saw you once in a fever dream shirtless

swaddling me in a hammock hanging from cedar trees

When you smoke it gets stuck

in your hair Save it for later The smell of marijuana

and strawberry vapes lingered in my clothes In another fever

dream you were my mother The doctor asked if I am

allergic to any medications and I should

have said yes but it is only you

I have felt love flow through me I have never felt

it given My friend once told me

there is only so much you can do

At what point am I the problem

Sometimes I stare at the wall and peel the nails

off of my fingers for every time you broke me

Somehow it feels better this way

It was depressing, pathetic even. Sure, you’d imitated Kaveh Akbar’s unique writing style to a T, but now you looked stupid for writing about a man you’d never even dated, who had unofficially “dumped” you last spring semester. Jungkook had to know. Unless he was completely oblivious (which was honestly likely, when you really thought about it). And maybe you were being too cocky, assuming some guy who you meant nothing to would care or even pay attention to the fact that his friend had fucked you into a broken heart.

You sat with tight lips as the class discussed your poem, a few people put off by your use of space on the page, others praising your unique way of formatting the stanzas. Jungkook never spoke, but he never did until the end of class when Professor Mendez called him out for being silent. Then he would provide feedback for whoever had gone before him, his opinion usually directly contradicting whatever your professor said. She knew he wasn’t being defiant, and she welcomed his creative challenge of the status quo. But sometimes he was a bit much.

“Well, Mr. Jungkook. Let’s hear yours.”

You could feel the entire room both tense and lean forward, as if scared but also unimaginably eager for whatever it was they were about to receive.

“I didn’t finish, but I can read what I have. It’s a prose poem.”

UNTITLED

I met her in the evaporated residue of a midnight bong rip. Among glimmers of artificially-simulated worlds, of over-saturated hues. Hurried hues of a purple-pink bruise, bloom, slippery between thighs. Tongue flicks. Slide. These things only happen behind closed doors. An eternity of almosts, she likes to wear my hand as a choker. Drag me whole into desire, into pink folds and broken promises. Drip slick slow stroke glide and move inside, eat feast thrive. Beat it up every time. Pulsate. Pulsate. Own it. My hands on your hips. Blindfold over your eyes. Selfish fuck. I am a decomposing mind; her body whispers otherwise.

Jungkook could have written a poem about dog shit and the way he recited it would have been breathtaking. It didn’t matter that his lines were verging on pornographic for an academic setting; simply the way the alliteration flowed like honey from his mouth was enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine. The words came out like a gentle lullaby of filth, a smooth mantra, a promise of sin. It was no wonder the classroom fell silent. Even Professor Mendez stared at Jungkook with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” she said after a moment.

He nodded politely and slouched into his seat again.

Professor Mendez looked around the room for the first volunteer to take a stab at critiquing Jungkook’s poem. Only a brave soul could manage, and you were determined to keep your mouth shut. You could already visualize the way your classmates were going to gossip about this once class was over. You wondered how long it would take for Courtney and Amiriah to find out.

“Who would like to go first?”

It appeared the class had very few critiques, likely because no one wanted to dive too deeply into the abstract and overtly-sexual writing that had been.

Professor Mendez went on a mini rant about the importance of knowing how to keep the flow of a prose poem that somehow derailed into a story about her new puppy. Perhaps someone had gotten her going to kill the last few minutes of class until it was 8pm and she was forced to let the group of you go into the night.

You always managed to be the last person leaving the classroom every Wednesday night. Usually it was due to your prolonged conversations with Professor Mendez, the two of you gushing over a new poetry collection or the latest episode of a TV show. Jungkook, on the other hand, was typically the first to leave. Likely to go find his little crew of delinquents to do drugs with or whatever else they got themselves into.

Except apparently not today.

As you waved a goodbye to Professor Mendez, you headed down the empty hallway fully aware of the second pair of shoes echoing in the silence along with yours. Your insides were still scrambled from the series of exceptionally unfortunate events that had involved Kim Taehyung in the past twenty-four hours. You had no desire to entertain Jungkook, especially not after him staring you down all of class. And reading that fucking poem.

“Are you really gonna ignore me?”

You squeezed the straps of your backpack and stopped in front of the door to leave the academic building. If you acted bothered it would make you more suspicious. And it would let Kim Taehyung continue to rule your mind. You were better than this…

So you turned around to face the doe-eyed boy and tried not to imagine his hand squeezing your throat.

“I’m not ignoring you.” You cocked your head to one side in feigned confusion. Jungkook met your look with a small pout.

“I’m sorry if I did something to upset you yesterday.”

So, he didn’t know. Either that, or he was lying. But didn’t Immanuel Kant say lying is bad? You did everything in your power not to scowl to yourself.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. I swear.” You let out an irritated sigh, casting a glance behind your shoulder as you heard thunder ripple through the air outside. You’d obviously forgotten to check the weather that morning, looking down at your t-shirt and shorts.

“Okay…” He eyed you skeptically, but he didn’t want to push you further and threaten pushing you away completely. “Can I walk with you?”

“Of course.” He lived literally across the hall from you. You could open your door and be face-to-face with his.

“Okay… Can I give you a hug?”

You rolled your eyes so far and deep inside your skull it was a surprise they didn’t detach and disappear somewhere. It wasn’t fair that you were taking out your frustrations on Jungkook simply because your ego was hurt. That self-awareness was what made you nod your head with your arms outstretched.

Jungkook enveloped you in his large frame, the side of your face pressed against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he held the back of your head in his free hand. There was something about Jungkook’s closeness that caught you off guard. Perhaps it was because this was the first time you’d ever hugged each other; you’d never been this physical with each other at all, actually. You weren’t much of the hugging type, anyway.

Jungkook’s warmth made you settle into his embrace for much longer than you’d expected. He felt soft, safe. Even the chemical smell of paint that had seeped into his hoodie was welcoming. Despite the rumbling of a heavy thunderstorm outside, you could still hear his heart beat beneath you. Something about that realization made you pull away from him suddenly. It was just too… close.

He stared at you with a wrinkled brow and the pout was slowly coming back, but he stayed silent. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Ready?”

With raised shoulders you braced yourself for the downpour.

By the time the two of you had sprinted across the courtyard, you were completely soaked. You felt your earlier frustrations melt with the water droplets gliding down your arms as you leaned against Jungkook’s equally-soaked body. He was nearly doubled over in laughter, shoulder pressed against the wall next to the front door of his dorm room.

“You look like a wet cat,” he teased.

“Oh yeah? Well you look like a wet dog.” Your poor hair was going to get embarrassingly frizzy if you didn’t take care of it immediately.

Jungkook flashed you an evil grin and violently shook his head, sending water spraying all over.

“Jungkook, stop!” you hollered, giving him a shove. “I feel so gross already.”

You twisted around to fish out your dorm key from your backpack, but your fingers scraped the bottom of the pocket. No key.

“Fuck,” you cursed, setting your backpack on the ground to search through more pockets. Giving up on that possibility, you checked the pockets of your shorts. Nothing.

Unlocking your phone, your thumb hovered over your roommate group text, unsure if you should interrupt Amiriah and Courtney. It was a little after 8pm… Both of your roommates would be in their weekly sorority meeting that usually lasted at least an hour, if not two.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… locked myself out.” What a fucking rookie mistake. What was this, freshman year? “I’m pretty sure I left my keys on the kitchen table.”

Now you were stranded in your hallway, cold and soaking wet. You could go downstairs to ask your RA to let you in, but she was a bitch.

“You’re a mess. Come on, I’ve got clothes for you.”

He didn’t give you the opportunity to protest; instead, he stepped inside his dorm without even so much as a look over his shoulder at you.

Apparently your desire to be warm and dry was stronger than your fear of entering the Dorm Room from Hell. You’d never been in Jungkook’s dorm before, mostly because you didn’t want to run into Taehyung.

The layout was the same as yours: full kitchen with adjacent living room, long hall with individual bedrooms that ended with a bathroom. The decorations practically screamed “guys who smoke weed” considering the giant marijuana leaf tapestry hanging in the living room and the multicolored string lights that hung on the ceiling casting a psychedelic glow throughout the dorm. An incense that smelled interestingly like the ocean was burning on the coffee table.

You were pretty sure burning incense wasn't allowed on university property. Then again, neither was smoking weed in the parking lot, but Jungkook and his roommates did whatever they wanted.

“Are you just gonna stand there or…?”

Jungkook led the way down the hall, you trailing a bit behind him as you continued being nosy. As you passed the first bedroom, the door suddenly swung open, causing you to yelp when you were face-to-face with a rather grumpy looking man with shockingly green hair. The bleary look of his eyes told you he’d been asleep.

“Why the fuck are you wet?”

You did a double take, shocked at the roughness of the question from a stranger. Before you could answer, Jungkook was pulling you forward by the wrist.

“Hyung, I went to the grocery store today. There’s tangerines on the counter.”

The green-haired roommate grumbled a thank you and shot straight to the kitchen.

“Just ignore Yoongi,” Jungkook whispered, stopping in front of his bedroom. “He’s a fifth-year senior and probably ready to burn the entire university down.”

Jungkook’s bedroom was the exact opposite of what you’d expected. After seeing the chaos of his art studio, you’d thought his bedroom would be much of the same. Instead you were met with a simple, organized room. No clutter, no mess. Everything had its place, not an art supply in sight. Peaking over his shoulder, you saw even his dresser drawers were organized, each article of clothing neatly folded. That was likely why Jungkook was able to quickly pick out a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts to hand you.

“Oh, and this,” he tossed you a towel, as well. “You can use the bathroom. I’ll be in here.”

“Thank you,” you said with an appreciative nod.

The skin on your fingers had wrinkled up from the rain and you pressed them into the towel to find some relief. Who knew the feeling of wearing dry clothes would be so sweet? You took your time in the bathroom, rubbing down every inch of your body. Unfortunately, even your underwear and bra were soaked. If you put on dry clothes over them, the water would surely bleed into the fabric. So you opted for going commando, to your dismay. At least Jungkook’s t-shirt was baggy enough that your chest wasn’t on full display, and it wasn't like anyone would know you weren’t wearing underwear.

You caught a look at yourself in the mirror and laughed at how ridiculous you looked. It was like you’d come out of a really bad hip-hop music video from the early 2000s, literally drowning in baggy clothes.

“Hey Jungkook… Do you have something I could put my clothes in?” You stood in the hallway in front of Jungkook’s bedroom, wet clothes in your hands. The door was closed and you were afraid of opening it if he was still changing.

“You look cute.”

You instinctively squeezed your bundle of clothes, turning your head to the side at the sound of that Mother. Fucking. Annoying. Ass. Voice.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow at you, probably utterly confused as to why you looked the way you did, standing there in his dorm. You were determined to give him absolutely nothing.

“So, you and Jungkook, huh?”

A small smirk twisted at the corners of his mouth. By the way he was standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, it was clear that he wasn’t planning on walking away.

“We just got back from class,” you said matter-of-factly.

You focused on a spot on the wall to the right of his head when you spoke; it made it easier to look at him without having to stare into his eyes. Even though you found absolutely nothing about your statement funny, Taehyung started laughing. It was a low chuckle that brought that stupid smirk out even more.

“Were you coming back from class at 2 o’clock this morning, too?”

His eyes glinted with something that made a shiver shoot down the length of your spine.

Luckily, Jungkook’s abrupt presence swinging the bedroom door open gave you and Taehyung someone else to focus on, and you could safely escape the fact that you didn’t have a witty comeback to shove in Taehyung’s face for teasing you about Jungkook. There was nothing there with Jungkook.

He just gave nice hugs. And you respected his creative mind. And he had great taste in music. And you felt a little bit bad for him because people didn’t seem to give him the chances he deserved. And, wow, he was standing in the doorway of his bedroom wearing form-fitting gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips and you could tell that they sat low because he was shirtless. And your eyes were skipping down the path that his happy trail was leading from his belly button down to the strings of his sweatpants that hung down just on top of where you could make out a slight bulge in the fabric.

“Y/N?”

You quickly tore your eyes from Jungkook’s crotch to look at his face, not missing the way Taehyung’s smirk was growing even wider. You opened your mouth, then looked down at your clothes, then back at Jungkook.

“She wants something to put her clothes in,” Taehyung admitted once it was clear you weren’t going to cooperate. “I’m going over to Natalie’s. Oh, and I dipped into your Trojan stash. Yoongi hyung didn’t have any and you have too many.”

He flashed Jungkook a grin and pushed himself from his leaning position on the wall.

“Have fun,” he offered over his shoulder as he walked away, heading to go fuck his girlfriend’s brains out.

You were going to throw up.

“What a fucking asshole,” you breathed through gritted teeth.

Rather than be surprised at your cursing, Jungkook gave you a sympathetic look as he took your wet clothes from you to put in a small duffle bag.

“I’m sorry…” he said after a moment, gesturing for you to step into his bedroom. He closed the door behind you and hopped onto his bed. Just as he’d done in the studio, he patted the space next to him to get you to sit with him.

“C’mere.”

“Jungkook, I don’t wanna bother you anymore. You’ve had to deal with me a lot the past 24 hours.”

“Do I look bothered?”

You gave the boy a tight shake of your head and clambered onto the bed beside him, careful to sit hunched over a bit so your chest wouldn’t be too obvious. For once, he no longer smelled like paint. Instead your senses were overwhelmed by the strong scent of his laundry detergent, something akin to the ocean breeze of the incense the roommates were burning in the living room. He leaned his back against the headboard, but he turned at an angle to look at you from the side.

“He told me about you two…”

You felt your body stiffen at his confession and Jungkook rushed to finish his thought.

“Not the details or anything. But just that you were hooking up.”

Great. This was perfect. Leave it to Taehyung to treat you like a secret yet blabber to his friends. You hadn’t even told any of your friends about Taehyung. To this day, Courtney and Amiriah had no idea. And could you even trust Jungkook when he said the details were spared? Didn’t boys love to talk about their sexual conquests?

“I’m sorry he’s such a fuckboy.”

“Oh, like you aren’t, too?”

“What?!”

Jungkook stared at you incredulously, shocked by your sudden aggression. But you couldn’t stop yourself. The anger you’d let fester in you from countless boys quite literally fucking you over was all spilling over the top. It was just unfortunate that Jungkook was there to bear the weight rather than Taehyung; but you didn’t think he was wholly innocent either. College boys were entitled and selfish. Even though Jungkook had never done anything to you, you’d seen how some girls followed after him like he was some kind of mystery meant to be solved. He never explicitly talked about his love life with you, but you only took that as a bad sign.

“Oh don’t act brand new, Jungkook. You literally make everything about sex. Literally all your poems are about eating pussy. You made that fucking painting of a naked women. And what the fuck is that?”

Your arm shot out to point at a painting hanging on his wall that looked vaguely like an abstract rendition of a vulva. It somehow felt like the icing on the fucked up cake.

“It’s called artistic appreciation!”

“You’re just as gross as Taehyung and all the other guys who just use women for their bodies and don’t give a fuck about how we feel or-”

“Stop it.” Jungkook’s voice hit you like ice. You dropped your arm down and whipped your head back around to look at him, lips falling open at the harshness of his tone.

“Don’t compare me to Tae. You don’t know what I’m like. You barely know me at all.”

“That’s not-”

“I said stop, okay?” he interjected again and the glare he sent you was enough to shut you up for good. Being scolded wasn’t exactly high on your list of favorite activities, especially not from someone you considered to be a friend. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire and you struggled to swallow down your words, shame creeping up your face in waves.

“I’ve spent the last four months in that poetry class watching you write about feeling broken and alone and misunderstood. And you know what I do? I invite you over to do homework ‘cause I know none of your other friends are studying English. And I asked you to go to Morgan Parker’s book reading with me ‘cause I knew you didn’t have anyone else to go with. And I invited you to my studio ‘cause you said you wish you were good at art and I wanted you to see that you could be good if you tried.”

At this point his cheeks had turned bright pink and his hands were bunched up into fists in his lap. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away from the fire in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you feel like you owe me anything or to get some kind of recognition, okay? But just don’t fucking compare me to Tae when all I’ve ever tried to do is make you feel less alone. I like you, a lot. And I don’t even care that you’re not into me and you’re still caught up on him. I genuinely just want you to be happy.”

With his monologue over, Jungkook turned his head to stare down at his hands, leaving you to peer at his profile with your mouth hanging open.

It was the most you’d heard Jungkook speak, ever. It was also the most expressive you’ve ever seen him. Despite his passion for art, Jungkook was a very level person; he was collected even in the most stressful situations. To see him visibly shaking as he raised his voice was upsetting.

“Jungkook…” You reached out to touch his arm and your heart broke into a million pieces when he flinched.

“It’s whatever.”

But it wasn’t.

You felt like shrinking into the smallest version of yourself and disappearing. You’d spent so much time aching over the wounds Taehyung had left that you hadn’t considered what you might be missing out on, or how you might have been hurting someone else. Your head was lost in the dark cloud hanging over you; your heart couldn’t see anything in front of you. Blinded by your own pain, healing long overdue.

You were so fucking stupid.

“JK…” you started again. Lifting your hand, you brought your fingers to his chin and encouraged him to turn his head to look at you. “I’m so sorry. I really am. I just… It hurts? I don’t know what to do with the hurt.”

From Taehyung and every other reckless boy.

You let go of his face and waited, holding your breath until your lungs burned. Much to your disappointment, Jungkook maintained that cold stare, his eyes boring into yours so deeply that you felt like he was seeing something inside of you that even you didn’t know. You were afraid to look at him, shame making it difficult to hold your head up.

“Give it to me.”

“What?” It was your turn to cast your eyebrows down in confusion.

“Give me the hurt. You don’t have to hold onto it anymore. I can take it.” His large hand enveloped your own, thumb running figure 8s into your skin.

You tried to speak, but you couldn’t choke out even a whisper as his words repeated in your head. Give me the hurt. Your hands shivered beneath his and you looked away quickly, feeling that horrid prickling in the corner of your eyes. You were not going to lose it just because you were touch-starved and never once in your life had someone so soundly declared their desire to take on whatever pain it was that you were feeling. You liked to keep your pain a secret, only letting out emotions through your poetry. And even then, you wanted to separate yourself from it. Writing was like putting down your emotion, letting it exist outside of you, so you could live free from it. But that didn’t always happen the way you wanted it to.

You blinked quickly, losing focus on Jungkook’s face until you felt something hot slip down your cheek and you realized you were crying.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, embarrassment flooding your chest as you tried not to hiccup. What kind of emotional disaster were you? As Courtney would say, it wasn’t very girlboss of you.

“I can take it.”

This time the embers had gone out in his eyes. Instead, his irises were pleading with you. You tried to cover your face with your hands, but Jungkook held them down. He brushed your cheeks dry with his thumb, cradling your chin in his palm.

“You deserve better, okay?”

It was difficult to believe, but the soft gaze Jungkook held made you want to think maybe he was right. But how could it be possible for someone to want to carry your burden for you? He had no reason to.

“I’m good now,” you said after a moment, the tears dried and your breathing returning to normal. You wanted to give him an out, let him have the opportunity to feel like he’d done his part in case he didn’t really mean what he said. You refused to let yourself fall for anymore bullshit.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me…”

There was that familiar line. You felt your eyes instinctually roll and you couldn’t stop the next snarky comment from slipping past your lips, using biting humor as a defense mechanism to cope.

“Okay, Immanuel Kant.”

Jungkook snorted, matching your eye roll, but he gave you a smile that reached his eyes. A classic Jungkook grin that had you giving a small smile in return and making your stomach flip like a fucking gymnast. It made you slowly float back down to reality and you remembered you were sitting in a shirtless Jungkook’s bed, his body leaned forward out of concern for you, his face mere inches from yours. Hand still cradling your chin.

“Jungkook…”

Your voice got caught in your throat with what little breathing you could manage. Then you watched his eyes drop to your lips as you whispered his name, and the melancholic look he gave you when his gaze returned to yours made you squeeze your eyes shut with guilt. He’d confessed his interest in you and you’d completely glossed over it. Not on purpose, but somehow you were making your feelings the priority once again. And now he looked at you like you were already gone.

“Yeah, Y/N?” You opened your eyes at his call.

“I…”

You wanted to tell him how you felt, you really did. But life had taught you that in relationships there was always someone who cared more, and that person always got hurt the most. You just couldn’t keep being that person.

Jungkook studied your face for what felt like an eternity. If he was expecting you to finish your sentence, he was certainly being patient. But it was the way his mouth turned downward into a small frown and his eyes traveled off somewhere behind you that told you he’d lost hope.

Until he was staring at you once again and his grip on your chin tightened so subtly you almost didn’t notice.

“Can I kiss you?”

His voice came out low and thick. The tone sent a shiver down your spine and made goosebumps rise along your forearms. You’d never heard his voice drop so deep before, nor had you seen his eyes darken the way they had now. A spark of desire fluttered in your stomach and you felt nearly lightheaded from the way your body was hitting a peak level of anxiety over his question. If you said yes, were you just giving into yet another boy who would ruin you? And you believed Jungkook could ruin you. He was an artist; they were always trouble.

But there was no denying the fact that your nervousness was merely a physical response to your interest in Jungkook that had grown exponentially over time. You were weak, and he was right. You did feel broken and alone and misunderstood. And you knew that sometimes Jungkook felt that way, too.

Just when Jungkook began to pull away with a look of rejection written across his face, you nodded. Unable to speak, you watched Jungkook’s tongue swipe across his bottom lip as he leaned in even closer.

You were prepared for something much more lewd than what Jungkook gave you. Though your lips were parted, he didn’t invade your space. Instead of tongue and lip biting, you were met with a chaste kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, and the way his hand cupped your face made you feel secure, just as you’d felt when he hugged you. You’d never felt a sense of security with someone from a simple kiss.

And then he was ending the kiss just as quickly as he’d started it, finally dropping his hand from your face.

“Sorry,” he sighed, no longer meeting your eyes when he spoke. “I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t want you to feel like you had to agree to that…”

It was your turn to shut him up. Maybe it was the remaining hormones swirling in your brain from having cried so much, or the adrenaline from being kissed by a man you’d tried to shoo out of your mind, but you felt bold enough to take his chin in your hand as he had done to you. You pressed your lips against his, this time forcing his mouth into a faster, deeper rhythm. The kiss was heavy and more desperate than the first. It was what you’d initially expected Jungkook to give you; a makeout that went hard and fast from the beginning, 0 to 100. That was what fuckboys did, wasn’t it? Anything to get their dick wet the quickest.

It was what you were used to.

Your small hands found the tops of his shoulders, fingers running along his smooth, warm skin before you pushed him against the headboard. Swinging your leg over his, your knees sank into the soft bed as you straddled him. You adjusted slightly in his lap and the shift made your core press directly on top of the bulge in his pants that you’d admired earlier. This realization made the sudden heat between your legs melt like lava, and you ground your hips into his in a smooth but firm motion.

The movement elicited a deep groan from the back of Jungkook’s throat, another sweet sound you’d never had the pleasure of hearing fall from his lips. With his lips parted from groaning, you took the opportunity to slip your tongue inside of his mouth. His hands pushed up the hem of your shirt just enough to allow him to reach the skin of your waist, gripping you hard as your body moved against his.

“Y/N, wait.”

Jungkook pulled back to lean his head against the bed’s headboard and you were met not with lust-filled eyes as you expected, but eyes that looked so deeply pained you almost wanted to avert your gaze.

“I don’t wanna be a rebound. I want this to mean something, or else I can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s voice came out hoarse, and it trembled. His eyes still held that undeniable sadness that reminded you that, once again, you had failed to see how your own fear of rejection had made you ignorant to the feelings you were instilling in him. Here he was, willing to give himself over to you, holding back because he was afraid that you would hurt him.

Once again, shame flooded your face as you frantically searched for a way to show that you needed this to mean something, that in just a few months he had become the most constant person in your life, the person you were most comfortable with even when all you often did was just sit and talk about life.

There was an obvious way to fix this, but you still had that gnawing feeling holding you back.

“I like you, too, Jungkook.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you spoke just barely above a whisper. If you didn’t look at him, the vulnerability of the moment would be easier to manage. “You’re kind and smart even though you’re always toeing the line of academic probation.”

Your words came out rushed, the last comment making you let out a laugh that sounded more like a short burst of air, and you held onto his shoulders for dear life.

“And you’re the most creative and imaginative person I’ve ever met, but you’re so lowkey about everything. You deserve more than you give yourself credit for,” you continued, eyes still closed. “And… I guess you’re kinda hot…”

With that you slowly opened one eye to peek at Jungkook’s face. It was embarrassing to say that the grin he wore made your heart soar and it was only then that you noticed the way his fingertips were running along your sides, tracing invisible designs onto your skin.

“Only kinda hot?”

“Oh shut up.”

You gave him a playful slap against his chest. You let your hand linger there, palm pressed against him to feel the strength of his pec muscle. With your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you ran your hand down the length of Jungkook’s chest and along his abdomen until you reached between your bodies to access the hem of his sweatpants.

Without warning you gripped his cock, palming it over his pants. You felt it twitch beneath your fingers, already semi-hard and warm even through the fabric. Jungkook let out a low groan, hips slightly bucking into you. Suddenly aware of how painfully clothed you are, Jungkook slid his hands back up your sides, pushing his t-shirt off of you in the process. Ruining the orderly look of his bedroom, he tossed the t-shirt and brought his attention back to you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he hissed, realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra.

You shuddered at the gentle way he ran his fingers up your sides once more and you leaned forward when his tattooed fingers lightly pinched one of your nipples until it went hard. Then he moved onto the other one, tweaking it slowly.

After a moment you let go of him and reached for the hem of his sweatpants, waiting for him to lift his body so you could pull them down his legs.

He’s big, bigger than you’d expected. You’d imagined he would have a nice dick, purely because it seemed like the most mysterious, standoffish guys always did. They didn’t have to compensate by being boisterous and arrogant; they knew what they were packing and that was enough. But Jungkook was quite possibly too much. You were a small person, for fuck’s sake.

“We don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready, we can stop.”

There was Jungkook reading your mind, yet again. How was it possible for him to know exactly what to say every single time? Were you just that expressive? If so, no one else in your life read you so well.

“Stop talking,” you repeated his earlier command, but you didn’t look him in the eyes. Instead you were focused on how heavy and soft his cock felt in your hand as you admired him. You ran your fingers along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, then you glided your thumb along the tip to smear the bit of precum that was already leaking. The action made Jungkook whimper and the sound sent a jolt straight into your core.

But just before you could lower your head down to give him what you knew he wanted, Jungkook’s hand was cupping your chin once again. He pulled your face upwards to guide you back to his.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. I want to do this,” you assured him, but he slowly shook his head.

“You’re going in so fast, and you don’t have to. I’m not some asshole hookup. The point of all this isn’t just to get me off and make you put in all the work.” He leaned forward to kiss you on the tip of your nose and you’d never felt more wanted in your entire life. “You deserve to feel good for once.”

Snaking his arm around your waist, Jungkook gently flipped you onto your back. Spreading your legs apart with his knees, he kneeled over you as he began laying hot kisses down the length of your neck, pausing only to suck at the soft skin where your neck and collarbone met.

“Jungkook…” you sighed, squirming underneath him once his mouth began to travel further down.

He flicked his tongue against one of your nipples, drawing a circle around the erect mound. He let out a deep hiss of approval when you moaned, arching your back to push yourself against his mouth. While his tongue was busy exploring your chest, Jungkook took his sweet time pulling his basketball shorts off of you, those too flying across the room.

When he moved back into a comfortable position between your legs, his thigh brushed against your core and he let out a moan loud enough you were sure his roommates would hear him.

“Fuck, Y/N, you could’ve warned me you weren’t wearing any underwear,” he groaned, his thigh now glistening with your arousal.

“Sorry I didn’t think to tell you while I was crying.”

“So dramatic.”

You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment that bore even deeper into your soul when a pathetic whimper escaped your lips the moment you felt Jungkook’s hand slip in between your thighs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he sighed, effortlessly sliding his fingers along your folds. He ran his fingers up and down slowly as if he were memorizing each crevice and the way your legs jumped when he hit a certain spot, especially once he began stroking your clit.

He was exploring, you realized. He was learning your body and there was nothing more embarrassing. All you could think about was the fear that Jungkook might not like what he saw. Or that he was comparing you to his past fucks. Or that Taehyung had told him things about your sex life.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

You felt your hands being pried from your face and lifted over your head. Jungkook pinned your wrists above you, his face now inches from yours. You could see a restrained wildness in his eyes, but his eyebrows were knitted together in frustration.

“Why?” he repeated.

You shook your head, but another irritated call of your name made you question your decision to defy him.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed…” you whispered, avoiding his gaze.

“Does this seem like disappointment to you?” Jungkook rolled his hips into you, his now rock hard cock sliding against your dripping folds.

“Ahh, n-no,” you gasped, wiggling under his hold.

“Okay, so don’t hide from me. Let me take care of you.”

Letting go of your wrists, Jungkook got off of the bed. You watched him with confusion that slowly melted into a mixture of anxiety and sweet anticipation as he hooked his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Falling to his knees, Jungkook let your legs rest on his broad shoulders. You could feel his breath against your skin and it took everything in your power not to begin squirming again when you felt his tongue lick a hot stripe up the inside of your thigh.

“I want you to watch me while I eat you out,” Jungkook murmured, his dark eyes locking with yours as he leaned forward to plant a kiss against your lower lips. “Okay?”

You had no choice but to nod in compliance, propping yourself up on your forearms so you could get a better view even though everything in you was screaming to break your gaze. You could hardly believe it was Jungkook staring at you through his bangs from between your legs. Not to mention you were usually very shy when it came to being sexually pleasured - mostly because it rarely happened. Guys were always expecting you to do them favors, not the other way around. You couldn’t even remember the last time a guy had gone down on you.

But there was no time to be shy when Jungkook abruptly plunged his tongue into your folds. You let out a loud yelp and immediately slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the remaining squeals threatening to slip from your parted lips. Jungkook chuckled at your response and the vibration made your cunt throb.

Still, you kept your gaze locked with his as he lapped up your juices, no matter how dirty it made you feel to have those blown out pupils bore into yours. Your eyes only fluttered when his lips found your clit and began to suck on it while his tongue flicked a steady rhythm against it, the two sensations proving to be almost too much for you to handle. Your breathing became ragged as you felt your abdomen tense up.

“Jungkook,” you whispered a moan, hands gripping the bed sheets so tightly your fingers started to hurt.

“Hmm, baby? You’re gonna have to speak up.” The new nickname made you whimper.

As if to encourage you to find your voice, Jungkook slid two fingers inside of you as he returned to pleasuring your clit. The sudden stretch immediately ripped a strangled moan out of you and your hips involuntarily bucked into Jungkook’s face.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized, but Jungkook only fucked into you harder, expertly curling his fingers at just the right spot to make your legs start to shake.

“Don’t apologize. You can fuck my face all you want,” he lifted his head up to lick his lips, sending you a wink that made your heart stop.

He could sense your orgasm coming soon by the way your walls were clenching around his fingers, but he was determined to make it as mind-shattering as possible. Fitting a third finger inside of you, he continued to suck on your clit, tongue swirling to the rhythm of his fingers.

“Ohh, oh my god,” you sobbed, tears pooling in your eyes as you finally reached your climax. You let out a loud cry, fingers tangled in Jungkook’s hair as you struggled to still your shaking legs.

Licking a final stripe up your lips, Jungkook lifted his head from your thighs and gave you a satisfied grin. He was truly a sight for sore eyes with his mouth soaked in your arousal and his hair a mess from your fingers running through it. You fell flat on your back, legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

“You good?”

“I’m going to die.”

Your eyes were on the ceiling but you heard him laugh and you felt his strong arms lift your legs back onto the bed, adjusting you so you were comfortably in the center of the mattress again.

“Damn, I didn’t realize I was gonna make you tap out so fast,” he teased, lying down beside you. He pressed a kiss against your throat.

“Everyone says you have great head game and I should’ve taken them more seriously.”

“Who says that?!”

You turned onto your side to face him, already rolling your eyes. “Don’t you know the rumors that get spread about you?”

Jungkook gave you a small shake of his head. “I don’t worry about people. I’m only worried about you.”

The warm fuzzy feelings his words gave you were too much for you to bear, so you pushed them away by pulling him closer, crashing your lips into his. Jungkook wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush up against his chest. You could feel his cock still hard against your leg and it reminded you that this whole situation felt so foreign to you. Never had you been pleasured by a man who expected nothing in return.

“You are art, you know that? A fucking masterpiece,” Jungkook sighed against your lips, pulling away to nuzzle against your neck.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, baby?” There was that fucking nickname again making your pussy flutter back to life.

Instead of answering him, you reached down to grab his cock. He groaned against your throat as you gave him a few slow pumps. He’d taken care of you just as he’d promised, and now you hoped he’d let you take care of him. Not because you felt obligated to, but because you genuinely wanted to.

Wordlessly, Jungkook rolled you onto your back so that he was hovering over you, his forearms on either side of your head.

“I want you so bad,” he growled against your ear, hips rolling into your open legs.

“What are you waiting for?” you whispered.

“Fuck…”

You blinked and he was no longer on top of you. Instead he was rummaging through the drawer of his nightstand, eventually pulling out a shiny square packet. For someone normally so calm, Jungkook’s fingers were shaking with need as he rolled the condom on.

“Is this okay?” He returned to his position between your legs as you laid on your back. Your heart stung at his thoughtfulness, shocked that he was asking you what position you wanted him in. You nodded, spreading your legs wider for him. Jungkook ran his fingers along the inside of your thighs, his head dipped down so his bangs fell forward, partially obstructing your view of his face.

You gasped when you felt something wet hit your cunt. He’d spit on you. You could feel the extra lubrication slide down your folds and the lewd act made you shiver. Sure, maybe that was fairly tame for some people, but it had your head reeling.

Holding the base of his cock, Jungkook rubbed the tip along your folds, further smearing his spit and your arousal together.

“If you want to stop, just tell me,” he said hoarsely, and that was the warning you got before he was sinking his cock into your entrance.

Despite how relaxed and turned on you felt, the stretch was considerable. You tensed for a moment and Jungkook froze, his eyes meeting yours. With a nod of approval from you, he pushed himself in further, finally bottoming out and holding the position as he waited for you to adjust. You felt so unbelievably full with him inside of you and the pressure of him against your walls was enough to make your legs shake once again.

After giving you a bit of time, Jungkook began to move his hips, starting with slow but long strokes that got increasingly deeper.

“Oh god,” he moaned, head hanging down so he could watch his cock disappear into your cunt over and over again. After a while he lifted one of your legs to rest it on his shoulder so he could adjust his angle to thrust into you that much deeper, and the next slam of his body into yours that had his cock make direct contact with your g-spot made you scream.

“Shit, Y/N, Yoongi’s gonna kill us if you keep screaming like that,” Jungkook said with a grin that very much made it seem like he wouldn’t mind dying for such an offense.

“You… just feel s-so g-good,” you cried out, your nails clawing at Jungkook’s arms as you searched for something to hold on to.

He couldn’t possibly have been concerned considering he only thrusted into you even harder. The thing about Jungkook, though, was that he was going hard but he was going slow. He was savoring every time he slid into you, savoring the glisten of his cock as he pulled out. Turning his head to the side, he kissed the leg he’d draped over his shoulder, one hand running down the smooth skin while his other held on tightly to your hip to keep you in place.

“Fuck, yes baby,” Jungkook groaned. He pressed his fingers against your mouth, gently prying your lips open to stick his thumb in your mouth. The action surprised you, but you obediently sucked on his thumb until he was pulling away again. Reaching between you, he pressed his now wet thumb against your clit and began rubbing circles as he fucked you.

You whined at the sudden stimulation, your walls fluttering around his cock as your breathing turned into panting. “I’m gonna…” you let out another moan, your walls clenching around Jungkook’s cock. “I’m gonna come again.”

“That’s right, come on my cock for me, baby. Let go for me.”

How could Jungkook make dirty talk sound so alluring? So supportive? It was just like his writing, a gentle lullaby of filth. From the look he’d given you earlier, you knew there was a less tame side of him you’d yet to tap into. The memory of his poem flooded your mind, daring you to take things a step further… she likes to wear my hand as a choker...

Reaching out, you grabbed the hand that was holding onto your hip and brought it to rest on your neck. You saw that same wild look flash in Jungkook’s eyes once again, and you knew the action had affected him because his thrusting faltered for a moment. With your lips slightly parted, you tilted your head back slightly to expose more of your throat for him. Jungkook wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a sight more beautiful.

“Shit, you keep acting up like this I’m gonna fall in love,” he grunted, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he opened up his palm to get a firm grip on your neck. As he resumed his rhythmic thrusting, he squeezed your throat. At first, the decrease in oxygen had you gasping in your body’s natural drive for self-preservation. Once your body and mind adjusted, though, you succumbed to the way your body tingled with excitement. When you moaned, your eyes fluttering and rolling back, Jungkook applied even more pressure.

You’d never imagined you’d have another orgasm somewhere inside of you so soon after the first, but you were convulsing around Jungkook’s cock just as he asked you to, calling out his name in the sweetest song.

It wasn’t long before his thrusts became sloppier and his grip on your throat became almost too tight. The string of profanity he growled in your ear as he came made you shiver. Was it really possible that you affected him so deeply?

Jungkook hovered over you for a moment, attempting to catch his breath.

“I think that’s the hardest I ever came in my life,” he said weakly, finally mustering up enough strength to pull himself out of you. He left the bed to throw away the soiled condom, you musing at his cute little butt as he sauntered away.

“You’re welcome,” you said with a grin, though the hoarseness of your voice startled you. You pressed your hand against your throat and winced, not because your throat hurt, but because of the way Jungkook looked at you with deep concern.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, climbing into bed beside you.

“Please,” you sighed, snuggling against Jungkook’s chest. “You did me too good.”

“I’ll fucking do you again, too, if you don’t stop rubbing your thighs against me,” he murmured in your ear, causing you to chuckle lightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A loud knock on the door made you jump, your arm instinctually covering your chest though you knew Jungkook had locked the door.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, silently willing whoever it was to go away.

The knocking continued, this time a bit more aggressively.

“Open up, bro, the light’s on. I know you’re in there,” Taehyung complained from the other side of the door. “You’ve still got my pen.”

Your eyes grew wide as you looked at Jungkook.

With a groan, Jungkook got out of bed once again. Grabbing the basketball shorts you’d been wearing, he pulled them on and snagged Taehyung’s vape pen from where it sat atop his dresser. He didn’t bother to put a shirt on or fix his sex hair.

“Wait,” you whispered. “What about me?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jungkook spoke at a normal volume as if to demonstrate how serious he was about not caring if Taehyung saw you there.

“Seriously, JK?” Taehyung clearly thought Jungkook’s comment had been directed towards him.

You quickly grabbed Jungkook’s t-shirt and pulled it on seconds before Jungkook swung the bedroom door open.

You watched Taehyung’s eyes slowly scan over Jungkook’s appearance. His mouth twisted as though he were about to speak, but then he locked eyes with you where you still sat in Jungkook’s bed, probably looking just as fucked out as Jungkook did.

“Here.” Jungkook dropped the vape in Taehyung’s open palm. “Need anything else?”

Taehyung’s eyes made their way back to Jungkook and whatever snarky comment he’d been prepared to make before was now gone.

“Nah, that’s it, thanks.”

After a week of being exclusive with Jungkook, you felt the need to loop your roomates into the whole situation. Courtney and Amiriah were your best friends, after all. The three of you had been your own Golden Trio since day one freshman year, ending up in the same peer mentor group. The first time you’d all hung out together you’d gone to an off-campus frat party. Barely an hour in and Courtney had been throwing her guts up right into the pool. Needless to say, the three of you had never gone back to that house. As horrifying as it was, you felt like it painted the perfect picture of your relationship. You were all in it for the long haul, no matter how messy.

But now you had to tell them you were dating the weird guy.

You kept looking at your phone, checking the time. The two should have been out of their sorority meeting by now, which meant they could arrive at your dorm at any moment. Waiting was nerve-racking. You gnawed on a hangnail, only pulling your gaze from your phone when you felt Jungkook’s strong arms wrap around your waist. He pulled you into his lap on the couch and leaned into you, lightly brushing his lips along your neck, making you shiver.

“Why do you act like you’re having me meet your parents?” he asked with a small chuckle.

“Courtney and Amiriah are important to me,” you started, trying to find the correct words to explain your friends. “They’re also really… judgmental, but because they care about me. And they don’t trust men.” Which was fair. You did your best to look out for them as well.

Jungkook hummed in response but didn’t speak. That didn’t surprise you. A man of few words, you knew he liked to have time to decide how he felt or what he wanted to say about things.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you announced, standing up. Jungkook nodded and leaned back into the couch. Was it a good thing that he didn’t seem nervous?

Of course the moment you entered the bathroom, Courtney and Amiriah came bustling through the front door. Their loud chatter quickly halted when their eyes fell upon Jungkook lounging on your couch, legs spread and tattooed arm draped across the back of the couch.

“Hey,” he greeted them with a grin and a nod of his head.

“Oh, um, hi?” Courtney’s greeting was more of a question.

“Where’s Y/N?” What Amiriah wanted to ask was how he even got into your dorm, but she didn’t want to be rude.

“I’m here!” You shuffled into the room, giving your friends a little wave. “Jungkook wanted to hang out here for a change.”

The boy quirked his eyebrow at you and gave you an amused smile, noticing how you’d made it sound like it was his idea when it most certainly had been yours. Not that it bothered him. If anything, he wanted you to deflect onto him. He’d told you he could take anything you needed to give him, and he’d meant it.

Jungkook got up from his seat and walked over to the three of you, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. The pose made his biceps and chest more prominent, and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment. God, he was too pretty.

“I feel bad it’s the first time I’m finally meeting you,” he said in a warm voice. “Y/N never shuts up about how great you two are. Pretty sure I’ve heard the story of The Great Edible Debacle at the Dolph concert about fifty times.”

You were shocked by how charming he was being. Really laying it on thick.

“That is a horrible story to be telling people, Y/N! What the fuck,” Amiriah said with a laugh. “We’re only a little bit insane.”

“And stupid,” Courtney chimed in.

The four of you continued your bantering as you lounged around the living room, snacking on some food your roommates had brought as leftovers from their sorority meeting. Jungkook fit into the conversation rather neatly, talking a lot more than you’d expected, but still knowing when to sit back and let the girls dominate the conversation. He sat with his arm around your waist, keeping you close but not dipping into any PDA, knowing it would bother you if he did.

The conversation came to a pause when Jungkook’s phone began to ring, all three pairs of eyes pointed in his direction.

“Ah, fuck. Tae’s calling me,” he mumbled. “I’ll be right back.” As he stood up, he cupped your face for a moment, running his thumb across your cheek before he was bringing his phone to his ear.

“Hyungie, what’s up?” Jungkook stepped out into the hallway, closing the front door behind him.

“Girl, are y’all fucking?!” Amiriah leaned forward with a harsh whisper, excitement dancing in her bright eyes.

“We’re dating, actually.”

Courtney let out a squeal, bouncing on her knees where she sat on a pillow on the floor, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. “I knew it, I totally knew it.”

“I’m gonna admit, weird or not, that man is foine now that I’m seeing him up close.” Amiriah loudly sucked her teeth and shook her head. “He’s got that snatched little waist. And those thighs? He could smash a watermelon.”

“Okay, okay, but we gotta ask the REAL question here.” Courtney was now plopping down on the couch between you and Amiriah, blanket still in tow. “Did he eat it right?? In the words of Nicki Minaj, do he got good form??”

You slapped Courtney on the arm in protest, but you were grinning as you spoke. “I almost started crying, it was so good.”

“WHEW girl, stop it,” Amiriah grabbed your arm and shook it. “Are you willing to share? For charity?”

Before you could scold your friend for trying to get her hands on your man, Jungkook returned. The shift in the room’s atmosphere was palpable, and the way Courtney and Amiriah watched Jungkook with new interest was almost too obvious.

He gave you a confused smile as he squeezed onto the couch next to you.

“So, Jungkook,” Amiriah began and you prayed to God she wouldn’t say anything stupid. “You said you heard stories about us, but we didn’t talk about all the fun things we’ve heard about you!”

You shot your friend a glare but she was already on a roll with Courtney on her heels.

“Yeah, we’ve heard all about your poetry,” Courtney added.

You don’t think your roommates were prepared for the low chuckle that rumbled from Jungkook nor for the dark look in his eyes as he turned to you. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and you silently pleaded with him to behave.

“Yeah, I was trying to give Y/N a preview of what she could be getting.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped and your friends started talking all at once, but all you could focus on was the way your boyfriend was smirking at you, his tongue playing with his lip ring how he knew you liked.

He leaned into you, his lips ghosting your ear and sending goosebumps up your arms as he whispered,

“Just wait until you come over tonight.”

Drabble 1

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work <3

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #pmn #thanks for 1k 🥺#thanks for 2k 🥺#thanks for 3k 🥺#thanks for 4k 🥺

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therhythmafterthesummer · 1 year

Text

Runaway Princess (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: RoyalKnight!Chan x Princess!Reader Themes: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers, AU - Mediaeval Setting Warnings: mentions and depictions of domestic abuse (unrelated to Chan), graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut). hope i didn’t miss anything Word Count: ~16k | AO3 Summary: Your best friend has sent her most trusted knight to help you escape your abusive home, an intriguing man with many facets you can’t wait to uncover.

Author’s Note: this piece started as just the mountain scene… but before i knew i wanted to expand more on it, blacked out, and suddenly it was twice as long. anyway, if you’re reading this, hope you enjoy! know that feedback is always appreciated.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: dirty talk? i guess, fingering (F.Rec), handjob, oral (M.Rec, F.Rec only implied), dry humping, nipple play (F.Rec), cumshot, unprotected penetration (there’s an unspoken notion that pulling out prevents pregnancy, this is all purely fictional, please protect yourselves irl!).

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“Who are you?!”

Finding yourself being pulled into a stable at dawn was not something you expected to happen today when you decided to go on a walk, much less finding the person that had pulled you into said stable to be a man you didn’t know.

“I’m sorry for the… Well, the unconventional method to get you to meet me”, the man gave you an apologetic smile, and a short bow of his head. “My name’s Chan, Your Highness. I am a knight of Queen Naeel’s guard. Her Majesty sent me here”.

Your eyes widened at the mention of Naeel’s name, your guard lowering just slightly. Now that the initial fight or flight feeling wore off, you took your time to analyse the man in front of you. Chan was… A handsome young man. He was certainly built like a knight as far as you could tell, very broad, his stance ready for any sudden movement you could make.

You scanned his face for a moment, trying to find any semblance of a lie in his expression. A mess of brown curls on his head, warm brown eyes, a big nose, plump lips, and a scar going from his right eyebrow to the middle of his cheek were all the details you could focus on, his attire that of someone who had indeed prepared for a handful of months travelling from one realm to the other. Interesting… Definitely a handsome young man, but no semblance of lies just yet.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I have this as proof”, Chan reached for his pocket, taking out what looked to be a piece of cord and handing it over to you. “Her Majesty said that would be enough…” He sounded sceptical, and you couldn’t blame him. The thing was composed of several different colours of ribbons tied together, the fabric worn down and the colours washed out from years and years of use, a single star charm tied to the middle. You knew he was telling the truth as soon as you saw it, since you kept an exact copy but with a sun charm around your ankle.

Queen Naeel and you had been friends for years. When you met, you were both tiny little princesses, your parents had taken you both to a grand ball in the realm that separated yours, a friendship that bloomed through correspondence and even more meet-ups as you grew up. You had not known platonic love until you got close to her, and to this day she was probably one of the few reasons why you were still breathing in the first place.

“Why… Why are you here?” You eyed Chan carefully, your fist closing over the friendship anklet, shaking slightly in your tight hold.

“Her Majesty said–and please forgive me, Your Highness, these were her exact words–that she couldn’t let you continue living with your bitch-ass father”, Chan grimaced slightly, and you couldn’t help but chuckle–yeah, that definitely sounded like her. “She read your last letter and got worried, so she sent me to help you escape”.

You father… He was the king of your realm, a powerful man who had only ever known greed and lust. He resented your existence, it was something he never let you forget, he would remind you at any chance he got how your birth brought the death of ‘the only woman he had ever loved’–something you doubted was true, as that man had proven time and time again that he was incapable of feeling any form of love.

As you grew up, your father kept showing more and more distaste towards you. You were just like any other girl, rowdy, adventurous, with a thirst for knowledge that could hardly be quenched by the numerous volumes in the royal library. ‘You should be focusing on embroidery and all those things princesses do, not on riding those damn horses and getting all dirty in the royal gardens’ the worst part was that you did like those things, too. You loved embroidery and needlework, and you doubted other princesses didn’t enjoy riding horses or climbing trees, there was no way you were any different from any other girl out there.

Your suspicions were confirmed the first time you finally met other princesses, the exposure to other girls your age finally cementing in you the fact that your father simply hated you. It didn’t matter what you said or did, he would hate you regardless, so you stopped fighting him altogether, opting to keep your mouth shut when he spit his hateful words at you–it was a lost fight before it even started, after all.

By the time you were fifteen he had already remarried, his new wife birthing a son shortly after, finally displacing you from the picture completely. ‘Who wants a rude, daft princess when I finally have a prince of my own?’ you heard him tell one of his advisors once, you wouldn’t lie, the words stung, they hurt, and you spent days holed up in your room crying–not like anyone cared much about it anyway, if anything, only your maids showed concern when you eventually had stopped eating. Your father, his council members, your step-mother, none of them really cared about you.

A sigh passed your lips as you looked at the anklet in your hand. “Do you even have a plan, or did my dear friend send you here on a whim?” Your friend could be very… Spontaneous, to put it simply. Some would even say she was a bit eccentric, but regardless of her odd ways, she had a strong sense of morality. If she believed something was wrong she would act immediately, ‘let’s just do it! We can always figure out the details later!’ She would often say, which, judging by the sheepish smile on Chan’s lips, was probably exactly what she had told him before sending him here.

“I’ve been trying to come up with something, but… It’s my first time in your kingdom, to be honest, so I don’t know my way around that well”, Chan simply shrugged. “Based on what Her Majesty has told me about you, though, I was hoping we could figure something out together, Your Highness”.

You figured it wouldn’t be hard to leave, considering your presence was hardly ever noticed in the castle anyway. So, after informing Chan of an inn he could stay at for the next few days, you two began to plot your escape. You would have to travel for months, so your baggage had to be kept at a minimum, clothes only as necessary, money, a few toiletries you refused to let go of, and the odd knick-knack with sentimental value were the only things you thought you might need. Chan seemed to agree with you, but he stressed the importance of the right clothes to take with you, no dresses or gowns, only garments that wouldn’t obstruct your mobility, and thick coats were a must since you were going to cross snowy mountains.

Throughout the next handful of days you set on the task to gather your supplies as inconspicuously as you could, getting them out of the castle in small batches to not attract suspicions. The thick coats were the first ones to go since they were the heaviest, you brought them to the inn Chan was staying at for safe keeping, and the rest soon followed, until five days later you were able to bundle everything neatly so you could strategically place it on your horse after–a suggestion Chan gave you alleging that ‘it’ll be easier for her if you distribute the weight’, which made sense to you.

On your last day in your father’s castle, you gathered as many jewels as you could, as well as any gold and silver coins you had stashed away for safe-keeping throughout the years. Deep down, you had always had the idea of escaping, so you had saved up, even if you hardly ever entertained the idea. You never had the guts to go through with it because you knew you wouldn’t have been able to make it on your own. Now, though, your best friend and her trusted knight had given you the support you needed, so you took it, finally releasing yourself from your father’s abusive grasp.

You wouldn’t lie, your first week was hard. You hadn’t realised how privileged you were. Sure, you had been emotionally and physically abused for years, but you’d always had food and shelter and comfort… The first night you had to camp out you could hardly get any sleep, the floor was uneven, and the noises of the night scared you. ‘Don’t worry, princess… I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you’ Chan had gently offered when he saw your panicked expression after a particularly loud noise. And, in a way, that did comfort you a bit.

Chan… Chan was gentle, he was proper, and so well mannered… At least, he was when he talked to you. As the days went by, you’d catch glimpses of his other facets, particularly when he thought you weren’t close enough to hear, and it intrigued you. When you two went to any tavern to get some sustenance, and you’d separate from him for one reason or another, you could hear him talk with the attendant, or with another customer, and it was as if he was a completely different person–or rather, a different version of himself. Looser, cheekier, and with a mouth that would put any sailor to shame–all that gone and replaced with his stoic, responsible, and sensible side as soon as you came close and he noticed your presence. It was fascinating, really. And you would lie if you said your curiosity hadn’t been piqued.

You started to notice Chan loosen up around two weeks into your journey. His stance around you relaxed, he’d joke more, tease more, and it gave you a very diluted taste of that Chan you had secretly seen–and heard–talking with anyone other than you. You tried your best to make him feel comfortable around you, but you also tried your best to press his buttons, to get him to react to you, to annoy him a bit.

You quickly found out that Chan liked to lead, to be in control, and oftentimes–in situations that weren’t that serious–you enjoyed defying him, you enjoyed seeing the way his jaw clenched and his gaze shifted, almost, almost as if he wanted to put you in your place, but as soon as you saw that shift in him, you relented, hearing the shaky intake of breath and seeing the whiplash of his own emotions reflected in his eyes.

“How far are we?” You asked out of curiosity as you absentmindedly pushed the bright embers with a stick.

“I’d say… We probably have a bit more than a month and a half to go, Your Highness”, Chan simply looked at the bonfire, at how you pushed the burning pieces around. “Why? Are you not enjoying the super comfortable soil at night, princess?” There was a glint of a teasing tone in his voice, that bit of sarcasm that intrigued you, that piqued your interest, and it made you snort, such an un-princess-like reaction that you knew your father would’ve punished you for as soon as he heard it.

“I’ll take the forest’s soil every night if it means being away from that goddamned castle”, you commented, taking the stick out of the fire and waving it in the air to put out the small flame that had clung to it. “Oddly enough, sleeping on the ground feels more comfortable than being trapped within those walls”.

You could feel Chan’s eyes burning on your side profile, almost as if he was pondering while he scrutinised your face. There was usually distance between you and Chan, both physically and metaphorically, but tonight, as you sat thigh against thigh by the bonfire trying to keep yourselves warm, you could almost, almost feel how those reservations of his were diminishing slowly, but steadily.

“Your Highness, if I may… Why did Her Majesty send me to get you? What was happening in there with your father?” Chan surprised you when he asked such a personal question, and it was almost as if he could infer what happened, but he wanted to be certain of it, why he wanted to know, though, you weren’t sure. “You know how Queen Naeel can be, she didn’t give me any details other than what I told you when we met…”

Your eyes were fixed on the dancing flames in front of you as you took in a deep breath. “My father… My father is a man that doesn’t know love. He claims he does, but he doesn’t. He blames me for my mother’s death, says that, had I not been growing in her, she wouldn’t have died trying to bring me into this world. Stupid, isn’t it? Blame me, who didn’t ask to be brought here in the first place, while he himself put me in there. He’s just mad she died not giving him a son”.

It was as if a dam broke, words falling out of your mouth endlessly with no way to stop them. You told him everything that had happened to you–maybe in too much detail, you’d admit. You told him how your father treated you–or rather, mistreated you–how you were ignored, treated as a lesser being in your own home, how you couldn’t simply be you, you couldn’t exist. Food was kept from you when you spoke out of line, you were confined to your chambers when you didn’t behave as you were expected to, those workers that came too close to you would be discharged as soon as your father found out, and whenever you did anything your father deemed unworthy, not princess-like, not to his standards, he’d hit you. With a stick, with an iron rod, with his hands, with whatever he could reach at the time.

Chan listened intently to every single word that left your mouth, and you hadn’t even realised you were crying until you felt his hand holding yours, the soft caress of his thumb on your knuckles easing the trembles you didn’t even know were coursing through you.

“I’m… I’m sorry, princess”, was all he said as he held your hand.

“There’s no need for that”, you hiccuped as you used your sleeve to wipe some of the tears on your face. “The only one that should be sorry is him… And even then, I’m not sure I would ever be able to forgive him”.

“You don’t really have to, princess”, Chan offered, his tone gentle. “There are things in this world that can’t be forgiven. The notion that we must forgive to heal our wounds is… Is not for everyone. Not in my opinion, at least”.

“I think that’s a fair opinion to have”, you moved your gaze from where it was fixed on your joined hands so you could look him in the eyes. Chan was already looking at you, the light of the bonfire had his brown eyes almost sparkling, and you couldn’t help but feel your breath catching in your throat under his heavy gaze. Using every bit of royal tricks you had, you put up your walls, trying to appear more collected than you were when you finally spoke again. “Have you done it before?”

Chan blinked slightly, almost as if your question had startled him. “Done what, Your Highness?”

“Heal without forgiving”, your eyes jumped around his face, taking in his features, his lips, his nose, his eyes, his scar… Had he been sitting this close the entire time? You could practically count every individual eyelash, and if you were completely honest with yourself, it was quickening your heartbeat more than you would like to admit.

“I have”, Chan replied simply, his eyes seemed to be also taking in your features for a moment, until he finally let go of your hand, bringing it instead to his face, pointing to his scar. “Both physically and emotionally”.

You wanted to inquire more, to learn the story behind the scar on his face, but before you could, Chan stood up from the ground, huffing an ‘anyway, you should sleep, Your Highness’, effectively ending the conversation.

Something shifted between you two that night. You had expected Chan to treat you differently, perhaps trying to act sympathetic around you, or trying to act as if he were walking on eggshells when he talked to you after you told him what had happened to you, what had been done to you. Instead, he just opened up more, showing you more of that other side of him–not fully, but just… More. And it dawned on you then that at that moment, Chan started to see you, to really see you. As a person, as a woman, not some entity, some mindless princess living the perfect royal life. He’d joke even more, tease you even more, and he’d play along when you defied him, and it was fun.

‘Be careful, princess’, he’d tell you when you got a bit too close to the edge, when you had pressed his buttons a bit too much. ‘Or what? What are you going to do about it?’ you’d taunt him, and sometimes, you’d catch his eyes moving around your face, resting on your lips for a fraction of a second, before they snapped back up and simply diverted the conversation. ‘I might have to leave you right here on your own, Your Highness’, he’d tell you with a teasing smile on his lips. You knew it was all talk, so you would always scoff at the comment.

It was odd, really, considering you hadn’t known each other for long. But Chan truly made you feel safe, made you feel comfortable, and in a way, you hoped he felt that way around you, too, all things considered. Somehow, it was as if there was something lingering between you two, when you talked, when you stood close, you felt almost as if there were sparks flying around, a tension that would build the longer you spent time together, a tension that was not uncomfortable by any means, it was just… There, as if you both were just holding your breath, expectant, and it truly, truly intrigued you.

“We’re going further up the mountains tomorrow, princess”, Chan commented as you two sat on the stools of the inn’s tavern, watching as the attendant took the empty plates in front of you. “I heard from a lad just a while ago that it’s snowing heavily…”

Your eyes lit up, your whole body perking up as you snapped your head in his direction, looking at him. “Really?”

Chan blinked slightly, confused. “Yes? That’s not… It’s not something good for us, Your Highness”, he finished off with a laugh, taking another sip of his drink.

“Oh, it isn’t?” Your shoulders slumped slightly, feeling bummed out now. “I’ve just never seen snow before”.

Chan looked slightly surprised. “Never ever?”

“Never. It doesn’t snow where I’m from”.

Chan just hummed, thoughtful. “Guess we might need to get a few more supplies, princess”.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, not because of the comment itself but because Chan kept on calling you ‘princess’ or ‘Your Highness’, and now, it was really starting to annoy you. “It’s been over a month already, Chan. Stop referring to me by title…”

Chan simply chuckled, taking a long sip of his ale and licking his lips clean right after. “You are a princess, Your Highness. I must address you as such. I’m only a Knight, after all”.

You hated the way he said that, as if he thought of himself as being below you–although you did want him below you sometimes, just in a more improper way. “I’m asking you not to, though. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Chan looked at you for a moment, then back to his drink. “This feels like a trap question…”

“Come on, if our roles were reversed, would you want me to continue calling you prince? Your Highness? Or would you want me to be comfortable around you? To be myself?” The question was pointed, and when Chan stared into your eyes right as you asked it, you could see something in them, an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Princess…” It was his warning tone, the tone that he started to use when you were almost pressing his buttons too much. “I am myself around you”.

You scoffed. “Please, not even you believe that”, you couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh at that, taking a sip of your drink.

“I am! At least, a more… Proper version of myself, I guess”, he admitted. “The me who’s a knight. A knight of Queen Naeel’s Guard, and as such, I must address royalty appropriately. Come on, let’s go buy a few blankets, princess”, Chan added as he stood up from his seat, gulping the rest of his drink in one go.

You hated that he continuously put that space between you two, because you didn’t want it there, because, by the time you had finally made it to the snowy mountains, you were burning up from the inside out, and you wanted nothing more than for him to let go of those inhibitions.

“It’s cold”, you dumbly commented as you both seeked shelter in the mountains, the snow under your horses’ hooves crunching with every step they took.

You weren’t that used to such low temperatures. not because you had any particular heating system in your father’s castle, but because your realm was of a much warmer climate all year round, so much so it was considered as if there were only two seasons there, rainy and drought, with constant warm temperatures.

“You don’t say, princess” Chan snorted, pulling on the bridle gently to stop his horse. “I think this place will do. The horses need to rest and it’s getting dark”.

It was an almost cave on the side of the mountain, big enough to fit you two and your two horses with some room to spare. It wasn’t completely closed off so it wouldn’t provide as much insulation as you would’ve liked, but you had to make do.

Chan looked for a place to tie the equines securely so they wouldn’t run away during the night, all while you set camp. You’d learn how to actually do these things on this journey, a skill that you were now grateful to have. Had you made your escape without Chan, you would’ve surely died the first night out there, unable to set a safe space for yourself. You could still remember the first time you tried to start a fire with the two pieces of flint, you had given up after the twentieth time, and Chan had offered you an encouraging ‘it’s all about practice, princess. You’ll get there eventually’. And you got there, the fire in front of you starting with a single flick of the two stones together proof of that.

“We’re only two weeks away from Queen Naeel’s realm”, Chan commented once you had had supper, extending his hands towards the bonfire. “It’ll be much easier to move once we’re there, probably three weeks in total for us to reach the castle”.

You simply hummed in response, scooting closer to the fire. “I can’t wait to see her, I really, really miss her”.

“You two are really good friends, aren’t you? For Her Majesty to do something like this…”

“We are”, you could feel your teeth starting to chatter slightly, so you tried to wrap the blanket you had brought with you tighter around your body. “I love her deeply. And after this, I don’t think I’d ever be able to repay her”.

Chan chuckled softly. “Her Majesty wouldn’t expect you to repay her, Your Highness. But if you’re close, I’m sure you know”.

“Oh, I know”, you tried to get as close to the fire as you could, taking special care to not get your blanket on fire. “But still. I won’t be able to repay her, nor you. I’m really grateful”.

“I mean, it was a royal order, so it’s not like I’m making art for art’s sake, princess”, Chan snorted. “But I must say, it isn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be”.

“Oh? Why? Did you expect a bratty little princess high on her horse? Or did you expect for the journey to be riddled with traps and schemes like in the classic novels they teach at school?”

You heard Chan mumble something, it was hard to hear but you could’ve sworn he had said something along the lines of ‘…a bit of a brat’ but before you could question it he was shaking his head slightly and speaking again. “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this, Your Highness. You’ve made it really easy. You’re fun to talk with, even though you’re a princess and I’m a simple knight, you treat me with real respect when we’re not joking around. I’ve had fun all throughout and, in a way, I’m grateful”.

Oh? So he did enjoy when you pressed his buttons, interesting… You blinked slightly, at his words, a little shocked. After a few seconds, you scoffed, a smile settling on your lips. “How silly. I am the one who’s grateful here”.

“It’s not a competition, princess”, Chan chuckled, standing up from where he was sitting by the bonfire to lay on the blanket you had laid for him on the floor. “You should get some sleep”.

You simply hummed in acknowledgement, but you didn’t move. Truth was, you were freezing. You had also laid a blanket on the floor for you to lay on, but you figured that if you were freezing sitting right here by the fire, you’d die if you laid down on the blanket. So you sat there, as close as you could to the fire, wrapping the blanket over your body as tight as you could.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed–fifteen, twenty minutes?– but you figured Chan was fast asleep already, since he was completely silent. You sat there, debating whether you should go to your other blanket on the floor, maybe pick it up and throw it over your body as well and sit here to try and get some heat from the bonfire. But you couldn’t move, you were just too cold and moving from this spot sounded like the worst idea ever.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your body, holding your upper arms over the blanket you had around your form. You tensed slightly at the unexpected contact, turning your face to find a concerned looking Chan staring at you. “You’re shivering, princess”.

“I’m–I’m really cold”, your whole face felt as if it was about to fall off, and it was truly not pleasant at all.

Chan moved away from you, picking up the blanket on the floor and wrapping it around you. It helped a bit… Emphasis on a bit, as you could still feel your teeth chattering slightly. He noticed, so he moved away again, grabbing his own blanket.

“Don’t you–Don’t you dare”, was all you could muster, seeing as Chan stopped in his tracks with his blanket still in his hand. “You’ll freeze”.

“You clearly need it more than I do, Your Highness. I’m used to this climate, you’re clearly not”, he attempted to wrap his blanket around your form, but you stopped him, a rush of coldness reaching you as your arms left the safety of your cocoon. “Your Highness–”

“Let’s just… Let’s just share, then”, you weren’t thinking much when you said it, you just desperately wanted some warmth, you didn’t think you could withstand this for much longer.

Chan looked apprehensive for a moment, until he finally nodded, guiding you from where you sat by the fire to the blanket he had been laying on previously. As soon as you laid down, he threw all remaining three blankets over your body, finally tucking himself in as well after you gave him a disapproving look when he looked like he was thinking of not doing it.

Soon enough, with the amount of blankets on top of you, and another human body next to you, you started to warm up. Chan wasn’t really that close to you, there was a fair distance, but the blankets provided enough insulation for his body heat to spread over to you, which you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief about.

“Better?” Chan asked after a while as he was laying on his left side, turned to you.

“Much”, you were still cold, but not freezing cold, so it was a start. You would surely warm up completely eventually. “Thank you”.

“You’re welcome. Now, sleep”.

You laid there for a while, waiting to warm up further so you could comfortably fall asleep, hearing how Chan’s breathing evened out. Every time you had to sleep in a new setting, it took you a long time to get to sleep, be it for the hard terrain, the changes in temperature, or the noises around you, it always took you a long time, which translated into you tossing and turning more than you probably should with another person sleeping next to you.

At first you laid on your back, then you moved towards Chan, but you couldn’t help your eyes from staying open and focusing on his handsome face, so you laid on your back again, only to turn away from him and lay on your left side. You repeated the motions a few times, your coat coming undone in the process, opening and leaving your front exposed-save for the shirt below it, of course. Thankfully the heap of blankets provided enough warmth that you didn’t really need to close it again.

As you continued to sporadically toss and turn, you couldn’t help but come to the realisation that you were literally sharing your sleeping space with Chan. Somehow, that realisation made you warm up quicker, made you even more restless, which honestly was not what you needed right now. What if you inadvertently pressed yourself to him while you slept? Sure, you were attracted to him but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, much less if you didn’t know how he felt about the entire thing. He was still, after all, putting that space between you two.

You continued your almost struggle with yourself, with finding a comfortable position to sleep, until Chan suddenly moved, his arm wrapping around you and his hand holding onto your ribs, effectively stopping your movement. An annoyed huff passed his lips, the heat of his palm just shy away from your breast kick-starting your heartbeat. “Stop moving so much, princess. I’m trying to sleep”, the low tone of his voice so close to your ear sent a shiver down your spine, you just couldn’t help it, and you had to shut your eyes tightly, swearing at yourself for getting yourself in this situation.

Your senses were on high alert, suddenly aware of the lack of space between your bodies, Chan was not fully pressed to you, but one push and he could be… He could very well be flush to your back, the thought now worming into your brain, playing on a maddening loop and why wouldn’t he just move his hand a bit further up…?

“I’m trying to get comfortable”, could he feel your racing heart against his palm as he held you? There was no way he couldn’t, but you were still proud of the evenness in your voice, as if you were not burning from the inside out from your sinful thoughts and the mere feel of his hand on you.

“We’re laying on the ground under a dent on the side of a mountain, Your Highness. Sorry to say, but I don’t think you’ll find any comfort tonight”, Chan let out an amused chuckle, his words coming out as barely a whisper.

“I’m missing the inn we stayed at last night…” You commented absentmindedly. Your mind was too focused on Chan’s hand on your ribs, his hold firm, but gentle, succeeding at keeping you from shuffling too much and Gods why wouldn’t he just move it up?

“Almost two months of travelling and you’ve already let your standards dip this low, huh princess?” Chan shuffled a bit, getting more comfortable, you presume. Was he closer now? You couldn’t tell. There was still a fair bit of space between your bodies, space that the more you felt his warm palm on you the more you wished it didn’t exist.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, isn’t that what they say?” What if you pushed yourself to him? Would he like that? Or would you overstep some boundary if you did? Chan was unmarried, you knew that much, and sometimes you saw the way his eyes looked at you, the way they settled on your lips longer than what was conventionally appropriate, the way he leaned forward just a bit only to step back and smile at you, the way his hands would linger on your skin whenever he had to touch you… Or had you imagined it? “That’s what’s brought us here, cuddled up under these blankets, barely even sheltered by the mountainside”.

“This can hardly be considered cuddling, Your Highness”, there was a glint of amusement in Chan’s words, you could almost hear the smile on his lips as he said it.

Chan’s hand started to move, painfully slow, retreating carefully from your frame so it could go back to lay wherever he had been keeping it before placing it on your body. You couldn’t let that happen, not now that you knew how having the weight of his hold on you felt like. Maybe the cold had effectively killed every single one of your brain cells, all reason slipping from you as your hand shot to his quickly before he got to remove it from you completely, tugging on it–the sudden movement catching Chan off guard, making his chest press against your upper back with the motions.

You heard it.

You heard the way his breath caught in his throat at the contact, and the sound fuelled your impulsive actions, so you placed his hand right back where it was on your ribs, if only a bit further up, almost, almost touching the underside of your breast. “We need to fix that then”, cuddling wasn’t exactly what you had in mind right now, but it was a start.

Chan didn’t move away, he didn’t talk, you doubt he was barely even breathing, at least for a moment. There was silence for a bit, until you heard the shaky inhale, feeling the exhale against your nape right after. “Princess… What are you doing?” His tone was tentative, checking the waters for what might be appropriate to say or not, just like he often did.

“I’m not doing anything”, you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips as you lied through your teeth.

“Bullshit”, you’d truly only ever heard Chan swear when he thought you weren’t close by to hear, and even then he was usually so far away it barely even felt like it was him talking. Now, you had finally heard it clear as day against your ear, and it shouldn’t have affected you, but it did–your thighs pressing a bit closer together to ease a bit of that ache that was steadily building between your legs.

Chan didn’t make any attempts to move, not closer nor away from you. You could feel his chest rise and fall against your back in short spurts, and you knew you had caught his attention with your stunt. Maybe the cold had truly killed your reason. “What if I am doing something, though?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear a pin drop in the silence that surrounded you, so you knew he was listening.

You heard–and felt–his deep intake of breath, the thumb of the hand you kept pressed to your ribs moving ever so slightly, back and forth, back and forth, slowly, each stroke almost touching the underside of your breast. “I shouldn’t…”

“You don’t sound too convinced”.

“I’m not”, he admitted immediately, almost as if the words had escaped from a place deep within him where they had been contained. “You… You’re a princess, Your Highness”.

“And? I told you my story, my title has brought nothing but despair and desolation to my life. Besides, I’m running away from my land, I wouldn’t be surprised if the King has revoked it already”.

Silence fell between you two, but your positions didn’t change, nor did the movement of Chan’s thumb on you stop. The more the silence stretched out, the more unsure you started to feel, insecurity creeping into every secluded area of your mind.

“Unless you… Unless I’m making you uncomfortable. You can say that, too, if that’s what this is, and I’ll stop”.

Chan chuckled softly behind you, the sound almost incredulous. “I must be a better actor than I thought if you think you are making me uncomfortable”, he went silent for a bit, until his upper body shuffled a bit closer to you, fully pressing his chest to your back as his lips came close to your ear. “The only uncomfortable thing right now, princess, is my traitorous cock straining my pants”.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your thighs further pressing together, an involuntary reaction upon Chan’s confession. Encouraged by his words, you held his hand tighter, dragging it further up so he could finally cup your breast, a shaky exhale passing your lips as his hand groped you as soon as you had placed it there.

“Fuck…” Chan’s lips attached to your neck, leaving kisses and licks wherever he could while his hands grew bolder, dragging to your other breast to provide it with as much attention as the other, gently teasing your nipples over your shirt. “Is this why you were tossing and turning so much? Because you were thinking of me touching you like this?”

“I was–Was truly trying to get comfortable…” Any time his lips pressed on your skin, you felt a jolt of excitement spark from the spot and shoot straight down to your core, your clenching thighs doing absolutely nothing to ease the ache that continued to build between your legs. You needed him. You needed Chan to touch you without barriers, you needed to feel as much of his skin on you as you could. “Chan…”

“Fuck”, his hand shot down from your breast to cup you over your trousers, pulling you to him so your rear was flush to his crotch. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as you felt him, hard and warm, grinding slowly against you, with his hand still on your mound. “If you keep making those sounds, if you keep saying my name like that… I’ll do something you might regret in the morning”.

You pushed further into him, your bum dragging over his crotch, making him swear under his breath. “Do it”.

His hand moved, slipping past the waistband of your trousers, under your underwear for his fingers to find your slit. “Shit, so wet and I’ve barely even touched you, princess”, coating his fingers in your essence he brought them up to your clit, rubbing teasing circles on your skin, moans catching in your throat as you bit your lower lip to dampen the sounds.

“Chan… A bit–bit softer”.

Chan’s fingers complied, adjusting the pressure of his slow movements on you. “Mmm, like this?”

“Go up a bi–Oh, shit…”

A soft chuckle passed Chan’s lips, raising goosebumps on your nape as he mumbled against your skin. “Swearing, princess? Such a dirty mouth… I wonder what else it can do”.

“You…” Swallowing thickly, you gathered your thoughts, the slow, almost teasing movement of his fingers on your clit making your head spin. “You’d be surprised”

“I’m sure”, his pace picked up, your legs parting enough to give him more space to manoeuvre, holding onto his forearm for dear life as your breathing became more and more laboured. “I’ve been… Been thinking of doing this, princess. Of touching you, kissing you… I know I shouldn’t have, but I was”.

“Been… Been thinking about you, too…” You could feel heat spread on your face the more he worked you up, his lips on your skin aiding the movement of his fingers on building and building and building your impending orgasm. The slow grind of his hips against your rear was maddening, the feel of his hard length on your bum suddenly making you feel empty, the need to have him in you growing exponentially with each swipe of his fingers on your clit.

“Spread your legs further, lay it over my thigh”.

You did as asked, right as Chan pushed his knee between your legs for you to move them further apart and give him more space for his fingers to dip from your clit to your entrance, his ring and middle finger entering you with ease, a shameless moan escaping your mouth at the sudden feeling of fullness. You were sure it wouldn’t be as fulfilling as his cock, but it would do for now.

“Guide me, princess”, Chan whispered against your ear, his tone confident, but slightly urgent, his lips brushing your skin with every syllable. “Tell me how you like to be touched here”.

“Bit more towards the entrance… More… Harder…”

Chan adjusted his fingers to follow your direction, prodding your walls until he finally found the spot you were guiding him to. Your sigh of relief did not go unnoticed, an amused chuckle falling from Chan’s lips as the movement of his fingers inside of you picked up, his palm lightly stimulating your clit. “You’re fucking dripping all over my fingers… You have really been wanting this, haven’t you? Shit, I bet if it weren’t for these many layers of fabric we could hear the wet sounds as my fingers go in and out of you…”

“Shit…” The faster he moved, the more you cursed, your moans and whines becoming more and more frequent. Desperation started to cling to you, your hips rolling to chase his fingers as well as to rub yourself against his crotch, your walls clenching around him the further that familiar knot in your stomach tightened. You needed your release, and you needed it now. “Chan… I need–Want to…”

“Come on, princess. Give it to me. I got you, remember? I got you. Let me hear you come for me…”

Your vision blurred, the knot in your lower belly unravelling as your climax hit you after a few more flicks of his fingers against your walls, letting warmth spread within your body in its wake. You might have moaned out his name as you did, you couldn’t tell, your senses momentarily shut off, completely overcome by the entire feeling.

Chan removed his fingers from your core, his hand dragging out of your underwear spreading the remnants of your release on your skin as it went, sneaking under your shirt and settling on your lower belly, softly kneading your flesh. “I’m fucking ruined, princess”, his lips pressed kisses on your skin between words, making you flush further. “How can I go back to acting normal around you now that I know you can moan so prettily for me?”

You were still panting, your nerve endings still on fire, but that didn’t stop you from turning around, finally coming face to face with Chan. The full moon and the barely lit bonfire provided enough light for you to make out the features of his face, to see his eyes scanning your face intently. “I’m sure we can figure something out”, taking a hold of the collar of his coat you pulled him to you, crashing your lips with his, a surprised yelp escaping Chan’s throat with the action, surprised as if he had not just had his fingers in your cunt, as if he had not just coaxed a mind-numbing orgasm out of you.

As soon as the initial shock passed, he sprung into action, his tongue making its way into your mouth to hungrily push against yours. His hands found purchase on your bum, eagerly groping you as you palmed his crotch, firmly pressing against his length, the action making Chan bite your lower lip with a grunt and his hips buck forward.

You wasted no time undoing his coat, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his trousers, and pulling his zipper down, finally slipping your hand in his underwear to get a feel of him all while you continued to devour his mouth. Chan was warm and heavy in your hand, the sensation making you feel dizzy with all the chaotic thoughts that suddenly started to roam freely in your mind–how he would feel in your mouth, how heavy he would feel on your tongue, how he would stretch your cunt open, how he would fill you up…

“Show me how you like it”, you mumbled against his lips as your fingers wrapped around him, your thumb spreading the fluids spilling from his tip around his head, aiding you to give a couple tentative pumps to his cock.

“Shit… Spit on your hand, princess. Make it feel as if it were your warm, wet cunt on me”.

Chan truly was swearing a lot, you had heard him before, but you weren’t prepared. The contrast of his usual way of addressing you and this had your head spinning. Seeing him and hearing him lose himself enough to let his mouth run freely was immensely gratifying, and you wanted nothing more than to continue to hear him let himself go like this.

So you did as asked, ungracefully spitting on your hand so you could wrap it around him once again. Somewhere in the back of your mind you could remember your father reprimanding you when you were little for spitting– ‘proper ladies do not spit, much less princesses. That’s something only peasants do’. To his standards, proper ladies surely didn’t let knights from other lands finger them on the mountains, yet here you were.

“Tighter”, Chan whispered against your lips, bringing his hand to join yours around his length, helping you tighten your grip around him to his liking. “Fuck, yeah… Just like that”, his hand moved from yours so he could grope your breast instead, while the other pulled the hem of his shirt further up his torso to not get soiled by his fluids. You took advantage of that, placing your free hand on his abdomen to feel his soft skin under your palm, feeling his muscles clenching ever so slightly the more you worked his cock, the more you touched his bare skin.

Removing your hand from his length briefly, you spit on it again to further lubricate him as soon as your hand resumed its motions. His hips bucked, fervently chasing your hand, the movement producing obscene squelching sounds that had Chan grunting against your mouth.

You both had gotten under these blankets however long ago cold as a seal’s bum, it was still snowing out of your makeshift shelter, but the second Chan’s hands had touched your bare body the temperature started to rise. Now, as his hips continued to thrust into your grip and your lips eagerly moved against one another, sweat collected on the back of your neck, the warmth and heat produced by your bodies completely all-consuming.

It was getting harder to breathe, your lips moving from his to attach to his neck instead, pressing kisses there as you tried to get some air into your lungs. “Fuck, you could–you could make me blow like this”, Chan was breathless, his chest heaving the faster you moved your hand around his length, focusing now all your attention on his tip.

“That’s the plan”, Chan had wanted to hear you come earlier, and now you wanted to hear him come for you, too.

Groans and grunts fell from his mouth, albeit slightly muffled as Chan bit his lower lip to dampen the sound. As you continued to lick and kiss his neck you could hear him mumble, something akin to ‘fucking ruined…’ while his hips started to move faster, fucking your hand to chase his own release.

Chan tilted his body slightly, a warning passing his lips as he held his shirt higher and as he tried to create some space between you two and the blankets over you. With a few more pumps of your hand he finally came undone, his release spilling from his tip and landing all over his abs as a drawn out groan fell from his mouth.

“Shit, what a mess…”

“I got you”, you reached your free hand out of the mess of fabric on top of you towards the bag resting above your heads, blindly rummaging its contents until you found the handkerchief you kept in there.

You did your best to clean him up, using the last bit of dry fabric after to wipe your hand while Chan buttoned up his trousers again. It was really warm under the blanket, but you knew that if you removed yourself any further from here you’d freeze in record time, so you stayed put–Chan clearly having a similar thought.

Silence fell for a while between you two, you could see Chan looking at the ceiling of the cave, a hand in his hair softly massaging his scalp and lightly tugging on the strands between his fingers as he seemed to mull something over. The fact that he seemed to be making a conscious effort to not look at you made you feel anxious all of a sudden. Was he regretting what just happened? You didn’t regret it one bit, if anything, this felt like just an appetiser, something to mildly ease your hunger until you could finally stuff yourself full.

“Princess…” His voice startled you, but you turned to look at him regardless, finding him already eyeing you, almost tentatively. “I’m gonna… Gonna kiss you now, yeah?”

He sounded… Nervous? Almost as if he thought you wouldn’t let him. You couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Kiss me”.

His lips were on yours before you could even finish saying ‘me’, soft, tired pecks against your lips, his arms pulling you further into him for your head to lay on his arm while one of his legs slotted between yours, keeping you close. “I’m truly, truly ruined”, he mumbled against your lips, his hand coming to hold your hip. “Royally fucked…”

“That’d be two of us, then”, you pressed kisses back on his lips as you spoke, your hand coming to play with the hair on the back of his head as his thumb drew patterns on your hip. “Is this now cuddling enough for your standards?”

A soft chuckle fell from Chan’s lips, giving you another kiss as his hold on you tightened. “Now it is. Before it was just me trying not to rub myself on you the second we got under these blankets”.

Chan pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. Sneaking his hand from your hip to your bum, he squeezed your buttcheek, the motion making you hike your leg up his torso, pulling him even closer to you. “Still cold?”

You shook your head, and Chan simply leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips briefly, accentuating his next words with a tight squeeze to your bum. “You’re not gonna get rid of me now, princess. As soon as we make it to the next inn and I get you on a bed I’m gonna make you all mine”.

You chuckled softly, leaning in to press a loud kiss to his lips. “I’ll hold you to that”.

As Chan held you, softly caressing your back, your bum, your thigh, and with the aftereffects of your orgasm still pumping through your veins, you finally fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up as soon as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed lids. Once you regained your senses enough you could feel warmth all over you, and you realised then that Chan was clinging to your frame, holding you so tightly in his arms you could hardly breathe. You tried to wake him up, gently caressing his back and softly murmuring his name. Your attempts only made him whine, musing a sleepy ‘five more minutes…’ before he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

All you did was chuckle softly, threading your fingers in his hair to massage his scalp, eliciting a satisfied hum against your neck. Just as you had not been prepared for Chan’s unfiltered swearing, you had also not been prepared for this facet of Chan, the clingy, touchy Chan. Even as you broke camp, he remained as close to you as he could, with his hands on you as much as he could, touching you, hugging you, even kissing you. A completely different demeanour from the one he sported when you had gotten into that almost-cave the night before.

And you retaliated, of course. With your own touches, with your own words, with your own mouth, finally able to physically display your feelings. When Chan bent over to pick up the last bundle of blankets so he could strap it up to his horse, you were presented with an opportunity, something you had wanted to do for so long but you hadn’t dared. Now, though, you could. You could indulge, so you did, reaching to him and pinching one of his buttcheeks. Chan stilled for a moment, but he resumed his movements almost immediately after, regarding you with a smirk as he finished his task.

Just as you were about to hop on your horse, you felt his hand on your rear, gripping the flesh tightly as his free hand cupped your cheek, bringing your mouth to his, stealing the air out of your lungs with his heated kiss. All you could do was whine as you brought your hand to his nape to attempt to pull him impossibly closer to you. It was truly exhilarating, feeling Chan’s warmth all over you as he kissed you, his tongue feeding the fire in the pit of your stomach, and his, too, if the hardness you felt against your belly was anything to go by.

Finally, letting go of your buttock, Chan landed a harsh smack on your rear, making you simultaneously gasp and laugh, completely in disbelief. Chan simply shrugged, alleging ‘you get your fun, so it’s only fair I get mine, too’ before he helped you get on your horse, moving to mount his as soon as you were seated.

Once you both left your former campsite behind, and got back on the trail, you couldn’t help but ask, “so, how long until we reach some civilization?”

“Probably a day, or half a day if there are no eventualities”, Chan offered. “Why, princess? Wanna get fucked that badly?” You could practically hear the smirk on his face as he talked, and you couldn’t help but scoff, incredulous. Oh, how you liked this side of Chan, too…

“Oh, I do want to get fucked”, you heard Chan laugh next to you, seemingly also in disbelief at your honesty. “But, I’m asking because I’m truly curious, besides, I figured since you already had your fingers in my cunt, might as well stop being all mysterious and tell me more about yourself on our way there”.

Chan chuckled, but he humoured you regardless. It wasn’t as if Chan hadn’t told you things about himself before, he had told you enough to intrigue you, to want to inquire more on his life, and you had managed to gather a few things here and there just by looking at him, just by the way he did things, said things, or the way he carried himself. So, as you continued your journey, hearing him tell you about his humble up-bringing, about his family, about his knighthood, steadily satisfied some of that curiosity you had towards him.

You learnt that Chan had two younger siblings, and his parents were still alive. His mother worked as a seamstress, while his dad was also a knight in the Queen’s Guard, ‘it was almost a given that I would take the oath as well and follow my father’s steps. And honestly, so far I haven’t regretted it’, he commented as soon as he mentioned his father’s profession.

You learnt that he lived on his own, and that on his ‘hardly existent time off’ as he put it, he enjoyed hanging out with his small group of friends, playing bocce, or going out to eat, or going out for drinks. “I’d say I’m a very simple man, princess. Boring, even”, he added with a chuckle. “But what about you, though? Other than, you know, the thing with your father… What do you do to keep yourself entertained? You’re adept in embroidery, right?”

You had told Chan in passing once when you were camping in the woods that you liked to embroider to keep your mind off of things, you were honestly surprised he remembered such a mundane detail. “I mean, I’m not sure if adept is the word to use, but yes. I’m fairly into needlework in general…”

You told Chan you enjoyed playing draughts, how you used to play it a lot with the maids that got close enough to you, or even with Queen Naeel when you two would meet. “I’d like to try new things though, things that I wasn’t allowed to do. See if I can find anything that brings me joy, I want to have fun…”

Your conversation flowed like this, smoothly, seamlessly. Slowly but surely peeling layers and layers of yourself and showing them to Chan, just as he did the same. It honestly felt almost the same as before, you had never truly been uncomfortable speaking with Chan, on the contrary, he was quite enjoyable to talk to, but now, with no barriers between you both, it all just felt… Easy, soothing.

By the time night fell you had found yourselves in a small town close to the base of the mountain. An excited ‘holy shit, hot springs!’ leaving Chan’s lips as soon as he spotted the many signs, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief as he said it, the cold was truly not something you could withstand for much longer, so hot springs sounded like heaven at that moment.

As soon as your horses were secured and sheltered, you made your way to the attached inn, finding the attendant with ease for Chan to confidently ask for one room. Taking both of your belongings, he urged you to go to the hot springs, “you must be freezing. I’ll take these up, and we can meet later for supper once we’ve warmed up, yeah?” An offer you gladly took.

The warm water eased the tremors that had started to course through you when the sun was no longer providing any heat as you travelled. A couple of old ladies engaged in conversation with you while you bathed, their presence was comforting in a way, they were nice and provided you with some company as you scrubbed your body clean. But even if they were nice, you did try your best to keep your body underwater, or to always face in their direction, not wanting to attract too much attention to your back.

When you warmed up enough and felt clean enough, you made your way to the tavern area of the inn, ordering some drinks and securing a table by the corner. Chan joined you shortly after, with a towel still draped over his head and a bright smile on his face making his dimples pop and his eyes almost disappear into crescents, and you simply couldn’t help the flutter in your heart at the sight.

The food was surprisingly decent, better than the last few inns you had stayed at throughout your journey. You heard from the attendant that the place was quite popular among travellers, mostly due to the hot springs, and you could understand that completely. You and Chan took your time eating, and even after your food was finished, you stayed there for a while, a relaxed aura settling between you two as you simply enjoyed each other’s company, drinking, talking, flirting…

However, as soon as you made it to your room, as soon as the door closed behind you two, it was almost comical how fast Chan made his move, pinning you to the closest wall he could find as his lips connected with yours, kissing you with force, with want. Gripping your thigh, he hiked it on his hip as one of his legs slotted between yours, his thigh adding just the tiniest bit of pressure against your heat, making you moan and whine against his mouth.

You liked kissing Chan, you truly did, but right now, as your hips rolled to get some stimulation from his thigh between your legs and both your hands and his held and groped anywhere they could on the other’s body, you just couldn’t wait anymore. So you untangled your legs from his and pushed him towards the bed as you continued to kiss.

With one final push on his shoulders, Chan sank, sitting on the edge of the bed for you to climb on his lap and straddle him, cupping his cheeks to pull his mouth to yours once again almost immediately after. He grunted as soon as you lowered yourself fully on his lap, his hands roaming your body, fondling your hips, your thighs, your back… All as you quickly worked the buttons of his shirt, swiftly unbuttoning each one so you could finally get a full feel of him.

“Don’t be alarmed…” Chan mumbled against your lips as soon as you unbuttoned the last button of his shirt.

You pulled back from his lips and looked him in the eyes. Chan looked almost… Apprehensive as you looked back at him. Slowly, you brought your hands into his open shirt, feeling his abs, his pecks, reaching his shoulders. You could feel his heated skin under your fingertips, every dip, every curve, but most importantly, you could feel every raised bump that seemingly didn’t belong there, and as soon as you slid the shirt off of his shoulders and moved your eyes from his to take in the sight of his bare skin, you understood why he had given you a warning, why he asked you to not be alarmed.

Chan was well built, broad, fair skinned, all defined muscles that flexed and relaxed under your touch, but by far the most distinctive feature of his physique, were the numerous scars littering his body. They were everywhere, on his chest, on his arms, his abs, you wouldn’t be surprised if they covered his back and his legs, too. Chan simply looked back at you, expectant as you took in his form. You’d lie if you say you weren’t surprised by the sight; sure, he had a scar on his face, but that paled in comparison now to the amount of scars on his torso. Deep, superficial, keloids, faint marks, it was all an assortment of different textures and shades of his skin tone and there was no way you could just… Not notice them.

Your hands moved, tentatively, slowly, tracing the many different shapes, feeling each of his intakes of breath with your touch. You didn’t know how long you sat there just touching him, but finally, you settled your palms on his pecks, shamelessly feeling him up as your eyes fixed on your hands and you tilted your head slightly to the side. “Chan, you… You’re really handsome”, you emphasised your words with a squeeze on his pecks, which made him huff an incredulous laugh. “I’m not alarmed”, you turned your gaze back up to meet his, looking him right in the eyes. “I’m just… Curious”.

Chan just hummed, his hands moving from your thighs to hold your hips. ��I’ve been in a lot of… Altercations. Some related to my knighthood, some… Not so much”.

“Will you ever tell me the stories?” Removing your hands from his chest, you proceeded to unbutton your own shirt, slowly, leisurely flicking every single button open until you could finally shrug it off of you, leaving your torso completely exposed.

“Only if you have a few hours to spare to listen to them”, Chan took in the sight of your bare chest, you could literally see the moment his eyes zeroed in on your breasts, growing impossibly darker. You’d let him have his fun, but there was something more important you wanted to do, or at least, to show him. So you took his hands from where they were fondling your hips, his hold relenting immediately as you brought them to your lower back, pressing his palms against your skin.

“Feel them”, was all you told him, a look of confusion crossed his face briefly, but his hands moved regardless, slowly moving up the expanse of your back, that look of confusion quickly replaced with that of shock, his eyes going wide and his eyebrows rising high in surprise, only to scrunch with concern right after.

How could you be alarmed about something you yourself carried with you every day of your life, too? Chan’s fingertips traced every single dip, every single bump, every single scar on your back, all as he looked deeply into your eyes, all as you got lost in his eyes as well. “My father was a monster, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d only leave his mark where he knew no one else could see, not unless I let them see them, at least”, you offered, shuddering slightly under Chan’s featherlight touch.

You would usually hide your marks pretty well, always told your lovers you liked the thrill of getting intimate with clothes on, that it added a sense of obscenity to the entire thing. Truth was, you simply didn’t want to deal with the looks they could give you, or to explain anything to anyone, mostly out of fear of what would happen if you spoke up against your father. Chan already knew, though. He knew what you’d been through and he had shown you his own scars, so there was no point in hiding them, no point when you could see in his eyes no semblance of judgement or disgust towards you, if anything, all you could see was fire, burning brighter the longer he looked at you, the longer he explored and touched you.

In his exploration, his hand found the back of your head, pulling down to crash your lips with his. Chan’s kiss was urgent, loaded, all passion and fire overflowing into you with each grunt, each groan. His hands brought you closer, bare chest against bare chest sharing your warmth as your fingers threaded in that mess of brown curls of his, tugging him impossibly closer to you while your tongues pushed against one another. It was both suffocating and freeing, stealing the air out of your lungs while simultaneously filling you with life.

The second your hips started to move, grinding against his hardened length his grip on your body tightened, his hands roughly palming your thighs, your hips, your rear, anywhere he could reach without breaking the contact of your chest against his, almost as if he wished to continue enjoying that feeling of warmth of your bare skin against one another.

You felt yourself moving, Chan’s hands keeping you firmly in place as he stood up and manoeuvred your bodies so you could lay on the bed with him on top of you, right between your legs. Pulling away from your lips, he rested his weight on his hands, looking down at you just as you looked up at him. He took his time, just scanning the features of your face for a while until his eyes moved, taking in the sight of your bare upper torso, his eyes moving almost frantically as if he didn’t know where to look first. And you let him, mostly because you were also doing the same, taking in his breathtaking features, taking in every bump on his skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while”.

Chan surprised you by saying that. He didn’t look particularly ashamed or bashful or anything, he just looked… Serious. And somehow, it made you chuckle. “Could’ve fooled me”.

“Don’t wanna fool you, though”, a smirk crept onto his lips as he lowered himself on his elbows. His lips found yours, one of his arms sneaking under your neck for you to rest on it as his opposite hand found your thigh, pulling you to him so you could hold onto him. Chan rolled his hips, letting you feel him, hard and warm right at the apex of your thighs, making you moan into his mouth.

Suddenly, Chan moved, rolling to the side and moving your body along for you to now straddle his hips, the motion earning a surprised yelp from your lips. His mouth trailed open mouthed kisses from your lips, to your chin, your neck, your collarbones while his hands roamed your back, all as you shuddered under his touch.

“Good…” you gulped the saliva that had collected in your mouth, feeling as Chan’s lips finally found their way to your breasts, kissing everywhere but where you wanted him most. “Chan…” You didn’t mean to sound that needy, that urging, but that was how your call of his name came out, and honestly, you didn’t care if you sounded desperate, because you were.

“Shh, don’t be so impatient, princess. Let me enjoy you for a bit, there’s no need to hurry”, Chan mumbled against your skin as his hands came to cup your breasts, squishing them together to create the perfect space for him to dive his face into with an appreciative hum, his thumbs coming to graze your nipples, his touch so featherlight it was almost as if he was teasing you, giving you a small taste of what you could feel and it was steadily filling you with anticipation.

A shaky gasp escaped your lips as you felt Chan’s lips suck on the tender skin of one of your breasts, leaving a purple mark right as he gently pinched both of your nipples between his fingers. “Is this okay?” his mouth barely even moved away from your skin as he talked, and you nodded, only for Chan to lightly tweak your nipples, the barely there stimulation sending a shiver down your spine. “Words, darling”.

“Yes…” You gulped, looking down at him right in the eyes as you spoke. “It’s–It’s okay”.

Chan simply hummed, satisfied with your answer. So his lips returned to your breasts, sucking purple roses on the delicate skin all as both of his hands worked in unison to tweak and twist and pinch your sensitive buds, the combined stimulation eliciting quiet moans to spill from your lips. You felt yourself heating up further the longer he spent working your chest, touching you, marking you, and it was right as you were close to begging that you finally felt his tongue, landing tentative swipes against one of your nipples for him to finally suck it into his mouth.

“Oh, that’s good…” your finger’s tangled in Chan’s hair, tugging the strands gently. Chan hummed, sneaking his free hand to your rear, holding one of your buttocks tightly as his mouth and his hand continued to work you up. You hadn’t realised you had started to move until you felt him buck up into you, your hips slowly grinding against his, feeling his hardened length against your core, providing you with that relief you’d been desperate for even with the fabric that still separated your flesh.

Chan’s hand on your rear tightened, almost urging you to move faster, to move harder against the outline of his cock, and the moment you felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your nipple you couldn’t help but do just that, moaning from all the different sensations that completely clouded your senses. His mouth on you, his hands on you, his hardness under you, all combined sent sparks of pleasure everywhere within you, kindling that fire in the pit of your stomach, burning brighter with each roll of your hips against him.

Once Chan was satisfied with his work on your nipple, his mouth moved to the other, his hands switching positions to continue with the same treatment as before, one holding your other breast, stimulating your nipple and the other gripping your rear as tight as he could. You knew you were too far gone the moment you looked him in the eyes again, seeing his lustful, almost greedy stare looking back at you with his lips attached to your breast, so your hips sped up, chasing that feeling that was building between your legs the more you ground yourself against his hardness, and before you knew it, you were coming, trembling as heat spread within every crevice of your body, as your mind clouded with only bliss and pleasure and Chan.

“Fuck, fuck, wait…” You mumbled, breathless, firmly tugging on Chan’s hair to get him to detach his mouth from your nipple. “Too much, sensitive…”

Chan chuckled softly, moving his mouth to press kisses on your neck as he removed his hand from your breast, too, moving it to join the other to fully cup your rear. “Enjoyed yourself?” His mouth found the skin behind your ear, pressing a kiss there, only to move along and take your earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently, making you swear under your breath with the action. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Had to use me as your mount to get off?”

You simply shook your head, taking in deep breaths. “Couldn’t wait”, was all you said, completely shameless. “Not when you looked so good with my tits in your mouth”, your lips were on his in an instant, muffling Chan’s groan as you kissed him, relishing the taste of his tongue on yours and the tightening of his hold on your rear, whether the action was due to the motions of your kiss or the impact of your words, you didn’t know.

Resting your weight on your knees and separating your hips from Chan, your hands trailed down his torso until they found the waistband of his trousers. “Off”, you mumbled against Chan’s mouth, giving him enough space to manoeuvre and remove the offending piece of clothing, his underwear coming off with it, leaving him completely bare for your curious eyes to admire.

Just as you imagined, Chan’s legs were also covered in scars, of many different depths and shades, on his thighs, his shins, his calves, they were everywhere. You shuffled lower on Chan’s body, getting comfortable enough for your fingers to delicately trace each bump of raised skin they could, until finally, you moved your attention to his length, hard, pink, and pretty–especially so as precum pooled around the tip where it laid on his abdomen.

Chan was unmoving, propped on his elbows simply looking at you, the expression on his face somehow both lustful and relaxed as he let you explore him as much as you wanted, however you wanted.

“You’re staring”, there was a glint of amusement in Chan’s tone, highlighted by the smirk on his face and it made you look away from his cock to his face again.

Licking your lips, you regarded him with a smirk of your own. “What? Feeling shy?”

“With that look in your eyes? No, just feeling desired”, he said it so naturally, so unabashedly sure of it, you couldn’t help but chuckle.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his length, you could see his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “Remember what you told me back at the campsite?” Your hand moved, slowly dragging up and down his length, focusing on his tip.

“I told you many things at the campsite, princess”, Chan licked his lips, his eyes jumping back and forth from looking at your hand working his cock and your face as you talked to him.

“You told me something… Something that made my mind wander…” Tightening your grip around him, you moved closer to his length, and you could’ve sworn Chan was holding his breath in anticipation. “Wanted to do this so bad, you have no idea”, with that, you replaced your hand with your mouth, finally, finally getting a taste of him.

A shaky breath and a loud ‘fuck!’ fell from Chan’s lips as soon as you took him into your mouth, as soon as he felt your tongue landing firm swipes against his frenulum and your lips dragging over his tip. You took your time, savouring him, building his pleasure as you kept a rhythm, aiding your movements with a hand on what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

His jaw went slack, quiet groans and curses spilled freely from his mouth as Chan took in the sight of you working him up. One of his hands reached for you, moving your hair out of your face to keep it from obstructing his view, settling to caress your cheek after, his touch almost tender, a complete contrast to your lewd ministrations.

“Fuck, you do have a dirty mouth…”

You simply hummed around his length in response as you continued to move. With a deep breath, you took him further into your mouth, right to the back of your throat, making Chan close his eyes and throw his head back, biting on his bottom lip to muffle his groans.

Wet, gagging sounds filled the room, joining Chan’s constant swearing and groaning and grunting, and the combination of that along with the feel of him in your mouth had your head spinning, had you all worked up and burning up as your inner walls clenched around nothing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so good at this”, you felt Chan’s hands on your head, pulling you off of him as he quickly scrambled to get close to your mouth. “You’re too good at this, don’t wanna blow yet”, was all he said as he crashed his mouth on yours, savouring you, devouring you, all while tugging the waistband of your trousers and your underwear for you to finally take them off. Heat spread all over your face, blushing at his words, at his hands on your back, at his hands on your rear, at his tongue in your mouth.

“I want you…” Your back hit the mattress as Chan mumbled his words between kisses. His middle and ring finger found your dripping core, entering you with ease to rub against that exact spot within your walls that drove you up the wall, that exact spot that you yourself had shown him how to find, making you moan against his lips as he continued to ravish your mouth.

“I need you…” His fingers diligently worked you up, loosened you up, preparing you for him, all as your palm found his length, stroking him leisurely and your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging him even closer to you. It wasn’t enough, though. Not enough closeness, not enough fullness.

“Can I have you, princess? Hmm?” Chan pulled away from your lips, enough to look you in the eyes, to take in every single one of your features, your heavy lids, your slightly agape mouth, the way your brows furrowed as his fingers continued to pleasure you, to stretch you open.

“You have me, Chan…”

You missed his fingers within your walls and the weight of his cock in your hand immediately, the feeling soon replaced with anticipation as Chan took a hold of length and dragged his tip along your folds, coating himself in your essence. Chan looked into your eyes, looking for any signs of you wanting to back out, to stop this now. He clearly found none, if anything, all he got was you rolling your hips, enticing him, tempting him. So he moved, finally stuffing you full of him in one swift motion, eliciting a shared sigh of relief as soon as he was buried snugly within your walls.

You pulled him to you, wrapping your limbs around him and connecting your mouths almost desperately. Chan kept himself propped up on one of his forearms, with his hand holding your head in place and the other hand moving below you to find one of your buttocks, holding you tightly as he started to move. Gone was the Chan that wanted to take his time, to take it slow, the Chan that claimed there was no hurry.

His hips collided with yours repeatedly, his pace steady, relentlessly pounding you to the mattress, his cock hitting just the right spot within your walls to get you moaning for him as soon as he started moving. You felt lightheaded, between his thrusts and his mouth on yours you could barely breathe, but it was hard to register it when all you could think about was how good this felt, how right it felt.

Chan’s lips moved away from your mouth, your moans now filling the room as he left wet, open mouthed kisses from your cheek all the way to your neck, whispering against your skin. “So good, fuck… You feel even better around my cock, shit…”

“Chan, please… Need to… Want to…” You could barely talk, but you tried anyway. You wanted your relief, you wanted to feel it while he was inside of you, you wanted him to feel it while he was inside of you.

The hold of your limbs around him relented, letting Chan pull himself away from your space to rest his weight on his heels. His thumb found your clit, the contact immediately sending that jolt of excitement up and down your spine. With one of your legs over his shoulder and you holding onto the other one to keep you spread open for him, he kept ramming into you, stealing the air out of your lungs with each thrust as his thumb rubbed your clit diligently, building your release and getting so, so, so close…

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to see you like this”, Chan’s thumb sped up, looking you in the eyes as he spoke, panting slightly. “So pretty, just taking my cock so well, aren’t you? Is this what you wanted too, hm?” All you could do in response was frantically nod and continue to roll your hips to meet his thrusts. “Look at you, can’t even talk, fuck…”

You simply shook your head, reaching for his hand on your thigh. “Close…”

“Close?” Chan snapped his hips harder, faster, the movement of his thumb on your clit not stopping. “C’mon, princess. I got you…”

When you came, you came hard, a sob of his name falling from your lips as you held onto Chan’s hand on your thigh for dear life, his groan of appreciation almost going unnoticed as your mind went blank. “Fuck, fuck, princess… Such a good cunt… Feel so good around me, tight, warm, shit…”

Throwing your other leg over his shoulder as well, Chan moved impossibly faster, holding onto your hips tightly, chasing his own high. “So close…” His voice was barely a whisper, completely lost in the feeling of it all as he continued to indulge in your body, in the feel of your walls clenching around him, in the way your tits looked when they bounced with every single one of his movements against you.

Pulling out, Chan held his cock in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and pumping himself to completion right on top of your lower belly with a groan. You couldn’t help but shiver at the feel of his warm seed on your body, a sensation that you immediately knew would plague your wettest dreams, along with the sounds that ran freely from his mouth.

Chan plopped down next to you, panting, breathless. Much like yourself, just trying to catch your breaths. Closing your eyes you set to enjoy the feelings coursing through your body, the ringing in your ears, the aches and the burns and the warmth, all pure bliss and satisfaction.

When you opened your eyes again and turned your head to the side you found Chan already looking at you, and, as if there had been some pulling force between you two, you found each other once again, your mouths sealed in a slow, passionate kiss.

“So much for taking your time…” You teased him as soon as he pulled away from the kiss, making him laugh.

“Couldn’t resist when you looked so good with my cock in your mouth”, Chan reached for his discarded shirt, using it to wipe the remnants of his climax from your body, dumping it on the floor right after.

Once he laid back down, he pulled you to him, holding you close to enjoy the post-coital bliss as one of his legs slotted between yours.

“We have a problem, princess”, Chan mumbled against your hair.

Your hands traced patterns on his back as you cuddled, feeling the scars there, too. Humming in acknowledgement, you urged him to continue, trying your best to act as if those words hadn’t brought the tiniest drop of concern in your mind.

Chan’s arms held you tighter, humming as well until he finally spoke. “Against my better judgement, against all that is proper, I’m utterly smitten by you. How are you gonna take responsibility for that, huh princess?”

Pulling back from Chan’s chest you looked at him, at the teasing smile on his face coupled with the serious glint in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but chuckle, with a genuine smile on your lips. “I guess you’ll have to court me and find out”.

“You’d like that?” There was a tone of hopefulness in his voice, and it made you giddy. “I told you, I’m a boring man, darling. You’d get tired of me”.

“I’d like that very much”, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “Besides, you’ve already marked me, you’ve got to take responsibility for these, too”, you gestured to your chest, to the numerous purple splotches Chan left behind, a sheepish smile appearing on his face as he looked at them.

Cupping your cheek, Chan looked you in the eyes for a bit, taking you in until finally he leaned in and kissed you again.

That night, even though you were both tired from the long journey, you both spent as much of your energy as you could just exploring each other, enjoying each other, until your bodies couldn’t keep up anymore. By the time the moon was at her highest in the sky you and Chan were already spent, so you simply held onto each other as sleep finally claimed you both.

When you woke up the next day, the light coming from the window was enough for you to infer it was close to midday, and slightly alarmed, you tapped on Chan’s arm that rested around your waist. “Chan… Chan… It’s morning already, we overslept”.

Chan simply grumbled, moving his hand to your ribs, right below your breast, tightening his hold on you as he buried his face in your hair and pressed his chest flush to your back. “And? It’s not like we’re camping, doesn’t matter if we sleep in…” He mumbled, clearly only half awake.

You immediately relaxed in his hold, you’d gotten so used to getting moving as soon as your eyes opened that it almost became a part of your routine, but Chan had a point, there was no hurry to move when you were staying at an inn like this. Taking a hold of the hand he had placed on your ribs, you moved it so you could place a kiss on his calloused palm. The action made Chan let out a satisfied sigh, moving as close as he could to you as you clutched his hand to your chest.

“Maybe…” Chan spoke again after a while, mumbling against your shoulder as he started to press kisses on your skin, making goosebumps raise under his touch. “Maybe we could even stay for another day… So we can, you know, recover from the long journey…”

Chan’s hand moved away from where you were holding it against your chest, softly caressing the skin of your abdomen, your belly, your thighs, reaching your bum only for him to squeeze one of your buttocks, making you chuckle. “What do you think, hmm?”

You pressed yourself further into him, feeling him already hard against your rear. “What’s one more day to a two month trip, right?”

“Exactly”.

You moved, and as soon as you were on your back Chan was already on top of you, kissing your neck, your chest, your nipples, your belly… Slowly, leisurely, he left kisses everywhere on your torso as his hands massaged your body, mumbling words of praise against your skin as he went ‘so beautiful, driving me fucking crazy…’ Until he finally found himself between your legs, making you shudder and tremble with his tongue, with his mouth, with his fingers… Certainly one of the best ‘lazy mornings’ you had spent in a long, long time.

You did rest that extra day in the inn, going into the hot springs, eating at the tavern… But admittedly, most of the time you were just in your shared room, all tangled limbs, sharing moans and groans and grunts, sharing your warmth, sharing your stories. And by the time you left the inn, hopped onto your horses, and continued with your journey, you realised that this is what real peace felt like.

After a few weeks, after you saw the first of many banners signalling Queen Naeel’s territory, after many more stays in inns throughout her realm, after many days and nights spent just enjoying Chan’s company, you finally made it to your friend’s home. The second you stepped into her castle you were almost winded by the collision of her body against yours, holding you so tightly against her that you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes.

“You’re here…” Naeel sobbed against your shoulder, only to quickly pull herself away from you to hold you by the shoulders, her eyes frantically scanning the features of your face.

You couldn’t help but giggle, bringing her into a hug again, quiet tears spilling from your eyes as you held her in your arms. “I’m here… All thanks to you, and Chan, of course”.

“Oh, Channie!” Naeel removed herself from your embrace, jumping instead towards Chan who had been standing behind you, looking fondly at the reunion, his expression quickly changing to that of shock as Naeel hugged him tightly, too. “You did well, thank you, thank you”.

“Your… Your Majesty, please”, Chan cleared his throat, awkwardly patting Naeel on the back.

“Ah, right, physical contact, big no, no”, she regarded him with another smile, reaching for your hand to pull you closer to her. “I trust you two had a safe journey?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Your Majesty”, you had spent the last few weeks with the unfiltered, carefree Chan, it almost made you laugh to see him back into his Proper Knight mode. “Besides, Her Highness was an excellent companion all throughout”.

“Oh? Was she?” Naeel looked back at you, with a glint of something in her eyes, something insufferable you were surely going to have to deal with as soon as you two were on your own.

Chan just hummed in response, adding a “if that’s all for now, I’ll be taking my leave, Your Majesty. I’m sure you two would like to catch up”.

“Yes, yes. You’re dismissed, Channie. Take a week off, or two, or three, as you see fit, you deserve it”, with a couple of pats on Chan’s shoulders, Naeel pulled herself away from his space, coming instead to your side and slinging an arm over your shoulder, pulling you tight against her side, making you smile.

“Your Majesty”, Chan bowed his head towards Naeel, then turned to you, offering his hand. “Your Highness”, you placed your hand in his, and felt heat creep on your face as he brought it to his face, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, regarding you with a warm smile and an even warmer look in his eyes. “I’ll see you soon”.

With that, he left, leaving you a blushing mess. A blushing mess as if you had not let him fuck you for days on end.

Naeel quickly took you to the courtyard, her attendants bringing you cakes and biscuits and tea for you to spend the afternoon in a resting area that was clearly just set there for her to relax in. “So, how was the trip?” Bending at the waist, she expertly tied the anklet you had given back to her around her ankle, once again matching with you as you still wore yours religiously.

“Not that bad…” You commented as you chewed the sugary treats. Speaking with your mouth full would’ve surely earned you an angry slap from your father, but he wasn’t here, he was hopefully no longer in your life, so you could be as free as you wanted, knowing that Naeel wouldn’t judge you, if anything, she was just like you. “Compared to, you know, living with my father, it was rather enjoyable I’d say”.

Humming softly, Naeel took a sip of her tea. “And Chan?”

“Chan… Chan’s nice. Really… Really nice”, you took a sip of your tea as well, trying to hide from your friend’s inquiring eyes as she looked at you.

“He is! Just a bit too stoic sometimes”, she chuckled, reaching for a biscuit. “I was hoping he would loosen up a bit with this trip. He’s one of my best knights, but he needs to relax, to detach from work a bit. I hope he managed to distract himself”.

Your mind quickly filled with memories of the nights you and Chan shared, in the mountains, in the inns, in your campsites… You could almost feel the phantom of his touch on your skin, and it was heating you up way too quickly. “I think he… He did loosen up a bit. Or that’s how it seems to me”.

“Mmm”, Naeel gave you an inquisitive look. “You’re quite feisty, and he likes that sort of thing, so I sure hope you gave him a hard time and got him a bit out of his element…”

You stared at your friend, blinking. It dawned on you then, why your friend chose him for the task, why she sent Chan to get you, and your jaw would’ve hit the floor if it hadn’t been attached to your face. She was playing matchmaker. She had not only rescued you, but she was trying to get you laid. “You sent Chan with intent! You sent him specifically on purpose!”

“Of course I did!” Naeel laughed, loudly. “I knew you’d like him, and judging by the way you were looking at him I was right! And I was sure he’d like you, too. Haven’t seen him smile as bright as he did when you guys parted earlier!”

“Naeel, dear…” You couldn’t help but scoff a laugh, utterly baffled. “I love you so, so much. You’re nuts”.

“You know me well, my dear. And I love you, too”, Naeel’s smile couldn’t have been any brighter, and it warmed you up. You truly, truly loved your friend deeply, even if she was a bit nuts. “So, does that mean that you guys got acquainted with one another as I hoped?”

You looked at her for a moment, completely silent, your face going dead serious, which made a look of worry flash on her face. Until you couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your lips. Slowly, you unbuttoned the first few buttons of your shirt, showing Naeel the purple marks on your chest, the marks that Chan had not let fade since the moment he first pressed his mouth on your chest, the marks he left time and time again, making Naeel gasp and bring her hands to her mouth.

“Oh, wow!” Throwing her head back she laughed again, lightly kicking her feet. “I’m a fucking genius! I should be crowned again, Queen of Matchmaking!”

You couldn’t help but laugh with her, reaching for your cup of tea. “I can’t believe you, Naeel…”

Figuring out the logistics of you staying with Naeel was easy. You didn’t want to live at the castle, it reminded you too much of your old life, and you also didn’t want to be pampered anymore. You wanted a new beginning, a different life to that you had known, so your friend helped you settle, giving you a humble house in the castle town and offering you a job as a royal seamstress within her already established team ‘I’ve seen your work, and I’d love to have you design things for me!’. It was a privilege not many could have, and you were aware of it, so you took the offer. If your friend believed in you and your abilities, why wouldn’t you believe in yourself for the task?

Your new home was cosy, just big enough for one person, with enough space for your few belongings. You thought you’d have a hard time your first night there, but it was surprisingly easy for you to fall asleep there. Almost as if your body knew there was no danger, as if it knew you could finally rest.

For your first few days there you didn’t see Chan. You didn’t know where he lived, and you hadn’t had the time to ask Naeel about it, so you settled for waiting until you could run into him, and although there was a part of you that knew he would come looking for you, there was still a part of you that worried he might’ve decided you were not worth his time anymore. That was, until you heard a knock on your door and you opened it to find the man standing right there at your doorstep, with a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Her Majesty told me where you were staying”, he had a sheepish smile on his face, shyly handing you the bouquet, and you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face as you took it. “I was hoping to… To maybe show you around?”

“I’d like that”, stepping into his space, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips as your front door closed behind you.

One of Chan’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him with an appreciative hum as the other held the back of your head, angling you a bit so he could deepen the kiss. You didn’t care if anyone saw you, just like he also didn’t seem to care, if anything, he held you in his arms confidently, and it made you chuckle against his lips. “I take it you’re no longer conflicted about your feelings for me?”

Chan simply shook his head, removing his hands from your frame so he could link your arm with his and pull you along to walk down the street. “It’s too late for that, princess”.

“Ah, but you’re still calling me princess?” There was no ill intent in your voice, if anything, only a bit of a teasing tone.

“Of course! You are my princess, after all. Are you not, darling?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tightening your hold on his arm as you continued to walk with him, following him anywhere he pulled you to. “Then I’ll be your princess, and yours only”.

Chan simply smiled at you, one of those smiles that made his face light up, his dimples pop and his eyes disappear, and as usual, you couldn’t help the flutter of your heart at the sight. You didn’t feel like a princess anymore, not like a real one at least, but the switch from it being a title, a title that had only meant pain in your life, to it being a term of endearment, a term used by Chan and only Chan, helped you cope, and you hoped that, in due time, you could finally fully heal.

Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

#bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fic #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #✨🌙✏#i dont have enough strength to make one of my silly little cover images #maybe one day i'll add one

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purplelupins · 8 months

Text

Salvador

|Better Call Saul|

Part I Part II

Lalo Salamanca/Fem!reader

Word count: 16k

Summery: Reader just wanted a fresh start, but when she starts working in a care home, it seemed that she bit off more than she could chew when she meets a member of her clients family.

Warnings: slow burn, age gap, manipulation, intimidation, violence (see note), smut (p in v), fingering, degradation and praise, edging, pet names (niña, niñita, princesita, Cariño, Ratoncito) Spanish (have a translator ready), papi kink, Lalo kinda comes with his own warnings, I’m not an electrician or doctor

MINORS DNI I AM NOT GOING TO ASK AGAIN

Notes: this part contains detailed violence (domestic violence, gun shots, talking about death), and smut.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lalo sat in his car watching that laundry facility like it was a ticking time bomb. Indeed it was his time bomb and he would be there when it went off. It was only a matter of time before he confirmed his theory. He knew that crisp Mr. Fring was hiding something fantastical behind his trustworthy, efficient methods. And when that moment came, and the bomb exploded…Lalo would bask in the heat of its flames on his cheeks-

The obnoxious ringing of his phone snapped his focus in half. The little screen sat illuminated as it continued on its insistent noise. Lalo stared at it, and was about yo snap it shut, and fling it into the back seat until he saw the number; his eye twitched.

He knew exactly who it was.

They hadn’t called him during watch hours for months.

The older man calmly answered it, and held it to his ear, and waited.

It wasn’t a full minute that had passed when Lalo hung up the phone, and was peeling out of his watchpoint fast enough to leave two black tire marks.

There was no doubt that he could have simply told his uncle’s men to deal with it; to dismiss whatever was transpiring and move on, not caring if you were alright or what you were going through.

Then he could have moved on with monitoring the facility.

Easy.

But there was something that ignited inside Lalo when his tio’s guy recounted what had happened. He knew he shouldn’t give a rats ass about going there himself- that was why he had those men there. Lalo could feel that awareness eat at him as he sped through the city, but he crushed it down. There were very few thoughts in his head as he drove, and questioning why he was doing what he was doing, and psychoanalyzing himself was not one of them. He never questioned himself, not really; he just…did.

Lalo pulled in outside your shitty building, and didn’t wait for the men to speak as they joined him on the sidewalk. He took a look up at your window, and felt his left hand twitch when he saw the dim light.

“No entres hasta que yo te lo diga, ¿entendido?” He rumbled, not taking his eyes off the window as he turned and began striding up to the building. The men stayed behind, just as he said. Lalo reached into the back of his jeans with one hand and into his pock with the other, pulling out his pistol and silencer. The metal pieces rolled together easily in his hands; just as seamlessly as he hid his gun, and smiled charmingly at an old lady as she held the door open for him as she took her little dog out for a pee. It was so dark she didn’t see how dead his eyes were. How his soul was leaving them with each passing second.

Lalo began planning his next few moves depending on what was occurring inside your apartment. Were you a plant from another cartel and this was your handler? Were you law enforcement undercover? The older man simultaneously thought over each possibility.

He took the flight of stairs up to your floor, and quieted his footsteps as soon as his eyes fell upon your door. Lalo had stood there once before weeks ago, gun in hand just as it was now…but he had left after just a moment. Killing you wasn’t worth it.

Once he was outside your apartment, he leaned in, and listened.

There was a raised voice inside. An angry one at that too. And a cry.

Lalo didn’t dwell on what it was saying or who it might be; he raised his foot and kicked right next to the lock on the door. It burst open. The older man took three strides inside as the door bounced off the wall as he surveyed and took in the scene before him. His eyes flicked from detail to detail rapidly, piecing everything together in seconds.

The lamp you used was kicked over and partially broken- only the lightbulb was intact, and partially at that. In the low light, he could still see that you were curled up against a wall; broken objects, scuff marks and blood around you and behind you. You were sobbing…shaking. Your hands were over head, arms in front of your knees…bruised and bloody.

There was indeed a man there, just as Hector’s men had said. He was standing over you with his back to the door, words spewing from his mouth at you. His shadow ate your little form up.

The man had begun to turn towards Lalo as he walked into the apartment, but his fate was sealed as soon as Lalo saw his bloody knuckles.

Your blood.

Lalo didn’t stop to ask any questions or make a snark comment before he emptied his gun’s clip into the man’s body. The bullets shredded his flesh, spattering blood as the metal existed his back. Lalo didn’t lower his gun until the man began to crumble to the floor, and he watched despondently as blood started pooling around him. It began to fill each little crack and groove in the wooden floor.

There was a beat of silence following the last shot before Lalo pulled his phone from his pocket.

It only rang once.

“Hecho.” He muttered, then hung up.

Then as he slipped his phone back into his pocket…he saw you.

Actually saw you.

Lalo let his gaze wander over your shaking form. You resembled more of a stray animal than a young woman covered in blood. Your knuckles were white from how tightly your were holding your head. He watched the man’s blood that had spattered onto you mix with your own from the wounds he had inflicted. Then, once the noise faded away, and there was no movement, you began to unfurl. Your arms came down jerkily, and you tentatively rose your head up to see what had happened; you eyes were wide, and puffy. Cheeks flushed against your blanched skin.

His hand twitched.

Your dazed eyes slowly refocused. It took a moment before you followed the edge of the pool of blood to the body now laying on the floor; limp and cold. Lalo could visibly see the scene in front of you settle in your mind while you unclamped your legs from your chest. You slowly got to your knees, eyes still trained on the body, and sat there. The older man didn’t move an inch as he watched you; he was fascinated. He realized this must have been your first time seeing a dead body.

He felt honoured.

You didn’t cry, or scream, or cower in fear. You just looked.

It was as if you were in a trance as you finally rose to your feet; your eyes void of any emotion, mouth in a plain line. Indifferent. Analytical.

Lalo might have been a man of many words, but as you took a few difficult steps towards the body, the older man chose to observe you silently.

For the first time since your door had been slammed in your face that evening, your eyes weren’t hazy. You walked to the edge of the pool of blood, and stared down at the body. He looked so human…so much less of a devil than he had when he was alive. This man who had been nothing but a living nightmare for you was…gone. In a matter of three seconds, he was completely gone.

You didn’t know how he had found you… or why. You tried to remember the moment you had first seen him, but he had some so much damage to you over your relationship that you couldn’t recall your first date. Couldn’t recall a lot in fact.

You took another step forward and stood in the blood of your ex-boyfriend. Then as the warm liquid slipped between your toes, something in you completely snapped. Broke.

You were flooded with the first memory you had of blood. You had scraped you knee and someone kissed it better…told you it would be alright and to keep playing. You remembered how smiling used to be so easy and not an invitation for people to think you were soft or easy. You remembered that girl who grew up and saw the best in people. Who had her likes and dislikes and didn’t base her personality on whatever someone wanted to see. You remembered her. And you remembered how he erased her. How he told her that he would keep her safe, but he betrayed that trust at every turn with a perfect lie or justification to draw her back in.

The blood surrounded your feet. Your eyes slowly sharpened, and without another thought, you rose your leg up and delivered a form kick to your ex’s limp side, shoving him a foot across the floor.

He looked so small now…so insignificant…and you felt the fear you had of him melt away, and hate take its place. Resentment, frustration, sadness…it all flooded in.

So you kicked him again.

You still hadn’t fully registered Lalo’s presence, and he was content with staying a part of the background as you began to show him this hidden part of you. Vicious. Vindictive. The parts of him that only the very unlucky saw- it was spectacular to see them mirrored back to him.

You were ruthless.

You kicked the body again, and again and again until he was shoved a few feet from where he had fallen, and there was a streak of blood in his wake. Tears began to stream down your cheeks and your skin felt as if it was burning. It was overwhelming as you beat him with every bit of energy you had left.

A pressure began to build in your chest, and you half wondered if you were going to throw up or pass out from how much you were feeling all at once, but then words formed on your tongue and you let them out.

“You SON OF A BITCH, YOU FUCKING RUINED ME.” Your broken cry filled the apartment, and Lalo’s eye twitched slightly at your raised voice. You were letting go. You were in a frenzy; overtaken by everything you never let yourself say or feel, “I don’t even know WHO THE FUCK I AM ANYMORE! YOU’RE BETTER DEAD YOU ROTTING FUCKER-“ you kicked and stomped and kicked again and again, even when your feet hurt. A snap sounded through the apartment but you were too far gone to realize it was his ribs snapping and caving in.

Blind rage had overtaken you. You couldn’t think as you continued your assault.

You didn’t see Lalo move- too focused on the body under you to notice him until a pair of strong hands grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from the body- bloody footprints on the floor from where you staggered back.

“Okay, I think you got him.” Lalo laughed as he hauled you away.

But your adrenaline was still raging through in you. Regardless of his thick arms locked around you, you started squirming in his hold. Anger fuelled you and you fought to try and get back to the body. Needing to hurt him as much as he hurt you, but Lalo secured his arms around you better, and hoisted you away from your living room and into your small kitchen.

But still, you couldn’t think. All you knew was that someone was stopping you from getting back at the person who had destroyed you. It didn’t matter that it was Lalo Salamanca who was doing it, you didn’t even know it was him; he was just arms and a voice and you needed him to let you go.

Without thinking, you spun in his tight hold and hit him.

A smack right on his cheek.

Then all at once, you saw him.

The sting on the palm of your hand seemed to wake you up, and as Lalo dropped his arms to his sides, you saw exactly who had fired that gun…who had picked you up…who you had hit.

His grey curl hung over his forehead, and his mouth sat in a line under his neat moustache.

You might have been horribly startled by his stony face…but it was his eyes that made you keep from asking for forgiveness.

They were black, and they glittered in the low light.

But they weren’t furious.

There was a moment of silence that stretched for far longer that you knew how to measure; he was processing you. You and the smack.

“Again.”

You blinked, having not been sure if you had heard him correctly or if he had even spoken or if you had imagined it all. And evidently you weren’t functioning fast enough for Lalo’s liking.

The older man broke into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stared you down, “Okay, how about I put on his shirt and we play pretend-“

Smack.

You hit him again.

He smiled a little wider, “There she goes c’mon.” He goaded you.

So you did.

Smack.

Then it was like a dam broke. You started beating on him. You jabbed and punched and shoved and slapped his chest, and arms, and stomach. You hit him like your life depended on it. You hit him until your arms hurt more than your heart.

And the entire time, he didn’t move an inch; the man was sturdy enough that you weren’t doing any real damage to him. Even when four men he had called walked into the apartment and began breaking the body down, he didn’t say a word. He shot them a look that was more terrifying than a loaded gun to the balls, but that was it. He let you have your moment. And it was likely for the best- watching a man get sawed into pieces and bagged up was not an easy sight to behold.

It was only when he decided the men were taking too long that he slowly retrieved his gun from the back of his jeans and calmly pointed it at them without taking his eyes off you. They scampered out within minutes; just a drying puddle of blood left behind.

You didn’t even know how you were still moving your arms anymore. It was pure adrenaline fuelling you. Slowly your mind began to go hazy and dim…the extreme emotions slowly leaving you.

Then, you felt your arms stop responding as your wrists were restrained. You blinked and looked up from where you had been targeting, and were met with those onyx eyes.

They were locked on you- following your every twitch and move.

“Enough.”

His voice was a rumble that made your head light.

There was no smile on Lalo’s face, no mirth. He was focused and you couldn’t bring yourself to even breathe properly lest it make you move too much. A drop of dread fell from the base of your skull down to your toes and settled into the soles of your feet. You felt cold.

Then, the older man took a single step forward that made you stumble a little but you only looked away from him for a moment as you recovered. He took another, propelling you with him as he backed you against the wall between your livingroom and your kitchen. Your skin suddenly felt far too warm, and it tingled like pins and needles.

Lalo weighed your soul; his heavy gaze had you in shackles and you were helpless to try and get away from it. You had yet to see this amount of intensity from the man, and you were certain that he was preparing to end you. That he would take that pistol back out and fire a new hole into your head.

But the longer you stood there, the calmer you got- much to your surprise. You were still on edge, but your breathing came easier, and you let your gaze flick between his eyes, to the lines on his face, to his brows, his moustache, and that grey streak. Lalo pressed against you and the wall dug into your back but still you didn’t move. You let him invade your space and breathe your air, in fact you almost found yourself drawing him a little closer; pulling the wrists he held towards yourself. And to your surprise, you felt him push back, making your chest tight with how much pressure was on it with his weight. You could feel his breathing against you; every inhale and exhale.

His scent intoxicated you, as did his warmth. It made you forget how afraid you were, and lulled you. You could feel your heart just about beat out of your chest. However despite your sense of calm, you wouldn’t help but feel as if he was just a very cunning predatory making sure his prey wasn’t afraid before he pounced; making sure the meat wasn’t spoiled.

But then, a charming smile took over his face, and just like that, it was as if nothing had happened.

“Look what a mess you are! Let’s get you all cleaned, eh?” He chirped and stepped away from you.

You had jumped when he spoke, and felt yourself cool down almost instantly. Perhaps it was something akin to Stockholm syndrome but you felt yourself missing his chest crushing yours.

“Remind me to not get on your bad side,” he said in a jaunty laugh, “Man, you sure know how to knock a guy around. Damn.” Lalo touched his chest where you had been hitting, but didn’t stop smiling. His hands left you, and he began navigating through your apartment easily, like he had been there before. The older man hummed an old tune as he entered your washroom, and began looking through the cupboards; you were about to wonder what he was doing as your brain played catch-up, but you remembered him saying he was going to clean you up…whatever that meant.

Everything still felt so surreal to you. You stared down at your hands, and the flecks of blood there, wondering if any of it had even happened or if you were having a dream. It wasn’t until you blinked a few times and focused on breathing that you remembered that you were still in your less then modest sleep clothes. You looked around for something to cover yourself a little better, but you missed your opportunity when Lalo came striding back to you, perfectly comfortable in the space like it was a Sunday afternoon in his own home.

“Okaay…” he said to himself as he put down the supplies he had grabbed. Just as you looked at the materials, he wordlessly hoisted you up onto your kitchen counter. You gasped a little, but he seemed unbothered as he ignored your squirming and stood between your knees. You watched his large hand grab a wetted cloth and start wiping away at your skin; you were covered in blood and sweat. The older man cleaned you carefully and meticulously; he tutted the split skin and the harsh bruises forming, shaking his head at particularly bad ones. He gave you a scolding look when you nervously held your shirt down when he tried to lift it to inspect your ribs- tilting his head and pursing his mouth as if to chastise you.

So you let him. He was gentlemanly enough to only raise it to look at your torso…making sure nothing was broken. Lucky for you, nothing was. Bruised, yes, but not broken. Regardless of your luck, you forced yourself to ignore how warm his calloused hands were when they pressed down on your ribs. Oddly gentle. Comforting.

Once he deemed you clean enough, Lalo began dragging cotton pads soaked in peroxide over your cuts; he shushed you when the chemical stung too much.

Everything seemed so calm. There was no screaming, no sirens or things being thrown. It was late…and it was quiet. It was just you and him in your small kitchen; it was as if he had blocked out what you had done just a half hour earlier- beating and shoving at him like he was a punching bag.

You found yourself watching him carefully, half expecting him to break the act and snap your ankle as he inspected it, or spit in your face and hold a gun to your temple. But he didn’t even show a slight sign of ill intent. He just continued to bandage you.

There was no doubt in you that you were in deep debt to the Salamancas now. And while you were fairly naive to it, you knew that such a thing was practically a death sentence. Lalo had killed for you whether you wanted him to or not. He had saved you. There was no coming back from that.

Regardless of the weight settling on your shoulders, there was a calmness you felt as his warmth radiated into you from standing so close to you. You could feel his breath on your skin and all you could smell was him; smoke and some kind of spice, and a little tequila or whiskey. It was in his clothes and his skin. Everywhere. His touch was like a brand- scorching your skin.

There was a gash on your arm from where your ex had come at you with a knife; Lalo cleaned the blood away, and pressed down to see how deep it was. You jerked at the pain, but he tsked you and his large hand gripped you tighter, “Ah ah, hold still.” He murmured.

Your eyes flickered over his face, and you worried the inside of your lip, “S-sorry.” You said softly.

A simple but not altogether peaceful silence filled the space as another few minutes passed as he wrapped your arm. The only noise that ended it was the phone in his pocket ringing. You jumped at the sound, while Lalo merely blinked and pulled the device out and held it to his ear as he checked over your face.

The older man brought a hand up to your chin, and tilted your head side to side while inspecting you. You let him, moving your head as he wished.

“Buen.” He rumbled, and you held his gaze, intimidating as it was. Then, he pulled the phone away and snapped it shut before slipping it back into his pocket.

Lalo squinted at a mark on your cheek, and grabbed the cloth again to wipe it.

“Moron beat the shit outta you…” he remarked almost to himself.

You nodded, and smiled a tiny bitter smile as he signed and tossed the closed into the sink; wrappers from bandages and blots of blood on the counter.

“I used to love him…” you whispered, “Turned out to be a real piece of work…” you smiled again, just briefly, in spite of the pain and shock, “He hated life…and life hated him back…” you were just rambling and thinking out loud, but Lalo listened. Perhaps you were boring him a little, but he was curious about exactly who he was dealing with.

You remembered something then, “Did you know he hated Mexican food? Claimed paprika was spicy.”

Lalo gasped and widened his eyes comically. “No! Estoy jodidamente contento de que esté muerto entonces…” he shook his head.

You snorted and laughed dryly, nodding your head.

Then, after a moment, you looked over at the drying blood on the floor. You flinched at the memory of him forcing his way into your home…how horrifying it was to see him so suddenly. But the longer you looked, the less you felt. In you peripheral, you could see Lalo crumpling the bandage wrappers in his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

Lalo looked up at you then, and followed your gaze, but you spoke again before he could reply.

“I-…I think I would have done the same, you know.”

This made him pause for a moment.

“If I- if I found someone threatening you or Hector…and I had a gun…I would have done the same.” You knew they weren’t the words of a completely sane person but you said them anyways.

Lalo laughed, “Big talk for a mouse!” He smiled wolfishly.

You stared back at him. “I mean it.”

You realized that you really did mean it. You knew that somehow you were so far gone that you would let blood get on your hands for them. But somehow that didn’t scare you.

The older man shifted and leaned forward between your knees again- bracing himself on his hands as he placed them on either side of you. He was invading your space again, but you held firm. There was no room left in you for fear. You were exhausted and aching.

“You trying to tell me little ratoncito would kill for a Salamanca?” He had an amused smile on his face, but you noted his emotionless eyes- like he was daring you to take back what you said.

A part of you was telling you to- to say you didn’t mean it and tell him you wouldn’t tell anyone what had transpired there that night. But that part of you was stupid, and you were not stupid. Not that stupid. You knew that was a one way ticket to an early grave, so you nodded your weary head.

“Don’t know how good of a shot I am but it’s the thought that counts right?” Your mouth quirked up a little at your horrible joke. You supposed it was a stress reaction to cope.

And Lalo laughed. A single bark of a laugh. “I am so glad you’re funny ninita.” He wagged his finger at you. His face had been so firm as you explained yourself, that now seeing him smile set you a little at ease. The older man pulled away from breathing your air and walked to the sink to wash his hands,“Now what are we going to do about this?” He asked casually.

His question was simple, but it made your heart thump hard. “About?” You asked.

Lalo looked brightly at you as he dried his hands. “You want to say thank you to me, sì?”

You stared at him and you knew there was only one answer. “Of course.” You said.

Lalo smiled. “Esa es mi chica.”

He grabbed one of the two chairs from your small table, and turned it around for him to sit. He spread his knees and leaned forward onto them as he weighed your existence with those brown eyes of his. There was only the faint tapping of water dripping from the faucet as Lalo regarded you- still sat on your kitchen counter. Bruised and battered. Alive thanks to him.

“That cute stunt you pulled at Los Pollos Hermanos…can you do it again?” He asked, lacing his fingers together in front of him. The picture of ease and calm.

“Yes.” You didn’t miss a beat. You had come to terms with the fact that you would do what you did again if need be a while ago.

“Bigger?” He asked.

Your stomach twisted a little. The idea made you nervous, but you knew you could do it.

“Yes.” You answered.

Lalo smiled again and wagged a finger at you. “Ratoncito loco, lo juro...”

You didn’t return the smile, but your face softened. “I’ve been called worse.” You mused, then looked back down at your hand and the blue bruises turning to purple.

The older man didn’t say anything, but he watched you while you fiddled with a bandage and absentmindedly swung your feet slightly.

He looked at you properly in the dim light of your simple apartment. You weren’t frail per se, but you had a certain exhaustion to you that scratched an itch in Lalo’s mind. A tiredness of the world you knew, of the people around you, of who you had become. Yet in spite of that, there was a firecracker inside you waiting to burst into flame; you had a bite to you, even if it was small. Lalo could work with that.

The blood wasn’t as difficult to get out of your floor as you thought it would be.

Your landlady thankfully didn’t put up too much of an argument when you told her you were leaving and breaking your tenancy. You had a feeling it wasn’t just her being nice.

The motel room you were now living out of wasn’t horrible. The extra couple hundreds Lalo had given you when he told you where to stay helped too. Sure the commute to work was a little longer but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

Your eyes were a little more glazed over at work now. You wondered how much longer you would be there. That night, Lalo had given you a date and time and location for your repayment, and now you were counting down the days. It was only a few, but time seemed to pass so quickly and so slowly simultaneously.

Your instructions were fairly simple, in theory. Make the buildings power short circuit if Lalo didn’t call you by 11:42pm. Following that and your escape, you were to go to new motel, and lay low for a few days until you got more instructions.

That or you assumed someone would show up to clean you up as a lose end.

He didn’t tell you why he give you such a specific time, but you assumed there was some kind of shift change over for security at 11:45pm, and wanted those three minutes to carry out some kind of plan B.

Which was why your knee bounced as you see as t in your car across from some massive laundry facility. As you waited, you scanned over the blueprints to the building that you had managed to get from city hall. Evidently a forced smile had been enough to get the clerk to hand it over, and a pouty lip and claiming to be a stressed collage student with a paper due to let you take it home. Once upon a time you would have wanted to wretch at the thought of having done that, but somehow you found yourself…indifferent. Like a part of your anxiety died that night with your ex.

The service road was dim, and your pulse was working double time.

You checked your watch. It read 11:25pm.

A part of you wondered exactly what was set to happen inside that building, but you assumed it could mean your death if you asked. Somewhere in your gut you knew it was an attempt to destroy that man from Los Pollos…it couldn’t be a coincidence that Lalo had asked you to do exactly what you had done again for someone else when he had been so pleased with seeing that restaurant crumble.

So you gathered what you needed and shoved it into a small pouch, said a prayer, and got out of your car. You knew it was a 50/50 chance of Lalo calling you to stop you, but you needed to be ready. If you were only halfway there when he called it might be a big enough mistake that would cost him his life.

It was a fairly quick trip to the building, albeit a stressful one. The fence surrounding the warehouse was thankfully not electrified, though it was still very uncomfortable to scale. A day previously you had managed to find a low point that would be easier to get back over when you were escaping too.

As you waiter for the rotation of guards to get to their blind point, you leapt up and rolled yourself over the top of the metal fence, landing with a fairly ungrateful thud and a cloud of dust that was thankfully covered by the darkness.

You crouched low, and held onto the strap of your pouch. There were men everywhere watching, but you were small and unassuming in the shadows. You hoped you could channel that inner mouse that Lalo claimed you had, though it was a long shot. With another breath, you pulled your medical mask up over your face’s lower half as you sped from one shadow to another. It was an odd atmosphere there- you felt as if you were walking into Area 51. It was deserted and eerie aside from the security. You might have not been to a laundry processing warehouse before but you sure as shit were certain that this level of security was odd.

You clung to the side of the building; your heart in your ears. Time was on your side for once, as you checked your watch again, and noted that you still had 7 minutes before you potentially had to clip and cross and overload the building’s wiring. Perhaps you spoke a little soon though as you had begun to go a little too fast towards the back of the building and missed getting spotted by a man by a centimetre. The toes of your shoes stuck out of the thin shadow that concealed you, but evidently they weren’t enough to draw the attention of the guard. You thanked god for the emergency ladder beside you for partially hiding you too.

You found the back entrance and worked your way along to find the main control panel. Shadows moved out of the corner of your eye, making your mind play tricks on you, and you felt chills run up and down your spine; then you found it. The panel came into view, and you checked the area around you once more as you opened your bag. There were three thick locks over the latches that opened the door, and you sighed as you looked at them. Your metal tools felt very cold in your hands.

There was no going back now.

You slipped your picking tools inside the first lock, began pressuring the mechanisms inside of the lock. You were still rusty, but your life was on the line, so you didn’t have room for a botched job. After a few minutes, you felt the device click and pop open- relief filled you. It was short lived though when you remembered that you had a maximum of 5 minutes before the next rotation of guards began their way to you.

The thought of getting caught made your hands shake, but not as much as the thought of the Salamancas coming after you. You worked at the next lock and focused on sleeping in a dry motel that night instead of your body being tossed into a shallow grave or left in the desert like some insignificant roadkill.

The second lock popped open after a few moments, and you checked your watch.

11:40pm.

As the time grew closer to when you might need to blow this building's circuits, you felt an odd clarity come over you- tinkering away at the last lock. You might have been in danger. You might have been caught up in a cartel. You might have been alone. You might have been a witness to a murder.

But you weren’t afraid. Disturbed by your possible fate, perhaps, but not afraid. You were exhausted of being afraid all the time.

The lock popped open, and you stared at it calmly.

You have a job to do.

The metal door opened with a screech, and you enhaled deeply when you saw the massive circuit-board and hundreds of fuses, and wires wrapped and bound together. You were certain your ex was calling you a hypocrite from his place Hell.

You checked your watch again.

11:42pm.

You sucked in another breath, and stared at your shaking hands like it might help to stop the tremors. It didn’t.

The silence was heavy around you, and you stood in it for another second before your little alarm went off.

"Okay..." You whispered to yourself. Your mask made your breath feel moist and hot. Your hands took purchase on your wire cutters and pliers, and you stared at some weak points. You wanted the fuses to blow on their own, so you started with flipping off and switches with wires connected that you wanted to clip or mess with. Lights shut off around you, but there was enough for you to see what you were doing as you reworked some of the wire positions, and clipped and tugged. Then once you were satisfied, you took a deep breath and turned every single switch on. For any building, it was t advised for every power-drawer to be on at once if unnecessary…for good reason. There was a low hum that began to emit from the panel. The tampered fuses and wiring forcing more and more strain on other areas so they would start tripping.

A spark startled you. Then another. Then another. You watched the entire panel start to malfunction. Then, there were shouts of panic around the building as a power grid shut off in the lot, which you took that as your cue to run.

With your pliers and white cutters in your bag, you shut the panel door and locked it back up in record time. Then, you faced the fence, and ran.

You didn't care that the lights were shutting down all around you. All you knew was you had instructions, and you were certainly going to follow them. You came to the edge of the front of the building and paused in the shadows as groups of men scattered around the dusty lot. Your heart was racing in your chest, but you could see your car just beyond the light, and you expected some kind of relief to wash over you but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a deep pit forming in your stomach.

Lalo hadnt called you.

Of course you hoped that it was simply because his plan went accordingly and having the cover of darkness and chaos was what he needed and...not that it was because he had been shot and bled out before he could call you. The idea that he might have met the fate that you had dreaded for yourself suddenly made you-

Ring ring ring

You froze.

The quiet ring tone made you scramble to answer your phone before it attracted attention. You pulled it from your jacket and wrenched your mask down to breathe when you saw the number.

His.

The same number he had put on a piece of paper for you a month ago.

A million and a half thoughts went through your head as you stared down at the little screen, but the only one you could focus on was the possibility that Lalo was in trouble. That he needed you.

You hit answer, and held the phone to your ear. "Hello?" You whispered, pressing yourself against the side of the building.

There was a strained breath on the other end. "You busy, princesita?"

You couldn’t breathe. He wasnt supposed to call you. That was never a part of any plan he told you.

"No." You managed to get out, eyes unfocused as you tried to remember the blueprints of the building.

"Mind giving me a hand?" He asked just as carefree as he always was, but you knew better. There was a tightness to his voice. He was hurt. Badly too, if he was calling you.

"Wh-where are you?" You asked, already searching for your flashlight in your bag as another few light grids shut off around you.

"You’re- mierda...You’re gonna come in through the main door, okay? Th-through the door with the window... At the end- ah...end of those washers and shit, theres gonna be a door behind one..." He coughed, and you heard him suck in a breath.

You nodded frantically to yourself as you recalled the drawing of the building. Seems that Chicken man was up bro more than just a restaurant. "Okay, okay I- I remember where that is. I’m coming just- just dont die!" You said in a rush.

"Klah! Me? Never." You heard him say, but you were already flipping the phone shut. Lights were flickering like mad as you began inching around to the front of the building, and your eyes began playing tricks on you as they strained to function in the changing a brightness.

To your luck, the front was almost devoid of security as they all ran to the back or inside. You heard radios going off and yells and orders being barked out, but somehow no one saw you.

You crept along the blue facility until you made it to the door. It sat open, and you didn’t waste any time as you slipped inside past the massive bins.

You were alone. For now.

You clicked on your flashlight and you were indeed surrounded by massive industrial washers. It was admittedly overwhelming, but you forced your brain to focus. You looked at each end of the main walkway of the processing room just as Lalo had told you to, and you noticed that a washer at one end was off kilter. You didn’t have time yo weigh the pros and cons of choosing to investigate it, but when you went to run, the sound of footsteps halted you. You clicked off your flashlight.

"The hell is going on in there- this shits supposed to be secure..." You heard a ma n say, and a grumble from another man. You looked around and ducked behind one of the washers; evidently just in time too as the men passed by you just several feet away.

“Where the hell is Mike?” One asked.

You let out a relieved breath when they didn’t turn around or stop to check on your heavy breathing, but it caught in your throat when you saw the guns in their belts glint in the little light. The very real situation that you had just ran into settled into your mind. That you were in the middle of a very messy cartel issue. Something that even Lalo hadn’t meant for you to get mixed in.

You waited until they left, and it grew quiet again before you flicked your light on again, and made a break for the washer. You hoped to god that you weren't too late in your search.

The amount of sound from your feet was too loud, but you didn’t dare stop. You hoped no one would care in the chaos you had created. The sound of other footsteps began to echo around you and you felt a weight on your chest like you were running from a loaded gun but you didn’t look back.

When you were just feet away, you saw the edge of a hidden door. You internally rejoiced, but it was short-lived when you remembered a man might be dying. You whipped around the corner of it, and followed the route of the stairs down. You didn’t have time to consider you might be going the wrong way, so you clamoured down as fast and quietly as you humanly could. Your feet were surprisingly soundless as you inched along the catwalks and flashed your light here and there along the scaffolding.

*What the hell is this place...*

Your heart was in your throat. You could smell dirt and machinery-

You stopped. A sound caught your ears, and you listened for it again. There- a wheeze.

"S-Señor Lalo?" You whispered, creeping down the steps, flashing your light across the expansive space.

You continued down, down, down until you were at the second to last flight of stairs when you jumped and almost fell back. Your flashlight caught a sight that chilled you.

"Eh…Hola niñita, fancy seeing you here!"

Just a couple feet down from you sat the very man who had called you. Your blood went cold when you saw Lalo laying there on the stairs with blood seeping out of his side and neck where he was pressing down.

"L-Lalo-" You whispered, rooted to the spot. Not even the sight of your ex shot dead had rendered you so motionless.

"Not to rush you princesa, but I’ve felt better." He forced out, glancing down at his side that was getting more saturated with blood by the second.

Your senses suddenly went into hyperdrive, and you almost jumped down the couple steps to crouch at his side. You placed your flashlight into the crook of your neck and held it there with your cheek as you pulled his hand from his jugular. A little relief filled you when you noted that the artery wasn’t hit and the bullet just skimmed him.

"Okay, you’re okay." You muttered to him, "Lets get you up."

You were so focused as you started positioning yourself for some leverage that you missed the fact that his eyes hadn't left you. Then he sighed and waved you off.

"Need...the camera..." He rumbled and pointed down.

You stared at him in confusion then followed his finger and held your light again to follow the beam.

Sure enough, 20 feet below you in the dirt was a camcorder.

You nodded silently, not even considering the possibility of arguing, and leapt over him before clamouring down the stairs. Your feet hit dirt and you looked around frantically for the device. The metal caught the light of your flashlight, and as you sped over to it, tried to ignore the various trails of blood in the soil. You grasped the camera and slipped it into your pouch along side your other supplies as you scaled the stairs, light jumping with every step.

As you came back to his side, you wordlessly gripped Lalo’s hand and elbow, and gingerly began to help him stand; you had expected him to wince or protest, but all you heard was him groan a little and wave you off like a fly.

"Shit shot..." He rumbled.

You looked at him as you ignored his gesture, and guided him up, "Wh-"

"Chicken Man he was a shit fucking shot...could’ve at least killed me. Now look at me…" He shook his head like he was more disappointed than distressed.

You huffed out a stressed laugh and looked back at him, then swore under your breath.

"What? I look that bad?" He joked.

You shook your head and moved your flashlight to your mouth and your pressed your free hand to his neck as it continued to gush. He was paler and paler by the second.

"Step." You muttered, again you ignored any of his attempts to be independent, and together you began your ascent up the narrow metal stairs.

His pace was determined and you briefly wondered if he was human as he seemed to ignore his wounds. Your steps fell into sync, and you were thankful for the silence between you as you tried to figure out what the hell you were going to do. As you reached the top of the stairs, you mentally began to map out the building in your head in relation to where you were. You couldn't just walk out the front door, and you couldn’t use the back exit either; no doubt there were men stationed at every exit…

You hesitated slightly just inside hidden door, and thought for a moment. You could hear voices outside, and footsteps...the place was crawling with people. With guns.

Your mind worked overtime and while you couldn't think of a perfect solution, you had one that would hopefuly end with the least amount of bullets in you. Without another thought, you flicked off your light and looked at Lalo as darkness engulfed you. Just like you, he didnt say a word. He knew you were thinking- keeping your word that you would effectively put yourself in harms way for him.

You stuck your head out briefly to see how clean the path was, and once you were satisfied, you sucked in a breath and looked back at the older man by your side. He nodded down at you as best he could and the two of you took a step out into the laundry facility.

You both crept along one of the washers, and glanced out at the room. A person came around the corner of one of the machines, flashlight in hand and you quickly moved the two of you back. Lalo hissed at the quick movement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough. The footsteps came and went, as did a few others along with shouting. You chanced a glance out again, and this time, you went for it.

"Cmon." You whispered.

Lalo let you take his arm, and you guided him along the machines to a service hall where it was less exposed. You could hear people running , and tires screeching outside and orders being barked out, but all you could do was focus on letting your eyes adjust to the darkness and making sure you didn’t trip or take a wrong turn. Once you were halfway down the hall, a door opened at the other end, and you felt bile rise in your throat. You acted on instict and pressed Lalo into the nearest open door and held your breath. You couldn’t see him clearly, but you could feel Lalo’s warm chest rising and falling against you. You watched the flashlight of the person bob around out in the hall beyond the door and prayed that the person wouldn’t look in the doorway.

Your muscles seazed up as you waited and held your breath...then the person was gone. You breathed out and quickly grabbed the older man and began the last leg of the journey. You shouldered open the door at the end, and sure enough, there was an exit up to the roof. You looked around vaguly at the dark room and noted that there were no windows, and turned your light back on.

"You first Señor." You said and nodded to the ladder. Lalo stared at you, hard.

Then he nodded, and began hoisting himself up the ladder. You shone your light up for him to see where he was going and waited until he was at the top before following behind him quickly. At the top, you wrenched the small door open and almost fell out onto the roof. You looked around, and appreciated that there was a little light from neighbouring warehouses illuminating the outside. You whipped your head around and began looking for the ladder down like you had hid behind when you blew the fuze box. Sure enough, across the roof, you saw the first few steps and you nodded towards it for Lalo to see. The two of you took off and kept low. You could see cars exiting and entering the gate and you swore under your breath. So much for a clear path.

"How bad a shape are you in, Señor?" You muttered to him.

Lalo smiled out a hoarse laugh and scanned with you. "Should see the other guy.” He replied, and you looked over at him. He shot you a wink and you felt your eye twitch.

You sighed, and nodded and pointed to where you had managed to get over the fence, "Theres a low part in the fence there...we might get seen, but...I think we'll at least be able to get away." It looked so far away now, especially since you were on another part of the roof.

Lalo nodded and started towards the ladder before you could even check that the coast was clear.

You tried to halt him, "Wait-"

But he already took your hand and dragged you down with him over the rungs of the latter, almost completely foregoing them. You scrambled down after him, and landed beside him just in time for a flashlight to shine over the roof.

As you stood there together, you saw Lalo sway for a moment, then recover with steely eyes as if nothing had happened. You knew he wasn’t doing well, but you had a feeling he would die before he showed any sign of weakness…hell you were certain he would die with a smile on his face if he could.

The two of you stayed low for a moment as you scanned the lot, and it seemed as if you both came to the same conclusion: there was no way you could wait for a perfect moment.

“I’m ready when you are Señor.” You whispered almost reassuringly up to him, then glanced down at his neck that still had a stream of blood coming from it, albeit small. You still didn’t know how he was running around with two bullet wounds.

Lalo remained still for a second as another guard ran past the two of you, then reached into the back of his belt, under his jacket. He produced a gun- the same one you had seen him use that night when he…

“You know how to shoot one of these?” He asked as he pressed it into your palm. You stared down at it. It was heavier than you though it would be.

“I- I know the general idea.” You said, holding it in your hand.

Lalo pressed his hand back to his bleeding side and groaned slightly. “Two hands. One to aim one to steady, okay? Point and shoot. Easy.” He nodded when you had it right. “Vamos.” He rumbled, and began your break from the safety of the shadows.

Having the gun in your hand made you feel both vulnerable and dangerous simultaneously. You scanned as you ran, and just when you began to hope you didn’t have to fire the weapon, you saw a man round the corner of the building just behind you, and you stopped running without a second thought. You aimed, and you shot.

The gun’s recoil made you jump and you watched as the man fell and a spurt of blood came from his back as the bullet winged him.

You heard Lalo bark out a single laugh, “Mi niñita loca…a natural!”

Your ears were ringing. Your feet moved you toward him as you tore your eyes from the groaning man on the ground, and kept your steady pace towards the fence. It came quicker than you thought, though you gathered that the fact that you were still reeling from having just shot a man had something to do with it.

“You first Señor.” You rushed out as you both came to a stop; managing to turn the safety on the gun before stuffing the gun into your pouch.

Lalo didn’t argue, though he did fix you with an intense stare before he pulled himself up the bars with more ease than you thought possible, especially considering his injury. You wondered what it would take to slow him down…

He landed with a thud and a cloud of dust on the other side.

“Vamos, niñita.” He said, beckoning you over with both hands.

You nodded and sucked in a breath and jumped up to grab the top of the fence, and let the adrenaline do the rest of the work. You pulled yourself up and as you situated yourself to jump down, you felt something whizz past your head. Things went quiet and your ears rang. You whipped your head and looked behind you; sure enough, there where two men approaching you with their guns raised. You blinked, then you jumped. Lalos hands were on your waist to guide you down, but all you could see was his paling complexion.

Another few shots were fired, hitting the fence.

You brain kicked back into gear just enough to grab his hand and run to your car with Lalo. You wrench open the door the door for him then ran to the drivers side as another bullet was fired.

You pulled your keys out and forced your hands to cooperate for a moment as you started it up and hit the gas without hesitation. A few more shots were fired behind you, but you peeled out of there before they could do any damage.

It wasn’t until you had been driving for five minutes, taking twists and turns that would get you several speeding and hazardous driving tickets if you were caught, that you finally looked over at the man beside you. He was pressing against his neck and side, and you flickered your gaze over him.

“Y-you’re bleeding-“ you said. It was a dumb thing to say, but it was all you could get out. “I…I need to- we need to get you somewhere…I can’t- no no hospital…do you know anyone? I- I can probably stitch your neck but…”your voice cracked.

“You have to calm down, Jesus Christ… I’m the one dying here.” He rasped.

Your panicking self turned to him sharply and you made a split second decision. “You’re not going to die.”

You turned the car around far too harshly and sped off into the city. You needed more civilization. More people. Being alone would kill the both of you.

You drove to the motel you had booked ahead of time to lay low in after that night, and as you pulled to a stop outside, your hands began to shake uncontrollably. The breaths you took came shakily too.

You didn’t even see the rare look of pride on Lalo’s face- you had done good. He was impressed.

But all you could do was succumb to your adrenaline and panic as they mixed. “You lost so much blood…g-god I should have found you faster, I’m sorry…I gotta get you inside- I have a kit in the trunk, I-I can patch you up-“

You were cut off when Lalo reached over to you with his good arm, and gripped the back of your head and yanked you over the middle console and kissed you. Everything stopped. Your breathing, your words, your heart, your brain, time…everything. You could taste him as his warm tongue flicked against yours when you gasped. It was fast and hard, but you were left stunned as he pulled away. Lalo stared at you, and just as he had hoped, you reset.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“O-okay…” you whispered, eyes refocusing. “Let’s get you inside.” You were on auto pilot as you opened your door and grabbed the first aid kit from the back and the bag you had packed when you left your apartment almost a week ago. As you were about to cross over to the motel, you stopped Lalo quickly and began buttoning up his jacket for a little extra coverage of his bloodstains. Lalo regarded you calmly and carefully, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth.

“I loved this jacket…” he rumbled, regarding the stain forming, “Really comfortable, y’know?”

Once you were satisfied, you led him to the room you had booked, and took out the key they had given you two days ago.

You turned the key and swung the door open before helping the man in and sitting him down and kicking the door shut. You dumped your things down and crouched as you began unbuttoning his jacket. The red stain confronted you again when you pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders. You stared at it, then you heard him tut you.

“Se agradecería un poco de entusiasmo.” He was aloof, but his words were beginning to slur. He wasn’t doing well.

You jumped and snapped back to yourself as you began to frantically undo his dress-shirt.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” You muttered, though you weren’t sure if it was for him or for yourself.

His nice shirt came apart, all sticky from the blood, and you were faced with his soaked skin, and angry wound. Your head went light.

You remembered patching your ex up one night after a bar fight…but nothing that bad. It had been a cut from a pocket knife, not two bullet wounds.

There was no time for you to fall apart though. You were going to make this right even if it was the last thing you did.

You ran to the bathroom and filled the motel ice bucket with warm water and a glass with cold. When you came back, Lalo was forcing himself to stay awake- eyelids heavy. You grabbed every towel you could, and knelt at his feet again.

“Ey, there she is…” he rumbled.

You felt your lips pull into a nervous grin as if trying to see his humour.

“You’re gonna be okay…I’m- I’m gonna fix this-…” Your voice was unsteady though you tried your best to stay calm for him.

You dipped one of the towels into warm water and began dabbing away the blood by his side as best as you could; your stomach flipped at the sight of his torn flesh, but you weren’t about to pass out or back down.

“L-lay back, here.” You grabbed a few pillows and guided him to lay down, and as you went back to wiping his neck and side clean, you watched him try to say lucid. He did a profound job of keeping his breathing steady and you had a brief wonder of how many times he had been shot or worse. You brought a towel to his side and pressed down. Then you felt a surge of panic when you realized you hadn’t given him anything for the pain. “Shit! I’m- I’m sorry you- I didn’t give you anything.” You wrenched the kit open and shakily looked for anything that might help him. You found a small bottle of Tylenol, and though you weren’t certain how effective it would be, you grabbed two and the clean glass of water.

“Open.” You forced out, and placed the pills on his tongue and held the glass to his lips. Your hands shook and you spilled a little, but you focused on remaining calm.

You set the water down once he swallowed and took another towel, then went to his neck where you wiped more blood away. It was just a gash, but needed stitches. You felt your heart beat in your throat, and you wanted so badly to break down, but you couldn’t. You rifled through the kit and found the sutures, a new needle pack and the holder and forceps, and set them on the bed. You wiped the area again, and took a shuttered breath.

“Hey…”

You felt tears well in your eyes.

“Niñita.” Came his voice again.

You blinked and grabbed the needle pack and ripped it open with your teeth. The needle fell into your hand, and you took another breath.

“Y/n.”

You jumped and looked up. Lalo was staring right at you, eyelids heavy.

“You need to stay calm.” He rumbled, “Can’t let me get fucked up, sì?”

You sobbed out a laugh.

“You’re horrible.” You whispered, and sniffled.

“Everybody loves me.” He smiled dazed.

You took a few more breaths and thought of something that made you sober quickly. You thought of what Hector would have done to you if he found out you let his favourite nephew die.

With that in mind, you knelt beside him on the bed; you wiped and dried the wound on his neck again quickly, and pushed his flesh back together to start stitching

“Easy there tiger.” He groaned.

You sighed and brought the threaded needle to his skin, and you pushed in. The feeling of the needle going through his skin made your stomach churn.

His eye twitched, but he didn’t move as you slowly stitched him up. You hoped to god that you weren’t making this worse than it was already was, and thanked god that you had seen several medical shows on late night television years ago…

You finished the wound, and you sighed in relief as you tied a knot for the remaining thread. It wasn’t perfect, but the wound was holding together and he was barely bleeding anymore.

You cleaned the surrounding area one more time, and looked at your patient. He was staring at nothing, but he was awake. You wanted to stop and check on him, but you knew time was not something you had plenty of. With that in mind, you shuffled gingerly down the mattress to the other bullet hole, and cleaned away the entrance wound. There was no way you were going to try and remove a bullet. Certainly you had seen it done in movies but you were not about to do it to a man on deaths door, not when it meant it could cause him to bleed out. You replaced the towel that had become sodden with blood, and pressed down on the crisp white fabric. A warm blot of blood began to seep through and you felt your heart sink down into your ankles.

You were horrified that you had to sniffle a little, tears threatening to well up. You watched his face carefully; he was unbelievably strong willed. He practically refused to lose consciousness. His skin was pale and his eyes were heavy yet still he was awake and watching you from his propped up perch.

“I know a guy…” he rumbled. Suddenly.

You jumped and looked at him, surprised that he spoke. “Tell me how to reach him.” You said, already reaching for his jacket to find his phone.

“Second to last number…he’ll know who it is…” He might have been lacking blood, but Lalo still managed to sound just as confident and aloof as always.

You scrolled down and found the number, and pressed it without another thought. It rang twice before a man answered it.

“Where?” Came the voice.

You wanted to double check that he knew who you were calling for…but you had a feeling this man wasn’t just some guy who forgot who Lalo Salamanca was.

You gave him the address, simple and concise. He didn’t say thank you, or double check, and somehow you found that comforting. You snapped the phone shut, and placed it back in his pocket.

“He’s coming…it…its going to be okay…” you whispered. You wondered how many times that phone had been used to take a life with a simple order.

You looked down at the towel on his side, and lifted it gently to check the bleeding. It was still coming. You grabbed one of the spare pillows and wordlessly began unbuckling Lalo’s belt.

“I know you wanna help there princesita, but I don’t think right now is the best time for a bl-“

You ripped the belt from the loops and pressed the pillow to his side, making him groan and shut his mouth fast. It wasn’t perfect, but you managed to get the belt under his back and around his waist and over the pillow to fasten it to his side, tight. The pressure would help the bleeding better than your hands, and you leaned back once you got it tight enough.

You heart rate had slowed, and now seeing him a little more repaired, you looked at him properly. His eyes were closed, and it didn’t hit you for a moment that him being lax could be a horrible thing. Then your blood went cold.

You shot up out of your seat beside him and leaned over his chest.

"L...Lalo?" You whispered.

Nothing.

You feel lightheaded. You pressed your ear to his chest, and his heartbeat was faint. The tips of your fingers felt cold.

"Lalo!" Your voice broke, but again, there was no response.

Your eyes began to well with tears, and you broke.

"You motherfucker I'm neck deep in this shit, and I cant get myself out without you!" You cried out and slapped his thick chest.

You stared at his face for a moment, dread filling you.

Then, the corner of his mouth tugged.

“Awh, you mean it?” Came his low voice, his eyes still closed.

You felt your hands tingle as the urge to slap him filled you. It was like he could feel it. Lalo smirked slightly.

“C’mon I know you want to…what just because I’m half dead you’re going soft?” He goaded you.

You clenched your jaw and sighed. His mouth tugged again, though his eyes remained closed. Eventually his face went lax, and his breathing became even and slow. You called his name once more, but when he didn’t answer you gathered he was sleeping. You hoped against hope that the guy you had called would be there soon, but you supposed only time would tell.

In his dazed slumber, Lalo murmured a name or two…and you found yourself getting dizzy with sleep the longer you watched him.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but when you woke up, your head was down on the bed in your arms- just where you had been as you watched over him.

You looked up, and and stilled when you saw those large, glittering black eyes staring back at you, fully awake and very alive.

“Ahh she awakens.” He rasped.

You sat up and rubbed your head, taking him in.

He was sat, clean and reclined on the bed. There was a neat bandage over his side, and a smaller one over his neck, along with a couple brown bags where he kept reaching and eating from on the side table

“What…” you tried to say. You had expected to be awoken by the man knocking to get in the room, so how in the hell had he gotten in-

“Hm? Other guy took too long…called in a favour. Didn’t feel like dying yet.” He said as he pulled out a water from one of the bags for you. He dangled it in front of your face.

“I-oh…thank you.” You slowly took the water, and drank from it. You couldn’t remember when you last had water.

“Chicken man thinks he got me…we’ll stay here for a while…” Lalo rumbled.

You nodded, “I- I have the room booked for another two nights…um- I can see if I can get another one for you…if you want some priva-“

“Nah.” He dismissed you. But he said it with that easy grin of his as he looked at the shitty motel room service brochure. There was a warm silence to the room as you sat there with him. You sipped at your water, and slowly stood up, wincing at your back.

Lalo was flipping through one of the brochures of Albuquerque and chuckling every so often. Evidently he thought the touristic sights were amusing. It all seemed so surreal again, just like that night in your apartment as he patched you up.

Then, as you stood there in a daze, you. Suddenly realised how disgusting you felt. Blood and sweat and dirt was caked to you. You quietly went to the washroom and splashed some cold water on your face. You looked a mess. With Lalo more stable, you walked outside and grabbed the bag you had, and went back to the washroom to shower. You bagged up the clothes you had worn, and climbed inside the stall. The warm water washed over you, and you felt tears run down your face as the stress broke out of you. You sobbed quietly into your hand, and let the blood and dirt drain away.

It wasn’t long, but it was enough to help you settle back into your body.

Once you were finished, you dried your hair and put on some clean clothes; you forgot how wonderful it felt to be scrubbed clean. Your head felt a little light, but clear.

When you came out, Lalo was staring out the front window, and slipping a new, clean shirt onto one arm. You watched his back flex and the thick muscles ripple, and you were suddenly hit with the memory of of his lips pressing against yours in the car-

“You’re a little crazy, you know that?” He rumbled as he turned around, and begun buttoning his floral shirt.

You blinked and dragged your stare away from his chest.

“I’m- I’m sorry?” You asked, not fully understanding him. Was he referring to you running through firing bullets for him?

“You said you wished you had a family like the Salamancas. Anyone who says that must be crazy.” He smiled and said it with a laugh, but neither reached his eyes.

You didn’t smile, and didn’t move. Not even when he reached and grabbed his gun off the night stand as he stalked towards you.

“Said you’d take a bullet if you needed to…hm?” He taunted you, standing between you and the door.

You felt a drop of water you had missed run down the back of your neck.

“I haven’t achieved a lot in my life, Señor…but I like to think that I saved your life last night…and while I don’t think you’re a good person, I do know you have a lot of people who would miss you.” You looked from the barrel of the gun to his eyes, “You can shoot me, Señor Lalo…I did something good last night…and I can die with that on my consciousness. If I die with your family knowing I did something in their favour, I’ll be satisfied.” You swallowed and looked back at him. A sense of calm came over you, “Just…please make sure Hector is never seated beside Thomas Lee…they hate each other.” You added with a tiny smile at the memory of having to separate their wheelchairs more than once.

Lalo’s heavy gaze was locked on you, and your eyes flickered over him; his chest was rising and falling quickly. Very unlike the Lalo you knew. He was always so calm…eerily so.

“Come closer I don’t want to miss.” He rumbled.

You took the few steps that were between you, and stood at the edge of his outstretched arm, just an inch from the gun.

You raised your gaze to meet his, firm and ready to meet your end. But you saw something in Lalo that you had only seen once before- that night he had emptied a magazine into your ex- it was a hunger. A glimpse of an animal inside him.

You both stood there for a moment, barely blinking as you stared at one another. The air was thick and warm as the scorching sun heated everything under it outside. You watched his mouth twitch, and his glittering eyes flickered over your face as you remained still. He was thinking…fast.

You had proved yourself to him whether you meant to or not. Proved that you were willing and loyal. That you were quick and nurturing.

You were nuts.

And he liked that.

Then, Lalo brought his arm down and threw the gun onto the table behind him. The movement made you flinch slightly, but you still didn’t move. You weren’t about to be weak in front of him. You watched the older man take the two strides that separated you, and you felt his warm hands slip along your jaw to tilt your head back before you felt his lips on yours. They were warm, and he tasted of something sweet and smoky; his moustache tickled your lip, and you mewled softly into his mouth as you leaned up to move your lips with his urgent kiss. It was vicious, and messy. Lalo swept his tongue over your lips and you opened them without hesitation. A low hum rumbled in his chest, as he tasted you. You laid your hands on his chest, and he tore from your mouth for a moment to speak against your lips, still pecking and licking into your mouth.

“You want to be one of us? A little mouse of a Salamanca?” He rumbled, kissing you again.

You whimpered and nodded as best at you could, “Yes!”

He smirked against your lips and bit at your bottom one as he pulled you closer, “You’ll do what it takes?” Lalo began backing you up, and your legs hit the bed, making you fall back.

“Anything-“ you mumbled breathlessly as he descended upon you, his strong frame caged you in as he leaned down to kiss your jaw down to your neck where he bit and sucked ruthlessly.

“Again.” He rasped against your skin.

“Anything!” You whined, weaving your fingers into his greying hair.

“You’re mine you understand that?” Lalo pulled away and stared right at you; the sight of him so close, and his scent invading every one of your senses had your head go fuzzy. You were his.

“Y-yes papi.” You said without thinking as need took over you.

Lalo’s brow fell, and his face suddenly went serious- you felt worry prickle at you. But then he sat up and on his knees, and began unbuttoning his crisp shirt. “Say that again, Cariño.”

You stared at his fingers as his shirt came apart and you saw his bandage.

“Yes papi.” You repeated yourself.

He groaned satisfactorily deep in his chest, and slipped his shirt off his shoulders and leaned down to to grip the top of your skirt and dragged it down your legs, grinning at your panties. You bashfully went to close your knees but he smiled and tutted you, “No no no, mi princesita, open up for papi…a little more.” He ran a finger down your thigh and flicked it to make a point as you parted them.

He leaned back and reached down to run a finger down your covered slit and barked out an amused little playful laugh when he felt how soaked the material was, watching as the fabric clung to your lips.

“Dulce coñito…”he rumbled.

You may not have been fluent in Spanish, but you knew exactly what he said.

“All for me?” Lalo replaced his finger with his thumb and began rubbing up and down steadily, then stopping to circle around your clit.

You nodded, then he pressed down on your clit gently, and a whimper escaped you.

“Ooh I think she likes that.” He smiled wolfishly down at you. There was nothing you could do to hide your warming cheeks- you were practically glowing as he touched you. This man had just been bleeding on you on the verge of death, and here he was teasing you to near tears.

The man took in every twitch of your thighs, and gasp, storing every bit of information into that calculating brain of his. And you let him. You didn’t hide when you didn’t like something and certainly not when he was driving you crazy. He huffed in annoyance when he couldn’t feel all of your skin against him, and he nearly tore your shirt off of you, and bit and mouthed at the sports bra you had on.

Lalo leaned over you, and devoured your mouth as he finally slipped a long, thick finger inside you. You moaned into the kiss and he chuckled in return.

“Tan sensible, princesita…” he rumbled, and very slowly began to pump in and out of you; the movements matching the pace of his tongue licking into your mouth.

His other hand came up to the nape of your neck where he clenched his fist into your hair and stroked your neck with his thumb. You could feel yourself start to twitch and your muscles grew tighter as he patiently built your orgasm like he was entitled to it. Gently stroking your g-spot and teasing your sensitive clit as it swelled under the pad of his thumb. But then every time you felt yourself start to reach your climax, he would slow, and back off. You whined pitifully into his mouth and he hummed and chuckled.

“Tan impaciente, do I need to teach you manners?” He purred against your mouth.

You shook your head frantically and bit the inside of your lip.

He hummed again, and you felt the vibrations against you. “No…you’re a good girl, eh? Una niña tan buena para mí…” he kissed your temple, and the gesture made your head spin as you keened into his hand.

“Please…” you whispered, and melted when he kissed your nose, continuing his slow pace.

“Look at you…so domesticated like a little dog. Como una pequeña mascota…” he purred.

You blushed, and flicked your eyes away in shame…was he taunting you? Did he think so little of you?

“Ah ah…I like when you look at me, niñita…” he tutted you, and put pressure on your jaw with his thumb as he still cradled your head. You felt his finger pull from you and you suppressed a mewl.

“You’d kill for me. You’d kill for your papi hm?” He goaded you.

You never thought you would say yes to something like that…but you knew that when you fired his gun at that man, you were ready for the bullet to be fatal.

“Yes…” you murmured.

He smiled wolfishly down at you, “Estás loca, niñita.”

Lalo leaned up and away from you, and hissed for a moment. You sat up with him and followed his gaze down to the bandage on his side.

“Are you alright?” You asked quietly, reaching out to touch the area lightly. Lalo snatched your hand and brought it up to his mouth were he sucked one of your fingers into his mouth; your lips parted at the sensation, and with your body so on edge, it only added to the fire inside you.

Then he looked back down and scoffed. “Shit shot.”

You smiled a small smile, then leaned up onto your knees in front of him and watched him closely as you pressed a kiss to his chest. You could feel his heart beating under his skin, and you felt a strange privilege to feel it. You kissed him again, then followed a small trail down to where the bandage was. You looked up at him again; he was watching you intently, his breathing heavy as his thick chest heaved. You held his gaze, and dared to press a kiss right over his wound.

“Mierda…” he rumbled, then you were being wrenched from him and your back hit the bed again. Lalo was almost panting and he opened his belt and pulled it from its loops before throwing it onto the bed beside you. You could only watch as he worked his pants open, not taking his eyes off of you for a second.

You felt pinned to the spot under him, and you grew weak under his heavy, scorching gaze.

“Yours.” You whispered, and spread your legs wider for him. You didn’t know what drew you to say it…but there was a part of you that was so resigned to this man that you couldn’t even think coherently anymore.

Lalo didn’t even stutter his movements as he shucked his pants off. You stared up at him, partially appreciating that you weren’t the only one nude…but somehow you felt even more intimidated with him having nothing on. He was a strong, powerful man. There was no hiding it. A thick, strong chest and tummy, broad shoulders, thick thighs that you had seen pull at his trousers just like his arms strained his shirts.

You felt tiny.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as he descended on you. Lalo took each of your wrists in his hands, and pinned you there. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock lay on your stomach between you as he nestled between your thighs.

The tip leaked onto your tummy, and you squirmed against his hold on your wrists as you tried to touch him or hold onto him for dear life, but he kept you there- so vulnerable. Lalo transferred one of your wrists to his other hand and he use his free one to grope down your body, and return to your slick cunt; he slipped a finger inside you again, checking to see that you were still soaked, and he chuckled. You knew you were an even bigger mess than when he had initially teased you.

“Creo que estás goteando.” He chuckled and pulled away from you to glance down as he pulled his fingers from you- a thick line of slick between his fingers and he pulled them apart.

You flushed. Lalo hummed in satisfaction. He had you in the palm of his hand. Literally.

He took his wet hand and worked it over the tip of his cock, and you almost whined at the slick sound. You had gotten an eye-full of his cock when he had stood at the foot of the bed, and you knew he was massive. You could feel him pull his hips away from you as he moved the fat tip down to run it through your folds. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Lalo released your wrists and leaned back on his heels to watch himself rub the head over your clit then down the length of your slit, and back up. He rubbed it right over your sensitive bud and you bit your lip to keep from whining.

“C’mon ninita don’t be shy- I know the moustache is a bit much but I promise I’m a really nice guy.” He teased you, then surprised you by dipping the tip inside you. Just a little.

But it was enough to make you lose composure and moan pathetically.

“Ahh there she goes- see? Knew you’d warm up to me.” Lalo’s rough voice filled your ears and you moaned again when he slipped in a little further, one hand still gripping the base of his shaft and the other now on your hip in a bruising grip.

You stared up at him helplessly, hands weaved into the sheet below you.

“Precioso…” he purred almost to himself.

The endearment had you flush even more, and he started to catch onto the correlation. His face no longer held any amusement, but instead a ravenous focus sat handsomely in the deep lines of his skin.

He pulled the tip out again, then pushed in further until it popped inside you completely- a small bulge there at your entrance. Your breathing came heavily and you leaned up a little to watch.

Lalo pulled out of you again, then slipped inside you a little more…so slow and so patient. You felt as if you might melt into the bed or combust as he fucked himself into you, gently stretching you open to fit his girth. Your body welcomed him, albeit nervously as your muscles clenched every so often. But he would ease you with gentle coos and lean down to you to kiss your nose. “That’s it…there you go, princesita, you can take papi…all the way.”

You thought you might die when he was in far enough to stroke against your gspot. You could feel yourself tighten impossibly more around him, and he huffed out an amused laugh as your body threatened to force him out. Lalo pulled from your heat again, watching as your sensitive flesh clung to him, and the round bump that formed in your tummy where his cock was nestled inside you; then his gaze was on yours and he snapped his fingers to ensure your attention. You refocused your eyes and stared up at him.

“Eyes on me.” He murmured.

You nodded, and stared at his glittering black eyes as they bore into yours. Then, he began slipping himself back inside you…so slowly. You could already feel the extreme sensations starting to ripple through you, and as you watched the older man, it was like he knew even before you that you were on the precipice of your orgasm. You almost started to plead with him as he patiently eased the thick shaft into you, the weight of it dragging against every sensitive spot inside you until his hips met yours, and his thick tummy ground against your clit…and you saw stars.

“Cum on papi,cariño…” he purred, “Cum all over me.” He kissed your top lip.

And you let go.

An unrestrained whine tore from your throat as your legs shook and your cunt clenched down on him like a vice. Lalo could feel the sudden rush of your cum over his cock and he continued to grind into you as you rode it out. You didn’t know when, but you felt his warm hands over yours; his fingers locked with yours. Your fingers dug into his knuckles, and your back arched up off the mattress as he patiently fucked you through your orgasm, shallowly pulling out then grinding back inside you.

You could barely hear or see. Everything was cloudy and ringing around you as the extreme pleasure ebbed away and your body went lax.

“There she is.” Lalo grinned, and kissed you. His tongue parted your lips and you wrenched your hands from his and wrapped them around his neck, but you flinched when you touched his bandage there.

Lalo hummed and put your arms back around his neck, “Rip them open ninita, c’mon.” He grinned down at you, and started thrusting into you. There was an obscene sound that came from between you thanks to your powerful orgasm and your cheeks warmed.

“Woah!” He smiled and pushed into you, humming at the feeling of your slick warmth hugging around him. Lalo sighed and leaned over you fullly now, bracing himself on his strong forearms. He sighed, and the air fanned over your face.

“Dios te sientes bien.” The older man purred, and kissed down your neck to your shoulder where he nipped at the skin as he increased his pace. Your body began to bounce under him.

Lalo slipped his hand back under the nape of your neck and held you still as he sucked at your skin and bit down possessively. You whimpered and squirmed but his iron grip held you there. As he slowly released you, he licked at your skin and kissed along your collar. His chest heaved against yours and he returned to your mouth and engulfed your lips again; you parted them without thinking now, and let his warm tongue stroke yours.

Then, he pulled away slowly and stared down at you scorchingly. “Open that pretty mouth.” He gasped.

You parted your lips, and Lalo spat onto your waiting tongue, then leaned back down and kissed you again, hard. You moaned down his throat and he groaned in return. A startling need for eachother had seeded itself in both of you.

He had you so distracted with his mouth that you barely noticed as he started rutting into you until his kiss slowed. Lalo hunkered over you, almost folding you in half and he stared hammering into you fast. There was nothing but the sound of his flesh plaping against yours in the warm motel room, and while you were sensitive, you didn’t want it to stop. In fact, you could feel your sensitive cunt start to tighten around him again, and you were helpless to stop it or even tell him, though he seemed very well aware as he grinned down at you.

“That’s it- that’s it.” He purred, and you let him use you as he needed. His soft tummy impacted your clit with each thrust and you could only babble with need. “I’m- I’m- la- f-f-fu- I’m-“ you couldn’t even get a word out at your second orgasm hit you like a train, and Lalo chuckled low in his chest as he felt you cum for him.

You gripped around him tight, and Lalo groaned low at the sensation. He thrusted a few more times, each one more sloppy and harder than the last until he pushed into you all the way, squishing his tip up against your cervix and let his weight down onto you as he came deep inside you. You rolled your hips with him as he slowed his pace and ground against you. Lalo hummed and panted into your neck, and you held him tight against your body as his thick cum filled you up. You could feel your tummy warm up as he emptied into you, rope after hot rope he coated your insides until some of the sticky liquid leaked out the sides where his cock plugged you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were terrified that he might have ripped his stitches, but in that moment you didn’t dare say a word. You knew he’d wave you off.

The older man slowly stilled, and stayed inside you comfortably. His heat was comforting, and you clung to his back and stroked his hair gently. Lalo very slowly leaned up off of you, kissing along your collar to your cheeks, and rolled to the side so he wouldn’t crush you. Then, he shuffled something over to you, and lifted your butt up. It was a pillow.

When you looked at him as he raised your hips up, he only sent you a wink.

You couldn’t form a sentence, so you just laid there for a moment before you felt his arm come around your head and pull you into his side. You curled in there, and rested your head on his chest. Your heart beat wracked your entire body- everything pulsed. You couldn’t move. And Lalo noticed how immobile you were.

“What? A mans never made you cum before?” He chuckled. But when you were silent, he looked at you properly. “No…really? That little prick never made a little thing like you cum?” He pushed and you wished the earth would swallow you up.

“No…” you managed to force out.

“God…we have a lot of catching up to do then!”

You stared at him in horror as your body was still recovering from what he had just done to you. And he laughed. “I’m joking- now come here and kiss me. I almost died yesterday y’know.”

You huffed, and leaned up to press a gentler kiss to his mouth. Then leaned back down. You couldn’t even hold your head up.

He kissed your hair, and ran his hand up and down your arm. “Mi pequeña loca.” Lalo purred.

“Mi viejo loco.” You mumbled, and Lalo sat up and away from you enough to look down at you.

You looked at him sheepishly.

“Mocosa.” He smiled, and you returned it.

Lalo enjoyed seeing you like that. Relaxed. Flushed. Sweaty. Fucked out, blissed out, swollen lipped, hair a mess. All for him.

He sighed after a moment, and smacked your hip. “I’m gonna eat you if we don’t get some fucking food.”

You nodded. “What do you have in mind? Fried chicken?” You quipped.

Lalo did a double take, and stared at you dead serious, then burst into laughter. “I knew you were funny.”

You smiled a little and toyed with a little hair on his arm. “How much longer are you going to be here…in Albuquerque?” You mumbled.

“Eh…we’ll stay here a little longer. Keep an eye on my tio…then after that? Think you deserve some real food.” He smiled.

Your brows furrowed and you pulled away to look at him.

“You said you’ve never been to Mexico right?” He said, tracking your eyes.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Entonces está decidido...after that…I think we could use a Uh…mouth cleanser?” He squinted.

Your heart throbbed still his use of “we”.

“Pallet cleanser?” You offered and he snapped his finger and pointed at you. You smiled.

“Yes! That. Tired of this shit city…you know, I hear Germany is nice.” And he grinned.

He knew he had you.

He embodied the chaos you had grown used to, but portrayed it so calmly. He made you feel safe, and made that little girl you thought you had lost inside you sing. Whatever it was that the two of you shared, you were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

And you knew it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

#lalo salamanca x reader #bcs lalo #better call saul #tony dalton #lalo x reader #lalo salamanca #better call saul imagine #better call saul fanfic #lalo salamanca/reader #breaking bad

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