#but does no one else ever just take note of injury in the back of their mind for writing reference? or think about it while crying? idk

[reidsfilm]

THE HONEYMOON PHASE — SIMON RILEY

PARING: simon ''ghost'' riley x !fem reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!! (18+) pure filth, p in v, (wrap it up folks) unprotected sex, praise, petnames; little bug, sweet girl, good girl, etc, swearing, oral (fem receiving) hair pulling, a little manhandling, soft!dom ghost. aftercare. no use of y/n.

SUMMARY: Ghost taking care of you after having neglected you for 2 weeks.

WORD COUNT : 3K

Notes: i'm never getting over this fictional man. EVER. this ain't proofread. no idea what this is tbh.

Ghost never understood the phrase 'honeymoon phase’ until he met you. You'd been dating for a while, but only recently had you become exclusive with him. Ever since then, he hasn’t been able to keep his mind or his hands off of you. You two were always at each other like rabbits, needing to touch each other, even if it's just faint touches here and there.

Ghost was infatuated with you, and you were like a drug he never seemed to be able to stop taking.

Even during work hours, the other Task Force 141 members have been teasing him for zoning out while thinking about you. Or catching him almost losing composure as he watched you train, he was your Lieutenant after all, at the end of the day.

Soap, especially, would be at him, ''Yer always staring at her. Ye leuk like ye're gaun'ae pounce on her.'' Soap teased with a small smirk on his lips, elbowing Ghost. ''Shut it, Mactavish.''

After a long day of doing paperwork and getting the new recruits into their training, Ghost heads back to his barracks. And once he steps inside the light-dimmed room, he sees you lying on his bed, relaxing against the pillows, the duvet barely covering your naked body.

And the sight makes his cock stir in his tight combat pants.

He leaned back against the door, taking a moment to admire his girl and how beautiful you looked right now.

His eyes roamed over your body as a small smirk lifted his lips, he hadn’t been expecting this. But was he complaining? Not in the slightest.

''Evenin’ bug…'' His British voice drawled out, a hint of amusement in his tone as he began walking toward his bed, shrugging off his vest.

''Hey, handsome.'' You muttered softly as you stretched out on the soft bed. You sat up against the headboard, making the duvet slide down and exposing your breasts and stomach. Ghost's eyes widened and he quickly walked over to her, settling down on the bed. ''What happened, little bug?'' Ghost questioned as his eyes moved over the small bruise on the underside of one of your breasts.

You took a glance down, letting out a soft sigh. ''It was a small accident during training with the rookies. I’m okay.'' You spoke softly, reaching up to caress the side of his face, the scruff of his stubble tickling against the palm of your hand.

Ghost softly nuzzled into your hand as your fingertips brushed over his cheek, a small affectionate smile lifting his lips. He gently took hold of your hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around your soft hand while he raised it to his lips, placing a couple of kisses on your palm before slowly lowering your hand.

His free hand gently ran over your chest, his fingers softly running over the bruise with a slight frown. ''You ain’t hurt anywhere else are ya?'' He softly questioned, his thumb gently rubbing over the small injury.

You shook your head, ''Not exactly. Though I do feel a little achy here…'' You muttered softly, grabbing one of his hands to guide it underneath the duvet, between your legs. A small grin formed on your lips, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Ghost's eyes darkened and his lip curved up into a smirk. He slid the duvet full off of her, taking in the sight of her glistening and soppy cunt. His cock twitched at the sight, his pants suddenly feeling all the more tighter.

His fingers ran over your inner thigh for a moment before gently pushing your legs further apart. His stubble brushed against your skin as he bent down to kiss your inner thigh.

''Does this hurt bug? Is this what you want me to kiss better?” He teased with a sly grin, his eyes watching your expression when his thumb gently brushed over your folds.

''Ghost...'' You let out a soft whimper, sliding your fingers through the tufts of his hair. You loved whenever you got to touch his hair, the soft blonde locks gliding through your fingertips. The only time you got to see his full face was whenever the two of you were alone, in the confines of the privacy of his barracks, or your own.

He hummed as he kissed your inner thigh. ''Spread your legs some more for me,'' Ghost muttered against your inner thigh, and you obeyed in mere seconds. Ghost chuckled, ''That’s my good little bug.'' You hummed at the praise, your stomach fluttering.

''That’s it pretty bug…just like that. I’ll take real good care of you…my good girl…'' His voice drawled out in a husky tone, his fingers brushing a bit rougher over your folds before he lowered down to press his tongue against you. His skilled tongue lapped up at your juices, circling around your clit.

You arched your back, your free hand clutching onto the bedsheet as you whimpered. ''Ghost...'' You sweetly moaned his name, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy as he ate you out. Your stomach fluttered and your head was fuzzy. Your free hand slipped up to your chest, groping at your breasts, fondling them, and pinching at them for extra friction.

His groan rumbled against your skin before he pulled his head back slightly, a soft but commanding tone in his voice as he spoke.

''No touching yourself bug…let me take care of you…'' He softly scolded you as his fingers ran a bit rougher over the opening of your hole, rubbing your clit to make you arch some more.

A soft groan escaped him as his tongue returned to taste you, his eyes watching your expression while he licked you. ''Want me to keep going, bug?''

You let out a soft mewl, bopping your head up and down in response. You restored to gripping the sheets instead, as you listened to the sounds of slurping and sucking as Ghost devoured you. He was eating you out like you were a full-course meal, and it drove you insane. He was like a man starved.

''I’m close…’’ You mumbled softly, slotting your bottom lip between your teeth.

Your soft moan sends a shiver of electricity through him. His tongue continued to taste and tease you, his groan growing louder as he buried his face between your thighs while your taste consumed him.

''You taste so good bug…'' His voice groaned out against your skin. ''Just a bit more…gonna come for me, baby?''

''Yes… yes... I’m so close…'' You whined as you squirmed on the bed, your head thrown back against the pillow, your hands clutching onto the sheets, like a lifeline. And before you knew it, the coil in your stomach snapped and your orgasm came washing over you like a tsunami. You twitched and squirmed on the bed as you felt the pure ecstasy of your release.

He lapped up her juices, wanting to taste your climax before pulling back to look up at you. Licking his lips, he watched you with a small smirk.

''That’s my good girl…'' His voice sounded rough and breathy but was still affectionate as he watched you relax in your afterglow.

Your chest heaved up and down as you came down from your high. Ghost gave her inner thigh a soft kiss, before he headed into the small bathroom, coming back out with a wet rag. ''Come on pretty bug, let’s get you cleaned up.’'' Ghost cooed softly as you sat up. Your body feeling spent and boneless. But aching for much more.

''I want more…'' You muttered softly as Ghost settled down next to you. Your eyes went down to your lap, seeing a wet spot beneath you on the sheets. ''Due to all this training and paperwork and all these missions we’ve had… we haven’t really had sex in at least 2 weeks,'' you mumbled as you looked at him.

His brown eyes slightly darkened at your statement, a small sigh escaping him as he nodded his head once. He was aware that you hadn’t had sex in a while, he just wasn’t sure if you were getting upset or frustrated by it.

''I know…I’m sorry bug'' He softly sighed out, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you sat next to him. ''I know I’ve been neglecting you.'' He muttered as he placed the wet rag against her inner thighs cleaning up the mess of her juices. You hissed at the feeling, your cunt feeling sensitive as he moved the rag over your folds.

''So sensitive...'' Ghost cooed sweetly, as he finished up, before placing a kiss against her forehead. You hummed at the feeling of his lips against your forehead, closing your eyes for a split second, before opening them again as he pulled back.

He tossed the wet rag onto the small table by the bed.

You climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. ''Just miss having you buried deep inside me.'' You whispered so sweetly to him, reaching one hand down between you to palm at him through his combat pants. Your hand fiddled with opening the fly of his pants before you managed to do just so.

Your hand snaked its way into his pants and down into his boxers, grabbing a hold of him. He was heavy against her hand, twitching and so painfully hard.

''You’re so hard. Am I turning you on?’'' You purred softly, giving him a small stroke.

''Always…'' His breathless reply slipped out, his brown eyes gleaming as your fingers wrapped around him. ''You always turn me on, bug…” He groaned out, his hands running over your body.

''Yeah? Want me to ride you, hm? I’ll make you feel good.. so good. I wanna be a good girl and make you happy.'' You mumbled softly, as you pulled him out of his pants. Ghost growled as he lifted your hips before you sunk back down on him.

You let out a soft moan as you gripped his shoulders, feeling your walls clamp around him. Every inch that went deeper inside you felt like it was tearing you in two. He was so fucking big.

He slowly rocked his hips up into you, his hands softly grasping your hips to give you more leverage to take him deeper as you sank fully down on him. His breathing was slightly heavy as you settled on him.

''Ride me, bug…''He groaned as he began rocking his hips harder into her. ''Ride my cock so fucking hard that your pretty little head can't think straight anymore.''

''God… I missed feeling you inside me.'' You moaned out as you lifted his shirt up and over his head, before throwing it to the floor. Your hands caressed over his stomach and chest, feeling his skin against her fingertips. The faint scars across his chest were a reminder of his time spent in the military, and the things he had been through.

You leaned down, placing soft open-mouthed kisses across his chest. When you were still in the early phase of your relationship, Ghost wouldn't even let you near his scars, and you knew then and there that you wanted nothing more than to prove to him how worthy he was of love and all the beautiful things you were willing to give to him.

His hand caressed the back of her head, his own resting against the wall, eyes closing at the feel of her mouth. And god had he to missed being inside her, to feel her gummy walls clenching onto his cock.

''Fuck you feel so good…'' He cursed as his free hand gently squeezed your hip as he rocked harder up into you. His brown eyes were glued to you as you pulled away to meet his own, his expression full of affection and desire for you. ''You have no idea how much I’ve missed this…''

''I think I've got an idea.'' You remarked, your lip curving up into a small smile. A small smack to your ass made you jolt against him, making you gasp. ''Always so sassy with that mouth of yours.'' He chuckled as his rough hand soothed over the globe of your ass.

Your arms slipped back around his neck, lifting your hips up before sinking back down on him and repeating it, over and over, and over again.

"My pretty girl…my good girl…" He praised, his voice thick with desire as his hips snapped up against your own. "You feel so good around me. Like you're made for me, this pretty little cunt made for my cock.'' He breathed out between gasps, his eyes watching your expression intently.

''Mmm.. I’ve missed you so much...'' You moaned, your hands running over his chest and stomach as you looked up at him. The muscles in your legs were starting to tremble from riding him, your body growing tired and slack.

''Feels so good... You feel so good...'' You whimpered, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. ''Want more... Need more.''

His hands gripped your sides a bit tighter as he continued to help you ride him. The look in your eyes was driving him wild.

''Needy little thing…aren’t you?'' He teased softly, a small grin on his lips as he continued to rock you against him. ''My beautiful, needy, good girl… You need more, don’t you?''

You only whined in response.

He leaned forward to press some featherlight kisses and gentle bites along your neck, reaching out to find every single sensitive spot.

''Such a good little bug, riding me so well…so beautifully.'' He breathed out against your skin, his breathing growing a bit more labored as he grew closer and closer to the edge.

''I'm gonna come...'' You whined though it was cut short once his lips went back to your own, capturing them in a needy and desperate clash. His hand moved up your stomach, over your chest as he groped at your breasts, twirling your pebbled nipples between his fingers. You moaned against his lips, your head empty, the only thing that swirled around in there was him, and solely him and how he felt against you, inside you, touching you.

''Come on my cock. I want you to make a mess on my cock.'' Ghost growled against your lips, before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. His other hand went down between your legs, the pads of his fingers circling around your throbbing clit, speeding up the process of getting you to another orgasm.

Ghost reached his hand that was playing with your breasts up to grab at your hair, tilting your head back and making you let out a wanton moan, hips rocking against his as you chased your release. His mouth latched onto the column of your throat, teeth nipping and biting at the flesh as he continued to circle his fingers over your clit.

''I'm so close... fuck.. so close.'' You gasped as your fingers dug into his shoulders. ''That's it... come on bug, milk my cock for all its worth.'' He mumbled against your throat.

Your legs started to shake more against him as you rode him, your body beginning to grow tired from the effort. You could feel your climax building up within you, your breaths growing shallower and more desperate.

''Ghost... I’m getting close…'' You whimpered, your body trembling as you continued riding him. Your body yearning for that blissful feeling.

''That’s it, bug. Come for me, pretty thing.'' He groaned against your throat, before pulling away to look at you, his hands rubbing your hips to help you keep riding him. You looked so eternal like this, your cheeks flushed, your eyes dilated, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin.

He wanted the image scorched into his head.

You let out a soft gasp as your climax crashed over you like a wave. Your body arched against his, your breasts pressing up against his chest and your head thrown back as you let out a low moan. You clenched around him, your legs gripping his hips tightly.

''Ghost… Ghost, Ghost…'' You whimpered helplessly, your body shaking against his in ecstasy.

''That’s it…such a good girl…my good girl…'' His brow eyes watching you as you tried to come down from your high.

''Did so good for me bug…so good… so beautiful…such a good girl.''

You buried your face against his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. You felt so spent, your body completely worn out. But you also felt a sense of contentment and happiness, knowing that you'd been able to make up for your time apart.

''I love you so much…'' You whispered against his skin, your breath still coming in pants.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. He could hear your breathing, still quick and labored from your recent activity.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, gently rubbing your back to soothe you. ''I love you too, bug…so damn much.'' He mumbled against your hair.

His cock twitched inside her, and he too was close to release. His hips pushed up against her in a slow steady rhythm. ''I need to pull out, if I don't I'm gonna come inside you.'' He muttered against the top of her head, and you hummed in response, ''Then come inside me. I want you to fill me up.''

He pulled your head back, his brown eyes meeting your own half-lidded ones, ''You sure?'' He questioned as his eyes took in the satisfied look on your face, ''I'm sure. Wanna feel you coming inside me.''

That's all the conformation he needed before his hips quickened their pace. ''Gonna fill this cunt to the brim, yeah?'' He crooned as his hands slid down to grip your hips, rocking up into you. He was throbbing and aching to fill your pretty cunt up with his seed.

''Yeah... mhm..'' You mumbled as you rested your head back against his shoulder, clutching onto him as he continued reaching for his realize.

And before you knew it, he came with a guttural groan, his seed painting your walls white as his nails dug into your hips. ''Fuck.. yeah that's it. Fuck your heavenly.'' He growled as his head rested back against the wall, his legs twitching and shaking.

His cum dribbled down his shaft, coating your inner thighs as well as his lap. And the two of you spent a few minutes, just basking in the feeling of each other, of the love and affection you shared for each other.

[actiniumwrites]

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

[cloudwisp]

football player!gojo x cheerleader!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. he's a little bit (a lot) of a playboy but he's absolutely smitten with you. nothing coherent, just vibes. 1.6k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I’ve been watching early 2000s romcoms and this idea has been stuck in my head ever since. ꒱

⭒ You’re newly recruited on the cheerleading squad, and that alone caught Gojo’s attention when he spots a pretty new girl stretching her arms and legs in the open field at the start of practice. You’ve heard about him, of course. The girls like to share stories about him and the most popular jocks in school along with crushes and boyfriends in the locker room. They say he’s good in bed but never sticks around long enough for something serious. Always seen with a different girl each week and they can only hope and dream to be his one and only someday.

⭒ You have to admit that he’s good looking, so unfairly handsome with quick wits and good humor that will keep you entertained for hours in his company. He always gets the best grades too and comes from a wealthy background that makes you think he must be God’s favorite. Especially when you get a glimpse of his sculpted body when he pulls his shirt over his head one afternoon. It’s a delicious sight and you’re brought back down to earth at the sound of your teammates squealing over him. Just what can’t he do? And what doesn’t he have? You’re sure every guy wants to be him, and every girl wants to be with him.

⭒ Gojo approaches you with the few minutes of spare time before warm up officially takes place, offering you some assistance if you need help with your stretches—it’s good for your flexibility and he highlights the importance of the proper techniques to prevent injury or so he says. You know his game, he must view you as this shiny new toy and that’s why he’s interested but who says you can’t have a little fun too? So you accept his kind offer, and a smirk tugs at his lips as he helps you relieve your sore limbs from practice the day before and running your routine again and again.

⭒ This position seems dangerous, with you lying on your back and one leg extended on the ground while he moves the other toward your chest with your knee straightened. You didn’t expect him to use his body to reach those tight muscles in your hamstrings when he placed your ankle just at his shoulder and he pressed his body forward to stretch you nice and good. You’re insanely flexible as he was able to close the distance between you two with just a few inches apart, and it makes his head spin when he’s close to you like this. The soft moan that leaves your lips makes the blood rush from his brain to somewhere lower and he has to restrain himself from doing something inappropriate. He wants to hear more of you and be the reason for those pretty sounds.

⭒ Of course, this caught the attention of majority of your teammates and some of the football players. It’s an enviable situation you both have found yourselves in, but you truly don’t have any real expectations from him other than that he mostly wants you for your body. Perhaps you could say the same thing about him, in the event that you and Gojo have a fling of sorts—you’d know to keep some emotional distance from him just to save yourself from any real attachment and heartbreak. You’re not so naive to get your hopes up and believe he’ll change his ways just for you, but maybe you do want to make the most out of your highschool experience.

⭒ Though, he does have a certain charm that you’re not exactly immune to and his sweet way with words that you’ve seen so many girls fall for. So when he gets straight to the point that he wants to take you out to dinner this Friday, you suppose you want to mess with him a little. “I’ve got my eyes set on someone else,” you tell him and he follows your line of sight until he sees where you’re looking. He feels his stomach drop as he realizes you’re interested in his best friend. “Geto? You’re interested in Geto?” You glance back at Gojo and leave him with a sweet smile and your thanks for the stretches, and he can’t ignore the pang of jealousy in his chest.

⭒ There are plenty of girls falling at his feet, but only you occupy his mind since he had first laid eyes on you. He experienced rejection maybe once or twice before and was able to move onto the next with no hard feelings, but something about you still intrigues him. Like he genuinely wants to know what goes on in that pretty head of yours, what warms and touches your heart, what makes your soul feel nourished and fulfilled. He wants to be with you, even outside of anything sexual because you are someone special and he can feel it.

⭒ He likes calling you by the nickname Angel, and it does make your heart flutter when it’s paired with that cute grin of his. You always greet him back with that bright smile of yours, and he normally wouldn’t be this fixated on a single person for weeks that slowly stretch into months but you have that kind of effect on him. Maybe you have him wrapped around your finger and he doesn’t even know it yet. But what Gojo knows is that he craves being around you (and getting into your personal space), learning every small detail and habit about you through observation, and keeping an open ear to your off-hand stories about your life or daily events. He looks forward to seeing you every single day more than he cares to admit.

⭒ He never stops his advances, trying to get you to give him a chance and he went to great lengths just for you to look his way. He doesn’t know what finally did it, but you suddenly agree to reserve a Friday night just for him when he chats you up after practice. He almost couldn’t believe his ears at first, his brain short-circuits for a split second when he’d normally be so smug about securing a date with anyone else. But you aren’t just another girl to him, he can tell that much. His expression quickly changes into a wide grin, “I’ll pick you up at seven, take you somewhere nice. How's that sound, angel?”

⭒ He arrives at your place promptly at the appointed time and parks his nice car in the driveway. He steps out with a bouquet of roses, taking a deep breath as he straightens himself before walking to your doorstep to ring the bell—never once in his life has he felt jitters like this. Except maybe before a big game, but still you manage to make the palms of his hand sweat in his anticipation for you to answer the door. And when you do, you knock the air right out of his lungs with your hair and makeup and dress that hugs your curves in all the right places. “Wow, you look… beautiful.” He says, holding up the flowers to you with a lovesick smile. When you tell him that he looks handsome too with the use of his surname—he sweetly requests that you call him Satoru.

⭒ Gojo’s inexperienced when it comes to relationships, and he warns you about that and understands that it won’t be easy to win your trust and heart given his reputation. But he promises that you’re the only girl that has made him feel this way, and he’s trying to make this work because he’s serious about you and wants something real as long as you’ll have him. You want to believe him yet a small part of you doubts his words. You’re still going to give him a chance to prove that small voice in your head wrong, but you won’t be so quick to fall for him. Because even if it doesn’t work out between you two, at least you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

⭒ He can’t promise that he’ll be perfect or that he won’t mess up. And that much is true when he takes you to a regular date spot that he had brought a couple of girlfriends to previously. That explains why he recommends the lobster pasta to you which led you to ask if he’s been here with someone before. He notices your disappointment and how you shrug it off by saying you’re just grateful he’s taking you out on a date. His hand rests over yours on the table and he apologizes for hurting your feelings. He did want to make you feel special and important, not like just another girl he’s taking to this restaurant. He feels like a complete idiot for not realizing his mistake, and it won’t happen again in the future.

⭒ Gojo can clearly see now that he has so much to learn if he wants to make you happy. And he can almost feel like you're having second thoughts about him—but he does care about you, and more than anything he wants you to believe that he does. He’s not looking for a quick fix, and he hates how he made you feel like you’re a temporary distraction to him. But he supposes that old habits die hard. When he walks you to your doorstep, he promises you again and crosses his heart that he’s in it for the long haul and he’ll show you how much you mean to him and make you forget all about those doubts and fears.

꒰ note ᰔ some more thoughts is that he gets irrationally jealous when you tell him you’ve already had your first kiss and he follows your rule to keep his hands to himself until the fourth date. thank you for reading if you reached the end -blows you a kiss- ꒱

[aerynwrites]

Lovers Embrace

Halsin x afab!reader

A/N: I finally have an excuse to use the shirtless Halsin gif and I couldn’t be happier lmao. But yes - sex pollen/potion fic at your service 😏 hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Smut, sex pollen trope and all that comes with it, accidental consumption of aphrodisiac potion, reader has female anatomy, PiV sex, oral (female receiving), nudity, unprotected sex, fluff.

The only sound filling the tent is of the pestle grinding down into the mortar. It’s uncharacteristic for the camp to be so calm and devoid of sound, but most everyone else had agreed to Karlach’s idea of a jaunt into the city to spend the rest of the day at the Elfsong Tavern.

They had tried to get everyone to go, but Halsin chose to stay back and you followed suit - both because you won’t ever say no to some alone time with your partner, and because you had also wanted to stock up on some potions.

Which is where you are now - you’ve already got a good batch of lesser healing potions brewing and you’re currently working on a potion you found a recipe for, which just seems to be an amped up version of the greater healing potion while adding in a stamina aspect as well.

Halsin had left not long ago to look for a bit more of one of the ingredients, since you’re working with the last of what you have. Just as you finish preparing the ingredients, the first batch of the trial is done.

You look over the instructions one more time just to double-check that everything you’ve done was correct before taking the vial in hand, appraising your handy work.

Silently, you wish there was a better way to test potions rather than trying them outright, but if something were to go awry, you know Halsin isn’t far.

The potion is tinged red like the other healing potions, but held up to the candlelight, you can see that it’s slightly purple as well. Most likely from the stamina portion of the potion.

Slowly, you bring it towards you, carefully sniffing the concoction. When nothing seems off, you finally place the vial against your lips. The liquid is warm as it hits your lips and spreads over your tongue, and you automatically notice a difference in taste.

The other healing potions taste medicinal in nature, not at all pleasant. But this is…different. Sweeter. It’s more rich as well, coating your mouth and throat in a syrupy thickness as you consume it.

You pull the vial away from your lips and stare at the empty glass curiously before glancing down at your hands. You’d been sparring with Lae’zel earlier, resulting in bruised and split knuckles - the perfect way to test this new potion.

Except…they’re still there. Even after you wipe away the dried blood, the minor injuries are still present. Quickly, you set the vial off to the side and look back to your notes. Maybe the potion has a delay in effect, or takes longer than usual?

However, after reading over the notes several times, one particular phrase leaps off the page.

Effects are immediate.

So why isn’t it working?

You move to look over the ingredients once more, but stop as you reach for them. Your hands are shaking. Badly. And not only that - it feels as if the air in the tent has risen several degrees, a cold sweat breaking out along your skin.

Oh fuck.

Did you just poison yourself?

You move to stand but the world sways, mind foggy as a wave of…something rushes through you and settles low in your belly. Your knees almost buckle beneath you as something all too familiar clenches in your core.

“Halsin!” His name is falling from your lips before you can even stop it, not even wondering if he is in ear shot to hear you.

Panic is settling in now, fear of not knowing what you consumed or what it’s going to do to you. You stagger towards the tent’s entrance, pulling the flap back just as your partner does the same.

He stands before you, brows furrowed as he looks down at you. “I heard you call out as I came back into camp. Are you alright, my love?”

You shake your head, wanting to tell him no, you’re not alright, when your eyes land on the bundles of plants in his hand. Confusion fights its way to the front of your mind as you reach out to touch the plants.

“What is that?”

Halsin looks even more concerned now, “It is what you asked me to gather for the potion you are working on. Is it not?”

You shake your head, turning back to the desk to pick up the last stalk of belladonna you have before showing it to Halsin. “No, I needed belladonna, I-ah-“

Another wave of, what you now realize is pleasure courses through you, finally bringing you to your knees. But Halsin is quick. His hands catch you before you hit the ground as he gently lowers you both to your knees.

His concern is palpable now as he looks from you to the plant in your hand, and finally to the empty vial on the desk. His grip on you tightens.

“That is not belladonna,” he informs you, pulling away to show you what he gathered. “This is.”

“Then what…what is this?” You choke on a gasp, curling in on yourself. “What did I drink? Am I…Did I poison myself?”

Halsin quickly reaches over you to take the papers from the desk, scanning them over quickly. His eyes widen slightly before he lets out a soft sigh, eyes falling shut tightly.

“You did not poison yourself, my heart,” he tells you, causing a slight sense of relief to course through you.

However, any relief is overshadowed by the aching need now flowing through your veins. And Halsin’s presence just seems to make it worse, his smell invading your senses, his presence calling to you. You try to shove it away.

“Then what is happening?” The words are a plea on your lips as the pain starts to bloom in your belly, gnawing into your very bones.

Sensing your discomfort, Halsin speaks quickly, tossing the things aside in favor of taking the plant still gripped in your hand.

“This is Lover’s Nettle. It’s a rare plant, so I am surprised you stumbled upon it.” He reaches over you again to trade the plant for the empty vial on the desk, sticky purple residue still stuck to the glass.

He takes a small sniff and his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. “It seems you accidentally created an aphrodisiac potion, little one - a potent one at that.”

Embarrassment wells up in your chest, almost strong enough to overwhelm your other senses. “I…what?”

Ever attuned to your emotions, the druid takes your face gently in his hands, turning your gaze towards him. “I have encountered what I believe to be this same elixir in the days of my youth. They called it Lover’s Embrace, as I am sure you can see why-“

“Halsin, you know I love you, but please-” Your plea comes out in a whine. “Is it harmful?”

Halsin smiles at you, that all too familiar twinkle in his eye. “No, my heart, it will not harm you. But it does tend to cause great discomfort until one’s…baser needs are met.”

“What?” you gasp, “why would someone create something like that?”

Gently, not wanting to rush you, Halsin readjusts and tugs you into his lap. The new position has you straddling his lap and places you slightly above him so the usually taller man has to gaze up at you for once.

“For many reasons, but the most common is just for pleasure’s sake - it was very common in brothels in the city to increase one’s pleasure during their time there.” Halsin’s voice is low now, his hands tracing patterns onto your back and making it even harder for you to stay focused.

“Although, the potion was meant to be consumed by both parties, but…” he’s leaned in now, lips brushing your jaw as he speaks. “It seems you’ve taken enough for the both of us.”

His words, his lips, the way his hands caress you, it all comes together to snap that final tiny string of restraint you had left. Turning, you capture Halsin’s lips with your own, your hands coming up to fist in the material of his shirt as you finally let the potion take over.

Gods, you want him.

You always want him, but now…you feel as if you’ll shatter into a million fragile pieces if he doesn’t touch you.

Halsin, always attuned to every part of you it seems, quickly obliges your silent thoughts. Large hands run from your hips up your sides, rucking up the fabric of your shirt as he does until, eventually, he slips his hands beneath the piece of clothing. They’re warm, as they always are - but now it feels like they’re on fire, scorching a path on your skin as he moves ever upwards, fingers trailing delicately along your spine.

“Halsin.” His name is a plea on your lips as you pull away from the kiss, forehead falling to rest against his own. “Please…”

His lips land on the corner of your own before trailing down to your jaw and lower, stoking the flames even more, until he finally moves to tug your shirt over your head - separating you both for just a brief moment before his lips are on your skin once more.

“Tell me what you need from me, my heart. State your desire and it is yours.” Halsin’s voice is low, almost a rasp as his lips brush over your neck, stopping there to suckle the skin sweetly, teeth barely grazing before moving lower.

His hands never cease their movement, both steadying in ther strength yet infuriating in the way the flit about, never staying in one place for too long and never seeming to touch you where you want him most.

A gasp slips past your lips as his thumb brush just below your breasts, and you squeeze his shoulders sharply. “Just…touch me, Halsin. Kiss me, touch me, fuck me just- please-“ Your words end on a moan as he places a particularly sharp bite to your shoulder. “Just do something, anything.”

Faster than you can blink, Halsin has you on your back beneath him, the furs that make up the tents floor soft beneath against you.

“Careful, my heart,” Halsin warns, voice low. “Your presence alone tests my control, but with words like that I cannot promise I will be able to contain it.”

You fist the fabric of Halsin’s shirt in your hands where they rest on his sides, trying to pull him impossibly closer from where he hovers over you.

“Then lose it,” you gasp, rolling your hips up into his own in search of some - any kind - of friction. “I just want you, I don’t care how. Just, please…”

That word, the one that’s already fallen from your lips several times tonight, finally reaches the man above you. His mouth is on you as soon as he hears it and you don’t bother to fight back the sounds that fall from your lips as he starts a path down your body.

The heat that started after you drank the potion feels like molten lava beneath your skin, and Halsin’s lips are doing little to douse the fire. Teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your chest before moving lower, as if he’s as desperate to touch you as you are.

After what feels like an eternity, his nose brushes the waistband of your pants, and before you can so much as think about begging, his hands are already taking them off, taking your underwear with them.

Halsin is an experienced and thorough lover, typically drawing things out to give you both the most pleasure possible. Tonight, however, he must take mercy on you. Because the moment your trousers are tossed to the side, his mouth is on you.

You almost come right there, the second you feel his tongue on you, drinking in your arousal. It’s like electricity shoots through you, and you can’t suppress the cry that falls from your lips, your hands shooting down to tangle in his hair.

Thick fingers dig into your thighs, keeping your hips pressed to the floor and his lips against your center.

You can’t stop writhing against him as his tongue presses against your clit teasing that bundle of nerves as one hand starts to slide downwards, fingers slipping through your folds to press against your entrance.

“Ah, Halsin-“ His name is like a prayer on your lips, begging him to keep touching you, afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.

Your lover praises your plea with action, finally pressing two fingers into your warm heat. Normally, he would have to work you up to this, but with how wet you are and what you assume to be the work of the potion, he faces no resistance.

Immediately, stars erupt behind your eyes, and you are catapulted off the edge. Your climax comes on so suddenly it steals your breath away, your back arching upwards as your body fights to get closer to the source of your pleasure. It’s as if the potion has made every nerve ending more sensitive. Euphoria washes over you, and Halsin coaxes you through the tumultuous waves, lapping at you until you feel there’s nothing left.

It feels like there is not enough air to fill your lungs as you lay panting on the floor, a pitiful whine escaping your lips as Halsin pulls his fingers from you.

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he licks your spend from himself before your head falls back onto the soft furs.

Warm lips press to the inside of your leg before traveling upwards again, leaving barely-there kisses to your hips, then your stomach, then upwards still. His slow ascent gives you just enough time to gather your senses once more, just enough to realize that it’s still there.

That need. The fire beneath your skin. Even if it’s slightly dulled, you can feel the flames growing once more.

Halsin presses his lips to the valley of your breasts, then your collarbone, reaching your neck before you can gather enough words to speak.

“Gods,” you groan, arms moving to wrap around his shoulders as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, a breathy chuckle brushing over your cheek.

“I told you it was a potent mixture,” he says, voice full of amusement as he settles between your thighs.

It’s then, as you struggled to pull him closer, that you realize he’s still fully clothed. You paw at his shirt, your arousal growing hot in your belly once more.

“Off.”

Halsin can’t help but laugh again, kissing away the frown that tugs at your lips.

“As my lady commands.”

In a flash of that all too familiar druidic magic, his clothes are gone, leaving him blissfully bare above you.

Despite the need coursing through you, you can’t stop the way your eyes trail over him. The muscles rippling in his shoulders as he adjusts his position, the dark hair dusting his chest, the way his hair falls over his shoulders as he gazes down at you.

Taking his face in your hands, you lean up to capture his lips in a desperate kiss - one he returns eagerly.

He dips lower, his forearms resting beside your head as he moves to press flush against you. A moan escapes you, his body fitting perfectly against your own. You can feel him, hot and heavy against your core, can sense the way he tries to restrain himself but fails as his hips rut against you.

Halsin pulls away from your lips, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he presses his forehead to yours. You watch the slight grimace in his face as his eyes flicker open and a flash of gold overtakes them before disappearing.

The beast.

Gods, if you weren’t desperate for him the way his now, you’d tell him to let go. Beg for him to devour you like you know he’s able. But you don’t, instead you wrap your legs around his waist as fingers dig into his back.

“Halsin please, I can’t wait another moment, just-” A whine escapes from your throat as he rolls his hips again, teasing your clit as he pressed harder against you.

“Take me.”

He needs no more encouragement, lining himself up before thrusting into you in one fluid motion. Your body gives way to him with ease, taking him to the hilt in one thrust that pushes the air from your lungs.

You dig your heels into him, begging him to move as words escape you, a request he complies with eagerly. His thrusts are firm, and soon he’s built up a steady rhythm that brushes against that devastating spot inside you each time.

His head falls to the crook of your neck, kissing just below your ear and nipping the delicate skin with blunt teeth.

“I am not ashamed to say I have fantasized about this,” Halsin breathes, voice ragged as he continues to move against you, arms slipping beneath your shoulders to wrap you in a snug embrace.

“I imagined what it would be like having you like this beneath me, writhing and needy just as you are now.”

His words spark something within you, increasing the pleasure pooling in your belly and forcing a moan from your lips again. “Halsin…”

He lets out a groan of his own at the sound of his name on your lips, and suddenly your world is spinning as he hauls you up from the floor. He’s on his knees now, you in his lap as he continues to thrust up into you, arms wrapped securely around your body to keep you pressed flush against him.

The new angle allows him to press deeper, sending shocks of pleasure that have your fingers tingling and toes curling as you sag against him.

A firm hand settles at the back of your head, cradling it gently as his lips brush your ear.

“But in my dreams, it’s not just you who’ve consumed the elixir. Instead, we both indulge.” A kiss is pressed to your cheek, arms tightening around you as his thrusts become more frantic and that familiar coil in your core starts to pull taut.

“The potion works as it’s designed, making us crave each other to the point of lust-addled passion. The craving is so strong that all control is lost and there is nothing but pure pleasure as we claim each other.”

Gods, his words are pure fuel to the fire within you, creating images you don’t dare to push away. Fingers dig into his back, your nails no doubt leaving marks on his tanned skin as you cry out.

“Halsin, please, I’m close, I-“ A strangled moan leaves your lips as one of his hands works its way between your bodies to tease your clit.

“Come for me, my heart,” Halsin says, his voice a whispered command against your skin. “Let me hear my name on your lips once more.”

All it takes is one more press of his hips for you to obey. The coil snaps and you are falling once again into unadulterated bliss, Halsin’s name flowing from your lips like a mantra.

He works you through your climax as he chases his own end, a few more harsh thrusts before he’s filling you with a groan, then going still against you.

Slowly, ever so gently, he leans forward, laying you amongst the furs before following suit.

You wince slightly as he moves away from you, but quickly settled into the arms he offers you, cheek against his damp chest and one leg thrown over his own as you press against his side.

Exhaustion tugs at every part of your being, but despite being blissed out and spent, you can still feel that smoldering ember in your belly, unsure if it is the pleasure still waning or the potion waiting to be flamed once more.

“Is it…how long does it take for it to wear off?” you ask softly, tongue heavy in your parched mouth.

Halsin hums and you can feel the vibrations against your cheek as he reaches up to place a hand against your forehead.

“You are still running hot,” he observes before dropping his hand to rub soothingly up your arm. “This particular mixture does not wane quickly,” he tells you, a tinge of apology in his voice. “It may be well into sunrise before it completely leaves your system.”

He smiles then, an action you see solely because his words cause you to look up at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “That long?”

Halsin laughs, nodding and pulling you against him again. “It is a powerful concoction. However,” he pauses, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “it is gracious enough to give you brief respites. So, sleep now, my heart, and when the tendrils of desire pull you from your slumber I will be here waiting.”

Your eyes are already slipping closed as he speaks, your limbs resting heavily against him as he holds you close.

And as you drift off to sleep you can’t help the eagerness that stirs in your chest for what awaits when you wake.

Tags:

@daedriclys

[amongemeraldclouds]

no take backs

As the earth collapsed around you, your sworn enemy decides to confess his feelings for you with a kiss. So when the world doesn’t end, what happens next?

Jess Mariano x f!Reader

Warning: 18+ only MDNI, fluff, slight angst, unprotected sex, piv, v!fingering, reader has anxiety (only plays a small part in the story), earthquake (no injuries)

Author’s note: Based on this request then I expanded on the concept. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist | 2.4k words

“Just because I’m letting you drive me home, does not mean we’re friends,” you huffed as you climbed into the passenger seat of Jess Mariano’s beat up car. Vintage, he called it. You’d never admit it, but you found it cute how he was proud of it. To him, it was his key to freedom, going anywhere he wanted whenever he wanted. Except for when nature had other plans.

“Well, a coworker could take his other coworker home, okay?” He said, closing the car door as he slid his keys into the ignition and started up the car. You relent and gave him your address.

It was just your luck that the Earth’s tectonic plates decided to shift in ways that damaged your car, but not your mortal enemy’s. Perhaps it was karma and you were being encouraged to make amends with him in the name of world peace. Try as you might however, the word “peace” and Jess Mariano just did not fit.

It certainly did not feel peaceful being trapped in a car with him. Your cheeks blushed as you remembered how soft his lips felt against yours and the eager way they moved as if it was the final thing he would ever do in his life. And for a few moments back at the publishing house, tucked safely beneath a table while the world shook violently around you, you were both convinced it was your last moments.

It was confusing. The way your heart hammered and you didn’t know if it was from fear of dy*ng or the way his kiss invaded your entire being. From the moans it elicited from your throat, to the air it stole from your lungs, and the butterflies that rushed in your stomach. It was hard to tell if it really was just an earthquake or the mind-shattering truth that your enemy might not actually hate you at all.

Then it was over too soon. The air felt cold without him close to you and he was pulling you up from under the table.

“So we’re just not going to talk about it?” You asked, piercing the awkward silence.

Jess just shrugged and spoke casually, “talk about what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, of course he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. But he had no right confusing you with a kiss after constantly making your life a waking nightmare.

“Jess, you kissed me,” you deadpan, addressing the elephant in the room. “Coworkers don’t kiss other coworkers.”

“A lapse of judgment in a life-threatening situation,” he dismissed, keeping his eyes straight on the road.

Your mouth curled, the sweet aftertaste of his kisses turning sour. You fumed in silence as you looked outside the window with unfocused eyes. You weren’t sure what you were more upset about: his denial or your disappointment - having to face the horrid fact that you also didn’t hate your enemy.

“Shit, the road’s blocked,” Jess drew you out from the thunder of your thoughts as you looked at the cars lined up ahead. It was like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic films you’ve seen and dread sank in your chest. Perhaps you should stick to watching cheesy rom coms because this pessimism was not helpful at all.

“Can we go somewhere else?” You whispered softly, anxiety bearing down your chest.

Jess looked at you with concern. “Sure, let’s find somewhere we can park until things get better,” he replied with an equally soft tone and you hated it because he knew all about your anxiety and penchant for panic attacks. You didn’t like being weak around him, not if he could be sweet and caring only to take it all back when you’re fine.

He parked the car in between buildings, sheltered from the wails of emergency response vehicles and the rush of people trying to go home. You exhaled after going through rounds of breathing exercises to calm your anxiety.

“My my, a secluded alley. Jess Mariano, whatever do you plan to do with me?” You quipped, mildly accusing him or m*rder when the other meaning dawned on you, something that made you blush. Well, it was too late to back out now.

He smirked, “whose to say you’re not the one who wants to do things with me with that line of questioning, huh?”

“I wouldn’t do anything if I was the only one who liked it,” you hedged. Perhaps life was too short to keep denying your feelings. If there was ever a better time to learn that lesson, it was now. You just needed him to admit he felt it too.

“I don’t like the idea of being k*lled, thanks,” he scoffed as he plastered on a smug smile.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you looked outside the window, an idea forming in your head.

“It sure is getting hot,” you comment innocently as you undid the top buttons of your blouse. Jess’ eyes followed your movement and you don’t miss the way his breath hitches.

“Better get comfortable, right?” You said, adjusting the car seat to lean back and you felt your blouse open slightly to reveal your cleavage. You were not going to make it easy for him to deny his feelings.

“Stop that,” Jess demanded while his eyes told a different tale of desire and longing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied lazily. Two can play that game.

That’s right Jess, you thought, here’s a dose of your medicine. You continued, “this is much better.” You leaned your head back and stretched on the seat, aware of how your skirt inched up your legs.

You let out a satisfied moan, sighing in pleasure at thoughts of getting comfortable. If by comfort, you meant the satisfaction of derailing Jess’ denial and stubbornness. His eyes traced your legs then followed your chest when they rose and fell with your sigh. 

Jess grunted and you bit back a smile. “Okay, fine. So I kissed you,” he admitted.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You said it meant nothing, so why would it matter?”

“I never said it meant nothing, I said it was a lapse of judgment.”

“There’s a difference?” You raised your eyebrow, challenging him to continue.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steeled himself. To Jess Mariano, telling the truth meant peeling back the layers of his sarcasm, which was as painful as stripping off his skin.

“You know when they say the world is about to end, you’d think your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could see was you. And it wasn’t just because you were in front of me. God, I closed my eyes, and all I could see was still you. Laughing at your own jokes, greeting everyone with a smile, typing away on your computer. It would be such a shame if I didn’t get to kiss you if that was the last thing I’d ever do, damn it. But then the earthquake stopped and we were fine.”

Your eyebrows creased as you let his words sink in. “Is it really so bad that we survived?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “I don’t think I could ever survive you. You frustrate me because you’re just so…you! You’re not someone I could just kiss once and get out of my system. I’d always want more and then I’d inevitably screw it up. It was better that you hated me from the start.”

His eyes burned with untold stories of heartbreak and self destruction. Despite all the ways he infuriated you, you wanted nothing more than to hold him. You had a feeling you were just seeing who he truly was beneath his smug smiles and his devil-may-care attitude.

“Jess, I don’t hate you,” you confess. “Don’t just make it one kiss,” you continue, allowing yourself to be just as honest as him. “Have another one, and another, and heck - have all of me!”

He looked at you in disbelief, as if he wished for the stars and he was told he could have the whole damn galaxy. A spark of joy and hope ignited something wild in him that he no longer let himself think of past regrets and mistakes.

He inched towards you, looking into your eyes for permission and you bridged the distance in response, kissing him. It was fiercer than when you both thought you were on the brink of de*th, because this time, it was a celebration of life and the possibilities that lay ahead.

You felt it when he sucked on your bottom lip and you moaned in pleasure, a small sound for all the words you couldn’t say. How all those time spent hating him was just a shield from your admiration of the man who took destiny in his own hands and never let the world define him.

The man who wrote stories and downplayed them through luck and how ink fumes must have altered his publisher’s minds to pick him. He never once acknowledged his talent, but secretly you did with the way you underlined your favorite sentences and re-read his book as if his words could wrap you in a sweet embrace.

He always kept you at an arm’s length and made your life hell, but it was heaven just being beside him. And you never dared to admit it. Until now, when he’s unbuttoning your blouse as he unravels your secrets. His mouth moves to your neck, setting your body on fire.

“Wait, what if someone sees us?” You ask, a wave of sobriety washing over you.

Jess just smirked, his lips pink and swollen, hungry for more of your kisses. “That’s half the fun.”

You rolled your eyes but god - you needed him. “And the other half?” You asked, mirroring his smirk.

“This,” he just says as he resumes your kiss.

It’s agony when you pull away again just to alleviate your anxiety, “can we at least go to the back?” It’s not much, but it’s better than being right by the windshield.

“Spacious,” he nods, moving away so you could climb over to the backseat. You felt the heat of his stare behind you as you settled in. 

He promptly followed suit until your bodies are tangled again with him laying you down the seat, careful so you don’t hit your head. You bring your hand to his stupid hair and run your fingers through it. His hands return to your blouse and your back arches on instinct when he unclasps your bra and he takes a moment to look at you. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes as he squeezes your breast while he licks the other, planting soft tender kisses.

In his car, the sirens and chaos faded. You were consumed by Jess’ touch, both curious and possessive at the same time. His free hand traveling down your leg as he caressed it, slowly making his way to your inner thigh. You can’t help the way you squirmed beneath him as you held your breath in anticipation. In response, you palm his erection beneath his uncomfortably tight jeans and you’re rewarded with a grunt.

He teased you through your panties and you open your legs for him as he moves the thin fabric aside to feel your soft folds. You bite your lip and try to stifle your moan, but Jess brings his mouth to your ear, “I need to hear you, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” You cursed in response, your mind swimming in a haze of euphoria.

His fingers send shockwaves of pleasure as he spreads your liquid heat, exploring your folds and paying attention to which sensations left you whimpering. He exploited them skillfully, rubbing and teasing, eager to make you a moaning mess for him. You gasped when he plunged his fingers inside you and you arched your back, needing him deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he admires as he pumped his fingers in and out. You moved your hips against his hand, needing more of him. He was finally here, doing things you used to just dream about, secrets stashed beneath soft covers in your moonlit bedroom.

“Jess, please. I need to feel all of you,” you begged and his eyes darkened.

“I’m all yours,” he replied as he removed his fingers and cleaned them off with his tongue. “Fuck you taste so good.” 

You helped him free his hard length and you don’t stifle the needy moan that escapes you this time when he fills you up. He takes a few slow movements before building up to a steady pace, the delicious friction making your toes curl. “You feel amazing, Jess,” you tell him.

He kissed you as he rocked his hips into you, a clash of teeth and tongue. There was nothing gentle in the way you moved against each other, it was pure want and longing crashing into each other. It was months of fantasies finally coming true and desires unleashed building in your core.

The car moved along with you, giving you extra leverage to find your rhythm. The irony was not lost on you that as the world shook around you once again, things were falling into place this time.

Filthy, desperate whimpers escaped his lips and you spread your legs wider, needing him deeper inside you. He squeezed your breast in response and teased your taut nipples, eager to worship all of you. You closed your eyes when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

“Look at me,” Jess tells you instead and so you do. You see the lust and passion in his eyes and it’s enough to unravel you. Little earthquakes of ecstasy erupt through you as you shuddered against him. He increases his pace, eager to coax every last aftershock of your orgasm. It doesn’t take long before you feel his release warming your insides. He rests his head in the crook of your neck as he recovers his breath.

When he pulls out, you swipe his spilled seed from your leg and bring it in your mouth, enjoying the salty taste. “Fuck you’re so hot,” Jess breathes out. 

You grin. “So this happened. You gonna deny it?” You challenged him as he held you.

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “This happened. You’re mine and I’m yours. No take backs.”

“No take backs,” you echoed as you leaned in for another kiss.

It was perfect. The world could end at that moment and you would not mind at all.

Still you were glad to stay alive. Because then, you could always go another round, and another. So it goes.

✿ Masterlist | ✿ Jess Mariano Masterlist

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 5

note: special thanks to @panicflower for inspiring me with this chapter! i was honestly a lil stuck but their suggestion helped me come up with a direction( ˘ ³˘) hope everyone enjoys!

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.4k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: simon wants to make it up to you, but he has no idea where to begin. when you start getting close to someone else, he knows he has to fix things before it's too late.

warnings: still ghost's pov, mentions of injury, jealousy reader gives ghost the cold shoulder this time, ghost is just a lil bit pathetic and very emotionally constipated

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

simon found you in the infirmary.

he knew you hated hospitals; you tried to hide how they made your skin crawl, but he would always notice the way you'd fidget uncomfortably whenever you needed patching up after a mission. even though you more than likely didn't want to see him, his selfish heart still held out hope that he could bring you some comfort.

you're sitting on the edge of a bed, checking the bandage around your forearm when he pushes through the doors. he subtly brushes the dirt from his clothes with his free hand as he takes a step forward, the other holding the hastily collected gift behind his back. but as he cautiously approaches, his breath catches in his throat when he notices the third presence taking up the space next to you.

another sergeant, from the unit the one-four-one is working with for their current assignment. his face is familiar, but simon’s never bothered to learn his name. up until this moment, he was completely irrelevant; but now this nameless bastard was sitting beside you in the space that should he his, and he’s never wanted to punch an ally more than he does right now.

he stops in front of you, and when you lift your head to meet his eyes the pure exhaustion there sends a twinge of pain through his heart. when your friend looks up as well, he feels a surge of annoyance that he’s even here – simon came in with the intention of explaining himself to you, but with someone else lingering around you, he’s afraid he won’t be able to gather the courage.

the humiliation of giving you the makeshift gift he's still got hidden behind his back in front of this stranger would be far too much.

"we need to talk." his voice is harder than he would like, but the other set of eyes on him puts him on edge. he goes to take a small step closer to you, but he freezes when you hold up your uninjured hand to stop him.

"don't," you reply, tearing your red-rimmed eyes away from him as you push yourself to stand up. your shoulders sag and you cradle your bandaged arm close to your abdomen. "i'm tired, ghost."

he grimaces under his mask, watching helplessly as you take your jacket from the waiting hands of your companion – who stands up too, placing his hand on your shoulder with a small smile directed at you that makes simon want to strangle him.

then the idiot turns to him, and regards him with a similar polite smile. "i'm sure it can wait 'till tomorrow, sir." he says, gesturing for you to move with him as he takes a step around simon.

he doesn't bother to acknowledge the sergeant though, keeping his gaze focused solely on you.

"i know, i just–" he begins, raising his free arm to block your path – and perhaps separate you from the outsider – but the way you flinch away from him ever so slightly has his heart breaking all over again. "what i said was uncalled for."

you sigh deeply and drop your gaze to the floor. "then why did you say it?" your frustration is obvious, but he can't come up with a response in time. you click your tongue, before continuing, "i don't wanna do this right now."

"c'mon, man," the spare interjects, pushing his arm down and out of your way. simon finally meets his eyes then, glaring at him with such intensity from behind the balaclava he can see how thickly he swallows. "uh– sir." he corrects, quickly retracting his hand from simon's arm and retreating his gaze to you.

simon resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead turning them back to you as well. "sting." he mumbles, a weak plea for you to listen, but you offer no reaction.

your eyes dart to him and away again as you brush past him with a stone cold expression on your face. he would've believed it, had it not been for the tremble in your lower lip that gave away what you really felt.

for a moment he says frozen in place, watching your back as you exit the infirmary with your irritating companion. he didn't know what to do, now you were the one running away from him. is this how you always felt around him?

before the infirmary door can swing shut he follows you both out into the hallway, keeping pace with you but not daring to walk beside you. the minimal distance between you and the sergeant has his blood boiling, but he restrains his annoyance for your sake. he hears you sigh as his heavy footsteps fall behind your own, but you refuse to give him any more of your attention.

it's pathetic, he thinks to himself, the way he's following you around like a lost puppy, but he can't bring himself to be ashamed. he wants your attention, and he'll do anything to get it.

when you get out into the cold night air, instead of heading towards the main gate like he expected you to, you take a right after the sergeant, towards the car park. his gets a heavy feeling in his stomach, but he follows anyway. your car was still parked outside his house, unmoved since you'd left.

he still follows as you make your way towards one of the few cars left in the space. you say something to the sergeant, too low for simon to hear, and he nods before going ahead to his car.

"ghost," your tone is unimpressed as you turn around to him, arms crossed over your chest. "what are you doing?"

he blinks. "we're goin' the same way." he mutters, his hand squeezing the fist wrapped tightly around his gift that was still hidden behind his back.

"anderson's giving me a lift." you reply flatly.

"oh." his stomach sinks unbearably. he had naively hoped that you'd walk with him, and he'd finally get the chance to talk to you. "...right."

"...right."

you take a step back, going to walk away again, but before you can move he calls out to you. "sting."

you stop and look at him, brows raised expectantly.

in one of his gloved hands, he holds out a handful of delicate white flowers to you. you look at them, and then back up to him with a surprised blink.

"...are those from the flowerbeds out front?" you ask, fixing him with a sceptical expression. he shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other under your scrutiny.

"yeah." he murmurs, "you said you liked 'em."

he hoped you wouldn't comment on the fact that you'd said that during your first week on the taskforce. a moment of tension passes before you gently take the flowers from his hand.

"i did." you say, brushing your fingers over the slightly squashed petals. simon breaths a silent sigh of relief that you didn't outright reject his gesture.

you don't say anything more, leaving the two of you in another uncomfortable pause, but once again, he can't think of anything to say quickly enough. so with another low sigh, you turn on your heel and close the short distance between you and anderson's car.

his arm twitches, a restrained attempt to reach out for you, to ask you to stay, but the door slams shut without you sparing another glance in his direction.

simon can only watch as the taillights disappear into the night, taking you along with them and out of his reach, and leaving him alone in the desolate car park.

"fuuuuck." he growls, tightly pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. why would you want to get into the car of someone you've only known for a few days? even if you were angry with him, you couldn't trust anderson more than your own lieutenant. his hands curl into fists at his sides at the thought that you might actually prefer that prick over him.

with nothing left to do, he begins the lonely walk home. it always manages to catch him off guard, how much colder the world seemed to be when you weren't around.

by the time he’s inside and locked the door behind him, the lights are all off and the door to your room is firmly shut. he considers knocking, but out of fear of disturbing you he decides against it – he’d bothered you enough for one day.

as he lays in bed and retreats into his usual fantasy of you, like he’s done countless times before, there's something different plaguing his mind. your smile, something usually so comforting to him, is directed to someone else.

a striking pain blooms in his chest, spreading to his limbs and his head until his whole body aches with the feeling of you, smiling warmly and holding the hand of someone other than him; he focuses his mind, concentrating on the faceless silhouette until the shadows morph into features he recognises.

anderson.

✹✹✹

he doesn't see you the next morning. you're gone by the time he wakes up, along with your car. it's surprising that he didn't hear you leave; usually he wakes at smallest of sounds, but you seemed to have the unique ability to sneak up on him.

going through his morning routine felt more like a chore than it ever had before, especially the trek back to base with only the silence of the early morning to keep him company. not even the birds sing for him today.

when he finally trudges into the rec room almost forty minutes after leaving home, he finds gaz and soap sitting on the old sofas, playing some card game on the coffee table. he considers turning back around and hiding in his office all day, but he’s spotted before he can escape.

"rise 'n shine, l.t." soap calls, "c'mon, i'll deal ya in."

with a poorly disguised roll of his eyes, he drags his feet over to where they're sitting and drops his weight onto the armchair. he doesn't even know what game they're playing when he's given a hand, but his mind is elsewhere anyway.

"you alright, mate?" gaz's question snaps him out of his daze, but he doesn't get to reply before the door is thrown open and a fourth presence enters the room.

"morning!" anderson's overly enthusiastic voice bounces off the walls of the rec room. simon's head throbs. "anyone seen stingray?" he approaches them as he asks, crossing the distance with a gait that just feels annoying.

gaz and soap look up from their cards at his question, sharing a quick look between them that goes completely over anderson's head.

"they're on inventory, probably in the storeroom." gaz responds, offering him a polite, downturned smile, before looking back and meeting ghost's deadpan gaze.

at least he wasn't the only one who hated anderson's guts.

"perfect, thanks mate!" anderson grins, about to rush back out the way he came, but ghost speaks up before he can get too far.

"not so fast, sergeant." he growls, dropping his cards onto the coffee table and standing up to his full height. he can see soap and gaz share another look out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze stays locked onto anderson like a predator on its prey.

anderson pauses, slowly turning on his heel to face the lieutenant again as he stalks forward. ghost feels a sense of satisfaction at the way he has to crane his neck upwards to look him in the eye, his massive frame towering over the sergeant in an almost comical way.

"yes, sir?" anderson’s voice is strained as he responds, his shoulders noticeably tighter than a moment ago.

"where's your report from yesterday?" ghost leans just slightly forward, crowding his personal space. he sees anderson's gaze flicker to the others behind him, but he knows they're not about to offer their help.

"uh, i filed it first thing this morning," he answers, rocking backwards on his heels. "why?"

ghost sneers under his mask. "well, our captain needs a copy too." 

"but my commander's already left, i can't get it back…" anderson’s brows pull together, confusion evident in his words.

"better get writin' then, hadn't you?" ghost doesn't even try to hide the smugness in his voice this time, take more pleasure in ruining anderson's day than he probably should.

"...yes sir." anderson nods, his gaze dropping to the floor as ghost moves past him. he makes sure to nudge his shoulder as he goes, catching anderson off guard and causing him to stumble slightly.

the three sergeants watch as he disappears through the door, each breathing a sigh of relief once they're sure he's gone. ghost's temper was tough to be on the receiving end of, and his bad mood always seemed to rub off on those around him.

"wow..." anderson grumbles, a bitter look on his face as he approaches the others again. "who pissed in his cornflakes?"

gaz and soap do their best not to acknowledge him, instead going back to their card game as if he wasn't there. unfortunately, anderson either doesn't pick up on it, or he just doesn't care, because he hangs around despite being blatantly ignored.

"reckon he's still in the doghouse with sting?" gaz asks, though the answer is obvious. anderson sits down beside him, much to gaz's chagrin, but he takes no notice of his questioning gaze.

"och, no doubt about that." soap huffs.

"so they're together?" anderson asks, tilting his head slightly with a frown. "i was gonna make a move, but i know they live together, so…"

gaz meets his eyes with a frown of his own. "well…" he looks at soap from the corner of his eye, who has a similar deer-in-headlights expression. "...not necessarily,"

"it's… complicated." soap adds, trying to hide the panic on his face with a begrudging smile that ends up more like a grimace.

"oh, so stingray's available, is what i'm hearing." he punctuated his words with an irritating wiggle of his eyebrows.

gaz and soap share another wide-eyed look.

"i don't know if–"

"now hold on–"

anderson pays their protests no mind however, hurrying to the door with a call of, "sorry lads, cant hang about!" as he leaves.

as soon as the door swings shut behind him, soap lets out a frustrated groan. "good goin' mate…" he grumbles, turning to gaz with a raised brow.

"...don't tell ghost," gaz mutters with a regretful expression decorating his face.

✹✹✹

true to gaz's word, when simon slips through the door to the storeroom you're there, clipboard in hand and quietly going through the stock.

you haven't noticed him yet, so he takes a moment to simply observe you as you work. although in reality it's only been a few days, it could've been weeks since he last saw you and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. time moved so slow while you were gone it felt like it was dragging specifically to punish him.

it's only as he stands there watching you that he realises he has no idea what he's actually going to say to you, but it was too late to back out now; he was here, and he wasn't sure when he'd next get a moment alone with you, he had to try.

"sting–"

"shit!" 

you jump, your clipboard slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor. your hand presses over your heart as you whip around to face him.

"don't fucking do that, you scared the shit out of me." you shoot him a glare and reach down to pick up your clipboard while simon can only stand there like an idiot, his mind desperately racing to come up with something to say.

"i, uh– just wanted to talk." he mutters, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. you sigh lightly and look down to the documents you'd been writing.

"okay, go on then." you gesture for him to speak, and turn back around to the shelves to carry on with your duties.

"well– i.. i shouldn't've said what i said," he begins, following after you as you move along the shelves and continue to write. the way you disregard his presence throws him off – he was so used to having your undivided attention it was strange to lose it.

"we've established that."

"and i regret it," he continues, getting closer again, but you still don't look at him. his voice is significantly weaker than when he began, your ice cold demeanour effecting what little confidence had had going into this. "i just… i don't know what to do."

at that, you lower your clipboard and gaze pointedly into the space in front of you, lips pursed with obvious anger. when you finally face him, the incredulous look on your face has him regretting having said anything, despite not understanding where your fury came from.

"you don't know what to do?" you laugh, but it's dry and humourless. "that's priceless, lieutenant, honestly."

"why? just–"

he's interrupted for the second time that morning by the door opening to reveal anderson, that infuriating grin plastered onto his face.

"you in here, sting?" he calls, eyes scanning the room before landing on the two of you near the back wall. "oh. lieutenant ghost…" the grin falls from his face and the way he stands up a little straighter doesn’t go unnoticed.

simon quietly groans to himself, pouring every ounce of malice he has into the way he glowers at the sergeant. he was so tempted to punch this prick it took an unbelievable amount of restraint not to.

"thought i told you to write that report." he seethes, turning his body to face anderson while simultaneously putting himself between you and him.

"well, i'm getting to it, but–"

"no buts, sergeant." he interrupts, voice dangerously low. "i gave you an order; do it."

"sir, i really don't think it's necess–"

"maybe you'd like to tell captain price why he can't sign off on the debrief?" his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it, and he's sure his fingernails would've drawn blood had he not been wearing gloves.

"...no, sir." anderson mutters, his demeanour something akin to a scolded child.

"then you'd better fuck off, hadn't you?" ghost spits, gesturing sharply with one hand towards the door.

"y-yes sir…" anderson stutters, backing out of the doorway with a quick, concerned look to you over ghost's shoulder before he disappears around the corner.

now that it's just the two of you, simon turns back to you with a much softer look in his eyes, only to be met with a glare from you that rivals one of his own.

"don't be such a dickhead." you hiss, turning sharply away from him again and going back to writing on your clipboard.

simon scoffs. "you're seriously gonna defend that bellend?" he asks, throwing his hands out to the sides and leaning to catch your eye again.

"you don't even know him." you turn more away from him to avoid his searching gaze, your writing getting steadily more aggressive the more he tries to capture your attention.

"i know enough to know that he's–"

"just stop!" you shout, finally turning to face him with a venomous glare. the tension between you is palpable, it makes his skin crawl, but he doesn't dare move. "i don't wanna hear it! if all you're gonna do is bitch about my friends, then you can leave."

simon's breath falters when you turn your back on him again, dragging a heavy hand over your face as you do. "wait– that's not–"

"just piss off, ghost!" you cry, "please!"

your plea rings through the empty room, echoing in simon's ribcage and embedding itself like a thorn in his heart. he can't see your face, for which he's actually grateful; if he saw you cry again he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

he waits in silence for you to say something, anything more, but you refuse to look at him, shoulders hunched and clipboard held so tightly it was at risk of snapping.

without another word, he drags his feet over to the door, looking back over his shoulder to you as he pauses in the threshold. you’re still standing exactly where he left you, back turned and completely unmoving save for the uneven rise and fall of your shoulders.

"i'll… see you at home, yeah?" he mutters, his small tone not at all befitting of a soldier as imposing as him.

you don't respond.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @batmanunicorns523 , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Pairing: Moze x reader

Description: You’re fatally injured

Notes: Um I don’t have a comment for this one lol

Warnings: Blood, very vague descriptions of injury

Moze tries not to think about the blood—pooling around you, dripping and smeared across your skin and clothing, and onto him. Now that the adrenaline of the fight has worn off, the thoughts are clawing their way into his mind. Filthy. Grimey. Unclean.

But the blood can be washed away, the clothing can be replaced if necessary. You, on the other hand—you can never be replaced. So he pushes past the sick feeling in his gut, trying instead to focus on that—on you.

“Moze…I’m sorry.” you say, softly, so softly that he almost doesn’t hear you.

But he does.

For a moment, Moze is truly, terribly afraid that you’re gone. “What?”

“I’m bleeding on you…” your words are slurring together in the haze of blood loss. He almost feels relieved that you responded.

But that relief is overshadowed by your words. That shouldn’t be your main concern—not now, while you were bleeding out. While you were so close to dying.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says.

“But…you…”

“Talk about something else,” he interrupts. “Stay awake. Just…talk about something else.”

You’re quiet for a moment, but you lean your head closer to his chest. “You’re warm,” you hum. “I think…I could stay like this forever. If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms…”

He reminds himself that you’ve lost a lot of blood, and that some of that blood is from a head injury. That your words mean nothing, that you’re too delirious to know what you’re saying.

Hopefully you’re also too delirious to notice how his heart betrays him, pounding in his chest in response to your rambling.

When Moze arrives at the infirmary, and hands you off to the Yaoqing doctors, you cling to him, reluctant to let go, but you’re too weak to put up any real fight.

It isn’t until later, when he’s finished cleaning all evidence of the fight and injury, and is scrubbing the blood off of his skin, that he realizes for a moment, when you breathed in his existence and thought it might be the last thing you ever knew, that he’d forgotten all else. That the world around him stopped, because the thought of really, truly seeing you die, overpowered all else.

Somehow, even when the blood is gone and his skin scrubbed raw, he doesn’t feel any less uneasy. All he can think of is you, the pool of blood that had surrounded you, the emotion he can’t quite place twisting in his gut even now, compelling him to stay by your side.

So Moze returns to the infirmary, keeping watch from the shadows.

-

It was a few days before you awoke, and were actually lucid.

Moze stood in the corner, leaned against the wall. He didn’t realize he drifted off until he was startled awake by the sounds of movement. His hand twitches toward his daggers instinctively before he realizes that it’s only you, sitting up in your bed.

You’re similarly startled when he emerges from the shadows, and your eyes land on him. You also reach for a weapon on instinct—though yours isn’t there—but you visibly relax when your mind catches up with you, and you realize it’s only him.

“You should still be resting,” he admonishes.

You raise a brow. “And you shouldn’t be in here. I doubt they’ve cleared me for visitors yet.”

Moze ignores your comment. “How do you feel?”

“Like I almost died,” you joke. “But really, I don’t remember much. It’s all kind of a blur. I’m not certain the things I do remember even happened.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and not for the first time Moze takes in the state of you. Bandages wrapped around your head. He knows from his memory of your injury that beneath the blanket, you also have them around your abdomen and chest. Moze had known even as he made every effort to save you that your survival was far from guaranteed.

The phantom feeling of your blood crawls back onto his skin. He crosses his arms, tries to fight the urge to scrub and claw at the skin, because he knows it’s not there.

You’re the first to break the silence. “The medics said you brought me here. I owe you my life, Moze. I know it couldn’t have been easy…”

He remembers your apology. I’m sorry. I’m bleeding on you.

“There was no need to leave you to die,” he responds.

You smile. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.”

Your smile suddenly twists into a frown, your hand reaching up to brush against the bandages around your head. “I…didn’t say anything strange to you, did I?”

If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms.

“…No.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank the Aeons! That would have been humiliating…”

He suspects that you remember more than you’re admitting to, but if you would rather believe it never happened, then he’s willing to pretend it didn’t.

Somehow, though, he knows the memory of you, clinging to him, saying you’d be fine with dying if he was the last thing you saw, won’t soon fade away. That your blood will continue to linger on his skin long after he cleaned it, that the fear of losing you is now realized and forever ingrained in him.

That he really wants to hold you close, and feel you clinging to him like that again.

He’s quick to bury those emotions, and try not to think about it any further. But he knows they’ll surface again, and unlike the blood and grime, these emotions will not be so easily washed away.

[igbylicious]

bound [hongjoong x seonghwa]

pairing: necromancer hongjoong x revenant seonghwa

rating: 18+

genre: darkfic, smut, angst, fantasy

summary: Seonghwa will die for Hongjoong, over and over again, and he pretends it means something every time his master brings him back.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: dom Hongjoong, sub Seonghwa, oral; 69, face-fucking, rough sex, choking on cock, cum swallowing, temperature play (sortof), toxic relationship; Seonghwa’s soul is contractually bound to Hongjoong, violence, blood & injury, resurrection; Seonghwa dies but he gets better

a/n: idk if i’d call these doves dead but they def ain’t the pinnacle of health ^^;; pls mind the warnings!

Seonghwa might die for Hongjoong today.

It won’t be the first time he has died, and it won’t be the last. He can live with that.

There are a lot of things that Seonghwa can live with, or so he’s discovered ever since he signed this contract. He can live with blood on his hands; he can live with the uncertainty of whether that blood is innocent.

He only cannot live without Hongjoong.

“Well done, pet.” His master’s voice is delicate today, a soft purr that never fails to make him shiver. Hongjoong reaches a cool hand to cup Seonghwa’s blood-splattered cheek, tainting his fingers with spilled life. “Hold the rest of them off while I finish the ritual, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“My brave obedient wardog,” Hongjoong either praises or mocks him — Seonghwa is never sure — and he presses his cold lips against Seonghwa’s warm mouth in a shallow kiss. Sometimes Seonghwa wonders which one of them is more alive.

Hongjoong’s intoxicating scent wraps around Seonghwa and he bites back a whine as a clever tongue briefly teases against his lips; but Hongjoong is gone before Seonghwa can lose himself in the kiss. His master turns away with a billow of his heavy fur cloak, snow crunching underneath his leather boots as he makes his way to the ancient stone altar site.

The fresh body of a careless scout lies on the dais, limbs contorted and flesh ripped. Dragged here after Seonghwa had disposed of him; an easy lonely target who wandered too deeply into Hongjoong’s net. The scout’s lack of caution volunteered him for one of Hongjoong’s aberrant ceremonials, ensuring he will never report back to the hunting party that follows behind.

Hongjoong bends down next to the body and runs a gentle hand across the torn skin, and jealousy pierces through Seonghwa like a fiery hot blade. He tries to shake it off, reminding himself there is no cause for envy. His master holds no contract with this miserable scout; no soul will be pulled from the wretched remains that Hongjoong is about to lay his hands on. This unremarkable corpse is nothing like Seonghwa.

No one else is like him.

He is special.

He does not know why Hongjoong choose Seonghwa’s body and soul to bind with his. Seonghwa is a gifted warrior, but so are countless others. He was desperate when Hongjoong found him — but who isn’t, in this war-stricken land? Out of an overabundance of choice, Hongjoong still picked him.

That means something. It has to.

Otherwise, none of this means anything at all.

Seonghwa focuses himself back to his task, extending out his awareness to the forest around him. Heightened senses are one of the benefits to his contract; his revived body finely attuned to the world. Death has brought him closer to life, so Hongjoong likes to say.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and makes note of every sign of life in this otherwise dead forest. Ever since his master made this place his ritual site, wildlife has long fled the area. Driven off by the slow petrification of thickets and flowers, drained of their vitality. And as Hongjoong’s circle of corruption expands, any living thing here is threatened by the same fate.

Except for Seonghwa. Seonghwa thrives.

Just as his master feeds on life, Seonghwa feeds on him; and Hongjoong always provides him a rich meal.

It does not take long for the hunting party to skitter into the edges of Seonghwa’s eyesight, though he sensed their imminent arrival long ago. They have not split up, tactics abandoned by the blind faith in their superior numbers. It is their first mistake.

They close in on Seonghwa, believing him to be the true threat to eliminate; their second mistake.

Hongjoong is the true threat, and Seonghwa is nothing but his fierce guard dog.

He protects his master not only with his body and sword, but by concealing him in the shadows of Seonghwa’s reputation. He covets anonymity, and so Seonghwa eagerly feeds into the horrid myths of a black-clad warrior of otherworldly beauty. By now, there is not a single soul in the land who has not heard of the infamous Black Repose.

Even his attire is deliberately imposing. Black leather covers him from neck to toe, stitched with intricate golden patterns that flatter the elegant lines of his body. His head is left unprotected; exposing the coldness of his dark eyes to his enemies. The delicate, icy beauty of his face is framed by long strands of black hair, slightly curled by melted snow.

He holds up a heavy long sword in his hand, the double-edged blade resting across the back of his shoulders as he waits for his prey to trap itself. Darkened steel flashes in muted sunlight as he slowly moves into position, putting himself between Hongjoong and the soon-to-be-dead.

The first hunter to gather his courage goes for Seonghwa’s unhelmeted head. They always do.

It never works.

Blade clangs against blade in the petrified forest, and Seonghwa is unleashed. He deflects the blow easily, his face contorting in fury as he lets out a rage-filled shout and goes on the offence. Soon the clearing is filled with violent chaos, with Seonghwa at its centre. Steel connects with steel over and over again — until steel finally connects with flesh.

His blade bites deep into muscle, hot sprays of vivid red smeared across the snow-covered grounds. Every move is graceful, filled with purpose, a dance of macabre beauty that Seonghwa performs at his master’s every whim. And Hongjoong doesn't even spare his performance a glance.

No, he is fully immersed in his ritual, nearing completion. The air thickens with rot, permeating Seonghwa’s senses. He can taste the decay on his tongue, a thin film of something cloying gathering on his skin.

Soon there is only a trio of hunters left, confused and shaken by the curdled air around them. One of them finally notices the cloaked figure on the stone dais, and Seonghwa sees the moment of realisation on her face; she has recognised the true source at the heart of this corruption.

She charges forward at the altar.

Seonghwa has no choice but to admire her commitment, as desperate and foolhardy as it is. But fools can make for the most dangerous of opponents; and this is one of them.

The hunter moves so suddenly that Seonghwa is forced to wildly fling himself between his master and the threat, skewering himself on the incoming blade. Adrenaline overrides pain, but Seonghwa knows the wound is deep.

Ah. So he will die for Hongjoong today.

Seonghwa smiles faintly, even as every breath draws blood into his lungs. Imminent death is no excuse to shirk his duties.

The hunter crumples to the ground with her sword still sunken into Seonghwa’s chest. The remaining two watch in horror how Seonghwa still stands, seemingly unencumbered by the grievous injury. That horror is their downfall, holding them frozen in place as Seonghwa’s blade finds their necks in one last brutal swing.

Silence falls in the clearing, only broken by Seonghwa’s heavy, gurgled breaths; and the skittering of bones. Hongjoong’s new servant has returned to this earth in a soulless mockery of life.

Faintly, Seonghwa hears his master call out to him.

There is concern in Hongjoong’s voice, or so Seonghwa likes to imagine. In the moments before death, he always allows himself these sweet indulgences.

Seonghwa collapses as the light leaves his eyes; but it will be back. His master will make sure of that.

It starts again with a heartbeat.

Sluggishly, the heart pushes at the blood that has accumulated at the bottom of this body, forcing a current to flow through drained arteries and veins once more. Function returns to the body’s organs; to its undamaged ones, at least.

An impulse sparks through a vast network of nerves, shooting all the way up the spine into the brain. It has one clear message for the newly reborn cognition inside this body’s skull:

Pain.

Muscles flex to open this body’s mouth. The mouth screams.

The pain is excruciating, it is all-encompassing. Anything in this body that is capable of sensation, senses nothing but agony. Torn flesh, punctured lung, shredded skin, all freshly knit together but still filled with memories of past injury. Even the unmarred pieces of this body are screaming in pain, death still clinging onto its meat with clawed fingers. Nothing else exists, endless and endless and endless—

— until it is endless no more. Even the infinite cannot survive superior power.

The pain is not gone, not entirely, but it has receded just enough for the brain to remember its body’s name. Seonghwa.

The entity that knows himself as Seonghwa realises he is naked and cold, and his muscles have regained enough strength for him to shiver uncontrollably. His skin’s nerve-endings send a cacophony of information to his brain, which he slowly untangles to know he is laid down on rough stonework, scraping against him with every twitch of his body.

A pair of familiar hands runs over his skin, a distant voice whispers by his ear.

To translate sounds into language into meaning is still a challenge for his freshly revived brain, but Seonghwa knows the voice belongs to Hongjoong, and that is enough. Seonghwa’s vocal cords vibrate when a jumbled noise escapes past his lips, and he prays that he just begged “please”.

He aches for Hongjoong; the pain of his need for his master is just as agonising as his resurrection, if not moreso. His soul is unmoored on this mortal plane, threatening to drift away, and only Hongjoong can anchor him.

Bleary vision returns to Seonghwa’s eyes. The forest is dark around him, and Hongjoong’s cloaked figure is nothing but a distorted shadow above him. Seonghwa whimpers, not understanding why the blurred image does not clear up — until his master reaches to wipe away his salty tears.

Hongjoong’s fingers are wet, smearing blackened blood across Seonghwa’s cheeks. Its metallic, festeringly sweet scent invades Seonghwa’s nose, but underneath it all he can still smell Hongjoong. His scent like a frigid winter’s morning, all sharp ice and no gentle snow.

His master’s delicate hands on his body go down, down, down, until they find a part of Seonghwa where Hongjoong’s touch causes him to shudder and arch. Pleasure. That's the sensation that throbs through him like a fever, heat flooding his newly alive body. His heart beats faster as it sends blood down to where Hongjoong’s hands stroke and tease. Sharp breaths fill Seonghwa’s aching lungs with oxygen, the air returning out his throat as even sharper whines.

“Are you back, my pet? You performed your duties so admirably today…” Hongjoong coos, his weight settling on Seonghwa’s thighs. As he shifts, his heavy fur cloak falls away to reveal a naked, lean body. He is unbothered by the night’s cold, already hard for his loyal servant. “Allow me to reward your devotion.”

The crescent moon provides little in the way of light, but Seonghwa’s enhanced vision allows him clear sight of the faint glisten gathered on the tip of Hongjoong’s cock. This is why Seonghwa’s master never mocks him for dying, never treats it as a failure in the line of duty. It excites him too much.

“Master…” Seonghwa rasps, feebly reaching for Hongjoong. He can barely lift his arms; his muscles are still weakened from his temporary demise, leaving him entirely to Hongjoong’s mercy. (Then again… isn’t Seonghwa always at his master’s mercy, even at his full strength?)

Dark satisfaction flashes across Hongjoong’s face at his pet’s desperation, knowing exactly what Seonghwa craves. Hongjoong leisurely palms at his cock, smearing his fingers with the clear fluids of his arousal. He then laughs lowly at how Seonghwa’s face contorts in pathetic pleasure as Hongjoong feeds it to him. Seonghwa’s long tongue swirls around cold fingers, moaning at the salty flavour. He always wants the first thing he tastes to be Hongjoong. He needs it to be Hongjoong.

“Such a diligent servant I found,” Hongjoong says with a slow, wicked smile, delighting in Seonghwa’s whine when he pulls his hand away. “So faithful, so greedy. You want more, my loyal soul?”

yes yes yes—

Seonghwa’s voice cracks as he tries to answer, his airways scratchy and raw from his earlier screams.

Hongjoong laughs again — fondly, Seonghwa convinces himself. He is allowed these sweet indulgences in the moments after death. A wired excitement thrums through him while Hongjoong repositions himself, caging Seonghwa’s head between his knees. Seonghwa eagerly cranes his neck to run his tongue over the underside of Hongjoong’s cock, unwilling to wait even a moment longer before he attends to his master.

Hongjoong hisses, his thighs flexing above Seonghwa’s face. “Patience, pet. Find your strength first,” he chides, bracing a hand on Seonghwa’s hip to lean over and wrap his lips around Seonghwa’s flushed cockhead. Seonghwa groans at the wet heat of him; the inside of Hongjoong’s mouth is one of the few parts of him that runs hot. Even his lips are cold, a constant contrast to Seonghwa’s senses as Hongjoong engulfs him, sliding up and down at a torturously slow pace that has Seonghwa writhing underneath him. He is always sensitive, but even moreso at these times, like death has torn the memory of pleasure out of his body, every experience new like it's his first time being ravished by the skillful hands and mouth of his master.

Even in his weakened state, Seonghwa can't stand it anymore; can't stand being the one attended to when it should be him, him on his knees before Hongjoong in ardent worship. He tips his head up to lap at a throbbing vein that runs along the length of Hongjoong’s cock, then takes him inside.

Seonghwa’s worship is clumsy, his muscles stiff from revivification, but he is devout, eager, and Hongjoong accepts what is offered with a zealous groan. He uses Seonghwa’s mouth with deep rolls of his hips, his moans rippling through Seonghwa’s own cock — then a cruel chuckle when Seonghwa gags on him. Hongjoong bucks again, forcing himself deeper down Seonghwa’s throat, like he does not care if his devoted servant suffocates right on his altar. Seonghwa does not care either. He would die for Hongjoong right here all over again — just as long as Hongjoong comes on his tongue first.

Pleasure crackles through Seonghwa’s veins, his eyes tearing up as Hongjoong overwhelms him, his cold lips dragging over his length only to be replaced by his hot tongue, deftly suckling and licking at him. Throbbing arousal floods Seonghwa’s senses, every emotion heightened by the sheer force of physical ecstasy brought to him by his master.

Seonghwa can feel it, how his release pulses closer and closer. How all physical and emotional sensation blends together into a volatile melting pot, the strong catalyst needed to fully align his body and soul after their brutal separation; the final stage to his resurrection to prevent future deterioration. Seonghwa chases it mindlessly, light-headed from Hongjoong fucking his throat, his cheeks puffy and flushed and wet from tears.

He whimpers when Hongjoong’s nails scratch across his thigh, then down to graze over Seonghwa’s ass, two fingers rubbing around the sensitive rim of his tight hole. Drool leaks from his mouth, choking out a moan when Hongjoong ruthlessly pushes him to the very edge of his limits with wet, noisy slurps. He squeezes a hand around the base of Seonghwa’s cock, tongue swirling around the tip as Hongjoong presses his hips down, forcing Seonghwa to take him and keep taking him, staying deep as Seonghwa garbles around his cock, throat spasming.

Oxygen becomes harder and harder to come by as Seonghwa’s nose clogs up, muffled sobs barely able to escape his mouth. His hips buck uselessly when Hongjoong’s lips disappear from his aching cock, but they are replaced by a cool palm that burns against his feverish skin, and Hongjoong brutally jerks him off while sucking at his testes.

The rough edge is just what Seonghwa needs, the soft warmth spreading through his core turning sharp. He cries out, his nails digging into Hongjoong’s ass and hips as he convulses, light-headed with pure pleasure. He uselessly tries to gasp for breath with strangled whimpers, electricity shooting through his nervous system as ropes of white spill over Hongjoong’s fingers and onto Seonghwa’s stomach, swiftly cooling in the night air. Static rings through his ears, exhaustion setting in as the dizzying euphoria clears up — yet Seonghwa also feels stronger, more complete, and while the ritual might be done, Seonghwa is not yet finished.

He hollows his cheeks and curls his tongue around Hongjoong’s throbbing cock, warmed by the wet heat of Seonghwa’s ardent mouth, who groans when his master’s hips move again. Hongjoong presses his hands against Seonghwa’s chest as he grinds down, thighs flexing.

Seonghwa’s eyes roll to the back of his head, darkness flickering across his vision as consciousness threatens to fade. But he hangs on, desperate to please. Crude wet squelches fill his ears, almost overpowering the sound of Hongjoong’s pitched whines. Seonghwa moans in satisfaction when Hongjoong shudders violently, the taste of him bursting on Seonghwa’s tongue, down his throat as he greedily swallows down his master’s essence.

Cold air sears through Seonghwa’s airways and fills his no longer aching lungs when Hongjoong pulls away, slumping down next to his faithful pet. He runs frigid fingers over Seonghwa’s flushed, heaving chest, grinning down on him.

“So tell me, Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his face split apart by a wide, dangerous grin, a wild glint in his dark eyes, “do you wish to renew our contract?”

The question always feels like an insult, even if Seonghwa knows it is necessary. But Hongjoong’s grin proves he also knows how rhetorical his query is, and that soothes the sting to Seonghwa’s pride in his loyalty. Of course he will.

Seonghwa had been dying and desperate the first time he committed to this agreement, left little choice unless he could make peace with his life’s end. Now he is neither desperate nor dying — yet he still has only one path forward. He doesn’t know what Hongjoong will do if he declines; he never asked. It does not matter. There is no choice; there is only Hongjoong. Seonghwa knows his place; at his master’s feet.

He wipes his ruddy cheeks, blinks the lingering tears from his eyes. “I renew our contract,” he says, steadily meeting Hongjoong’s sharp gaze as he extends his hand.

Hongjoong shakes it, his icy hand sending a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. There is a strange sharpness to his cold touch, like tiny icicles piercing Seonghwa’s palm. Seonghwa swears he can feel blood being drawn, but his skin comes away unmarred.

And just like that, it is done. The verbal contract has been signed.

The first time, Seonghwa had waited for something grand to happen; for Hongjoong’s dark magic to coil around them in swirling black fog, swallowing them both up and spit them back out as a bound entity. It is nothing like that; no impressive displays of power, only a brief whiff of an acrid smell in the air that leaves Seonghwa dizzy and nauseous until it fades, making way for an odd, fuzzy euphoria.

Hongjoong stands up and picks up his fur cloak, putting it back on with a dramatic flourish. He always did enjoy a touch of theatrical flair. “Come, my faithful guard dog, we have much else to do,” he commands, and his voice cuts through Seonghwa’s disorientation like a siren song.

Seonghwa’s head clears and crawls back onto his feet, gathering the pieces of his black armour that are intact enough to wear. His soul brims with renewed purpose, knowing his place in life — and death. He could have said no to the contract. Hongjoong is many things, not all pleasant, but ‘true to his word’ is one of them. He would have released Seonghwa. Perhaps he would even let him live out this final life in peace as repayment for his service.

But what kind of life would that be?

Hongjoong does not need Seonghwa. For him, a thousand others. But out of all those thousands, Hongjoong still chose him. That means something. It has to.

[boyfhee]

FAIR AND SQUARE › lhs

SYNOPSIS › one thing about life— it's unpredictable. for example, you made a note to yourself about not associating too much with heeseung for your own peace of mind, letting him stay as the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, except one thing leads to another and you find yourself face to face with the said man with your feelings all over the place. a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition, let the game begin.

WORD COUNT › 20.2k

GENRE › academic rivals / friends to lovers, mutual pinning because they're just competitive and oblivious ft in denial, fem reader, quite the 'he fell first but she fell harder' thing eye guess . . .

WARNINGS › mentions drinking, sheds light on family issues ( mostly on the reader's side ) bruise and injury, slightest of angst, arguments, suggestive ( fourth section, towards the end ) profanities, let me know if you spot more

PLAYLIST › tune in for a better experience

NOTE › i love this fic with all my heart and lungs, even more. anyway, i'm sorry to academic rivals fans, this doesn't have academic blood and gore, as quoted by my dear mai. SPEAKING OF MAI EVERYONE THANK @maiverie FOR BETAREADING THIS FIC!!!!!! im not lying when i say i wouldn't have finished writing this yesterday if it wasn't for her, like thank u for ur super helpful review that got my brain juices flowing :< luv u fr. ALSO both heeseung and reader are taking post grad course so of course, they're aged up ( no ages specified ) have fun reading.

I. BANE OF EXISTENCE

one thing about life— it’s unpredictable. 

for example, you’re in the library writing and reading papers on the topic you love, the one that you’re supposed to enjoy and the one that will become the reason behind your earnings in the near future, but here you are, sitting with a headache and a cup of coffee on the side. who knew the subject you've liked since grade one will betray you and become the potential bane of your existence? not you, surely enough. wednesday noons are for basketball matches, which explains why the library and hallways are quieter and emptier than usual. even the teachers make time for the tournaments off their busy schedules, it’s understandable— your university is known for having one of the best sports teams in the league, and the basketball team being the defending champions does nothing but fuel the pride of students and staffs as if they’re the ones on the court, trying to get the ball in the basket.

you wouldn’t say you don’t like being a part of the crowd because you’ve been to the badminton tournaments and know that watching matches is as interesting as playing, if not more. you just don’t have the time to attend any. with assignments piling up and exams ‘round the corner, you’d rather spend your last two months of the semester studying instead of yelling at the bleachers. you can always get the recordings if you ever feel like watching one, as for the results, the word goes around faster in your department than anywhere else, all because of one of the students being on the team. 

you try focusing, you really do, but your cup is just as empty as your brain and your phone is going up with notifications. you don’t see the point of miyeon spamming the gc with updates on the match when everyone in the group, except you, is with her, watching and cheering alongside. muting is a choice which you choose not to do, and the reason is between you and god, to be honest. long story short, it’s the lack of motivation clogging your thought process and the realisation that your friends are out there enjoying themselves unlike you is blocking any means of logical thinking. a day or two spent not studying wouldn’t make you fail the classes, and even if the guilt is pooling inside, you pack your stuff and walk out of the library, making your way to the indoor basketball court. 

the screams grow louder as you approach, each step reminding you that you still can go back as you choose to ignore it. exams can wait, you tell yourself, a day to myself can’t. your mother would tell you to take breaks and go out instead of studying all day, but being on top is an addiction. it’s no good, you wish other students would believe you, it’s a struggle, on the top, at the bottom, everywhere. you expect to turn a few heads as soon as you walk inside, which doesn’t happen, but you expected it. you don’t watch matches, this could easily be your third or fourth one, and the first basketball match, to be more specific. once you realise that everyone is busy watching the plays instead of noticing who comes and goes from the court, you make your way up to the one friend you manage to spot amidst the crowd— sung hanbin. indoor bleachers feel more compact than the outdoor ones. you've been to the football match last semester, courtesy of miyeon, and everything being outdoors really helps with the crowd and noise. 

“didn’t expect to see you here,” hanbin stands next to you, offering you a sip or two from his drink, which you politely refuse, eyes fixed on the court as if it was the home they’ve been searching for. “i thought you hate heeseung,” it isn’t until he takes his name that your gaze averts to heeseung. you don’t even know why hanbin would outright assume you’re here for heeseung. in fact, that man’s name didn’t even cross your mind until he was mentioned.

“hate is a big word, ‘bin,” your words are more of a whisper laced with hesitation, as if you aren’t sure of what you’re saying. hate, actually, is a very big and heavy word. despite its constant usage with your friends, you realise the weight it holds and the impact it has. hate and dislike— they’re different and yet similar enough to be used synonymously at times. not by you, of course, you have a clear distinction between the two, and as of now, you don’t know if what you feel for heeseung is a mere dislike or pure hatred. “i just don’t like him,” 

when he successfully shoots a three-pointer, you come to the decision that you definitely don’t hate him. heeseung is, more or less, the typical all-rounder straight-A student, the jack of all trades and fortunately enough, the master of all as well. he's the student teachers use as an example, the son parents wish for, the boyfriend people wished they had. lee heeseung is many things, and one of those is being the reason why you have the second highest score in your department instead of the first position, unlike how it used to be two semesters ago. 

heeseung transferred departments about thirty weeks ago, from chemistry to bioinformatics. it had been surprising on your side because not many opted for bioinformatics until they were certain of their goal. the course in itself is vast, like an ocean of several different fields and each and every one of them opens a door to a different outcome. bioinformatics isn’t something students picked overnight just because it had the vacancy and they didn’t like their initially chosen courses. as fun as the subject sounds, it demands consistency and time, something that heeseung lacks. you had seen him attend classes the first few weeks regularly, and then the ghost of him started sitting on the empty seat that belongs to him. skipping classes, arriving late, delayed submission of a couple of projects— you knew he wasn’t here to stay. it was to pass time, or whatever, you couldn’t care, didn’t care, not until he started acing the tests, practically dethroning you from your infamous ‘perfect all kill’ title that you had for getting nothing less than a perfect score, most of the time, give and take a few here and there. 

you still get good scores, amazing even, full score in theory and the same in practicals. it’s going well in lab manuals and project works but heeseung seems to get a perfect score in those too, something you started missing ever since he came into the picture. perhaps, it was something in the way he phrased his essays— you hoped it was. rumour has it that heeseung used to be a literature student, which could explain his outstanding english skills and his eloquent way of speaking. you even looked up his debate videos on youtube only to find more evidence on how skilled he is in public speaking. 

but above all, heeseung is, actually, just a really damn annoying student, quite literally the bane of your existence. he’s always set on stealing people’s spotlight during lessons, with you being the people, obviously, always answering questions with information that’s unrelated and probably even unnecessary. and for the shortest time, you even considered taking him off your ‘things i hate’ list because you were no different in highschool. when you’re the top student, it becomes a habit to talk about things as if you know them in your bones and impress teachers. hell, you even had rivals in highschool, although none of them got on your nerves the way heeseung does. basically, he has no reason to call you by weird names everytime you both pass each other in the hallways, or remind you that he’s the top student. ‘this is the vice-captain of the basketball team and the best student of the biotechnology department, lee heeseung, informing you on the up—’ seriously, no one wants to hear him introduce himself like that when you’re around. you’re pretty sure it’s engraved inside your brain with the amount of times he repeats it everyday. minjeong even says that heeseung is becoming more and more like sunghoon, and you would not know how or why because you didn’t attend highschool with sunghoon, unlike her. 

the court flares up with cheers when heeseung goes for a dunk which ultimately leads to their team winning the match, and you reach the conclusion that maybe you don’t hate heeseung but actually want to bang his head against the walls. your eyes follow him around the court, analysing his conduct during the match, the way he communicates so effortlessly with teammates using hand signs or quick phrases, the way he holds the team together when the ball is with him, despite not being the captain. heeseung might be the most unbearable person you’ve met so far, he’s actually just fine when his target is not you. you’re sure any other player is doing just as good but nothing comes close to how you see heeseung. it’s different, the light he is in, it’s unique, incredible, and inexplicably addictive. heeseung juggles between classes and basketball, you remember sunghoon talking about his part-time job when you passed by their lockers the other day. he doesn’t have it easy, you don’t either, but you had those all perfect kills by spending hours in your study while heeseung does better than you while winning matches, making money. 

it doesn’t take you long to realise that what you have for him could be dislike with a hint of jealousy, and you wonder if all the people would react the same way once they know who heeseung really is— a devil behind an angelic face, one who deliberately likes ruining things for you, as if his life depends on it. you still remember the day he personally texted you the wrong syllabus for a test, claiming that it had been updated and the professor had asked him to notify everyone. ‘and as you know, i have not been added in the group chat yet so i’m texting everyone personally,’ he had lied ever so smoothly as if his words consist of nothing but truth, as if lies are something he hasn’t even heard of. kudos to you for studying the original and correct syllabi beforehand, you still aced the test, if heeseung scoring the first rank is overlooked. 

you’re dragged back from your thoughts to the reality when a boy bumps into you while hurrying down to the players, hoping to get noticed. half of the students act like the team is actually a boy-band, you can see them on the front page of every single edition of university magazine. usually, you prefer waiting for the crowd to disperse before taking your leave from wherever you are, but a sudden reminder about the tests over text from your professor gives you a reason to leave early, all to make sure you could catch up to heeseung. you rush your way out of the bleachers once the teams start leaving the court, eyes fixed on heeseung to take a note of the direction he leaves. hanbin gives you a confused look before the words find their way out of his mouth. “where are you going?” 

“basketball shower room,” and your words could give him, and the other people who might’ve heard you, a wrong idea but you couldn’t care less. the goal was to see heeseung before he leaves the campus, which was highly likely because no one has it in them to attend four hours of classes after an exhausting match, not even heeseung, no matter how amazing he is. 

you make your way through the ocean of people, bumping into a few in the process as you make your way to the club room. a silent profanity leaves your mouth once you realise that the club room entrance might be filled with fangirls and boys, left and right, and the thought of shuffling your way out of the crowd to meet heeseung makes you reconsider your actions. heeseung might be a star student but isn’t amazing enough for you to step out of your comfort zone and do things to see him. 

“well, this is surprising,” your voice manages to turn his head towards the door. “thought you’d be busy with your fangirls, lee,” and it is surprising indeed because the hallways are unexpectedly empty with only a few people around. you would say they learnt to give the players their space after a game but that would be a lie considering the embarrassing history of students when it comes to people on the sports team. 

“they’re probably busy with jake,” heeseung responds with a smile, and even though he turns to his locker just as quickly, you could see the smile dancing on the corner of his lips. 

jake is rather a new player, a junior to be specific, and jay personally spent days waiting outside the physics department to get the guy on the basketball team. explains why he’s popular amidst students, he’s talented, good at studies— seriously, you wouldn’t understand how these people manage academics with sports. you couldn’t, and even if you managed to, you would end up passing out every few days. “does it suck to lose your fan-following to a newbie?” 

“not really. i still have you here,” heeseung wouldn’t call it ‘losing’ his fan-following because he’s using jake as bait to escape the crowd of students as quickly as possible. a junior has to make sacrifices, in this case it’s to save heeseung by sacrificing himself to the public. although, saying that he still has you looking for him even though a hundred others aren’t makes him feel better about himself. “no but seriously, what did you come here for?” 

“oh, it’s for the test on friday,” you pull out your phone, opening the group chat with the professor and the students who took the same course. it’s laughable how the universe put you in the exact same situation twice, although with the tables turned this time, and it takes everything in you to not tell him a made-up, wrong syllabi, and do what is rational. “the syllabi was extended up to chapter fourteen, till page three-ninety-seven. they sent it in the group chat this morning but i’m sure you hardly have time even to think about something else except basketball,” 

you’ve known heeseung for two semesters but that’s for the people to say. the truth is, you don’t know him outside what he shows to everyone else. you see him come and go, spot him around the bar with his friends on weekends you pass by it. you know he skips classes and asks students for notes. it’s not necessarily from you, though you’d prefer if he would ask you since you’re the best student in the whole department, after him, as much as you hate to admit it. on some days, you see him in the library, earphones plugged in. if you manage to sneak a glance or two, you’d catch him watching the match recordings and taking notes, you wouldn’t know what notes someone could take from matches. in short, you don’t know heeseung more than how everyone knows him. coming to the shower rooms and notifying him about the test might just be a discreet attempt at striking up more conversations with him, but also, you’re just fine with him being the academic rival slash classmate that he is. 

“yeah, semi-finals,” heeseung shuts his locker close, a sigh falling off his lips just like the water drops falling on his shoulder from the tips of his hair, after a shower. “doesn’t help that they’re at the same time as the quarterly assessments. thank you for telling me even though it means you’ll end up losing the first position to me once again,” and of course, the heeseung you know wouldn’t waste an opportunity to strike up a competition. it would be a lie if you claim to hate it because despite the sour look on your face, a part of you loves these little academic races with him. heeseung makes you strive to do better, he’s like the driving force you lacked which made college a whole lot better. after all, where’s the fun in getting a perfect score with the bare minimum effort, without some challenges knocking at your door? 

“what can i do, i’m all about fair play,” there’s a subtle shade behind your words, reckoning to the multiple incidents of him ruining things for you. this could take a really nasty turn if you were to resort to his ways, except you won’t because you’re better than him. “good luck, and we’ll see who loses the first position to whom,” 

heeseung wipes his hair before switching to texting on his phone, the smile still adorning his face like a jewel. you assume it’s the delight from winning a match, it’s obvious. his eyes couldn’t help but sparkle at every little achievement, always looking forward to something more, something challenging, that’s lee heeseung for you— someone who knows he has an easier way around things but would deliberately walk down another path and test his limits. shocking how it took you one basketball match to see the passion he has for things he’s interested in, that he’s more than a sport jock or a straight nerd, he’s more than someone who takes courses to pass time, more than someone who is just a show-off.

“heeseung,” the dislike, the hatred, the envy, it might all be a lie. “well played today,” because in the end, there’s a minimal possibility that you’re leaving the room with nothing but the slightest of admiration for the guy who is nothing but an obstacle between you and that first position in upcoming finals in two months. 

and it would be a lie too to claim that your words didn’t catch heeseung by surprise.

II. RIVALRY, FEELINGS, ETCETERA. 

it has been a little over one day since heeseung’s conversation with you outside the shower rooms, twenty-seven hours to be exact. twenty-seven hours of him hearing the same last words over and over again, twenty-seven hours of him failing all and any attempts at straight thinking and twenty-seven hours of him not thinking about anything except you. all of it ends up in three hours of practice and not one good shot from heeseung. the sighs and snickers from teammates fill the court every few seconds— truthfully, they never leave. heeseung is simply too lost to pay attention to them. 

“heeseung, you good?” a pat on shoulder from jake and the words following soon after manage to pull him out of his spiral of thought, even if it’s for a brief second. 

“he’s not, won’t be anytime soon,” sunghoon replies as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be revealed. “yn came to watch the last match, after all,” there’s a smirk on sunghoon’s face, heeseung can tell it in the intonation of his words. 

jay pauses just seconds before going for a layup, joining the conversation. “wait, she did?” 

“yep, saw her standing next to that hanbin guy or something,” 

“mate, you cannot be acting like this over a girl and that too, four days before finals,” this conversation, as a whole, is beyond jake’s comprehension. a part of the reason could be because he joined the team late, thus missing out on a huge chunk of internal jokes and gossip and goes amidst the players. and no amount of reasons can convince him into thinking that it’s fine to act out-of-character before important matches just because your crush showed up at one of your matches. 

“she’s not just some random girl. she never attends matches, but she came to watch my match,” heeseung clarifies as if the reasons behind his antics are valid and acceptable. “you wouldn’t know how i feel right now,” 

“you’re on cloud nine, we know, your crush gave you the attention you’ve been lacking but trust me, she would ignore you just as efficiently if she sees you perform like this,” 

“she’s not a crush,” and despite it being a well known fact amongst the basketball team that heeseung has a thing or two for you, he always refuses to accept it. one can say it’s the pride thing. you barely even talk to him unless it’s about studies, and your conversations are mostly along the lines of who outdoes whom in tests and assessments. moreover, everyone knows heeseung is the reason why you’re the second best student in the department— as much as you hate to admit it, again— because he transferred and flipped your world, probably even dribbled around with it like a basketball. a word goes around every few days about you glaring at him in class, which is not true, you’re instead focusing your eyes on something in an attempt to think. he just happens to sit right in front of you and be the object of focus. heeseung might as well believe that you hate him, even though yesterday’s conversation was far from how people talk when they hate each other, and his assumptions could account for the constant words of denial that fall off his lips. 

jay snickers before landing a hook successfully. “yeah, and i’m a pigeon,” 

“oh, shut it, jay,” heeseung turns to look at the other boy. “she’s just someone i admire. have you read her essays? her papers? god, we’re a year away from graduation but she’s already writing mind-blowing papers, one of them was even published in the monthly issue of some magazine. she’s already on her best performance and still tries to do better, always down to guide juniors with lab work and also is on the research team for the paediatrics department at asan medical centre. all this, and she studies all day. if i were her, i’d pass out. i can’t go a day without entering the court,” 

“and he says he doesn’t have a crush oh her,” sunghoon rolls his eyes, it’s like if he heard another line of excuses from heeseung, he could see the back of his skull and have a look at hs big, fat brain. 

“because i don’t? you guys never had someone you admired so much that they practically became your role model despite being in the same year?” unlike other things that heeseung does, calling you his role model has a reason. first, it can give him a reason to talk to you. heeseung is almost convinced that you hate him, and if this persists, it would get harder and harder for him to approach you, but with the lie— half lie— of you being his role model and so wonderful that he couldn’t help but admire you from afar while trying to overcome his social anxiety gives him a reason to talk to you. plus, it sounds plausible, he doesn’t understand why his brother says it’s bound to fail. 

the second reason and more to do with his friend group. no one in his friend circle is capable of keeping a secret— jay ends up spilling tea unconsciously, jake tells one person who he trust and that person turns out to be the most untrustworthy person ever, beomgyu, well he’s on the team but telling him would be like standing on a stage and announcing to the whole campus, and sunghoon, he’s the mother, he cannot digest food without disclosing secrets. even if it’s common knowledge that heeseung has a tiny crush on you, denying it in front of the whole campus everytime one of them brings it up helps him with his reputation and fortunately, ends up keeping it a secret. besides, he’d rather have people tease him for calling you his role model than having a crush on you. 

“i surely don’t have someone i admire to the point i read all their papers and know each and everything they’ve volunteered for,” jay argues back, set on proving his point. “tell me what am i gonna do knowing that she’s on the paediatrics research team?” 

“i think this is the most i’ve known about yn ever since classes started and that too, because of heeseung,” beomgyu chuckles, earning a side eye from heeseung in the process. 

“enough, let’s get back to practice,” heeseung intervenes in an attempt to change the topic. he does not want his closest friends making fun of him for liking someone— it’s supposed to be human nature to have a crush. 

“you get back to practice because you’re the only one fucking up because of your silly little crush. i’m done, jay, call me when we’re having a practice match because i need to attend theology or my professor would write me up,” taehyun passes the ball to sunghoon, the latter yelping in surprise at the sudden yet successful catch. 

“i don’t have a crush—”

“of course, let’s get you back to practice,” jake cuts heeseung off mid sentence, moving back to take his position as sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung, who, as expected, misses the catch due to lack of concentration.

it’s going to be a long day for the team. 

. 

. 

.

“a little birdie told me you went to see heeseung in the shower rooms?” are the words you hear as soon as your classes are dismissed, miyeon walking up to you and hanbin discussing the set of questions your professor distributed just a few minutes ago. 

“i didn’t go into the shower rooms, i was outside, near the lockers,” and there’s a difference. to be in the shower room implies you were there in the shower, which definitely gives rise to several wrong ideas of different levels. specifically, you didn’t even enter the locker room. you were outside, leaning against the door, watching heeseung as he walked freshly out of the shower, a towel around his neck, you both strike up a small talk. yeah, that was the scene, not with you in the shower and whatever miyeon’s imagination leads to after that. 

“so you did go!” she claps her hands together as if it’s a celebratory occasion, turning her head to look at the boy next to you. “what were you saying about yn not having a crush, habin?”

“it’s not a crush, miyeon,” and it’s true— heeseung is not a crush. he’s a classmate, a rival, an over-qualified and impossibly competitive student, someone you would want to take your time to study. “what, i can’t even go to tell a classmate about the updated syllabus for a test now? i would’ve done that for anyone, not just heeseung,” 

hanbin sighs, packing his bag. “sure, but he’s in the groupchat. he could’ve checked it himself,” 

“um, i doubt that,” you’re preparing a powerpoint in your head, multiple slides on why you needed to do what you did. “he’s busy with basketball and i know how he gets when the matches are around the corner. don’t you remember how he skipped two weeks of classes straight because of matches last semester? and it’s the finals this time, i don’t think he even opens texts about anything that’s not basketball. i mean, he responded to my messages six days later because he was busy with practice,” 

you say it like you’ve known heeseung for a decade and have been through the ups and downs with him. you wouldn’t care about who does what in the classes, if it’s a paper plane flying right over you, landing just second to the first row of seats or if it’s someone being brave enough and playing music during lectures. biology, in your opinion, is a subject for those who are serious about doing something unique while staying in the academic field. you don’t encounter troublemakers often, once a blue moon if the heavens make a mistake. on other days, it’s quieter than a library, emptier than cemeteries at night. 

to think your life as a biotechnology major got interesting after heeseung switched majors is astonishing and equally debatable. 

“i don’t see why i should remember all that about ‘just a classmate’ but thanks for telling,” and before you know it, hanbin and miyeon are out of the class, on their way to wherever their next stop is. seriously, they’re having it easier than you. they go to games, movies, drink on weekends— something you haven’t had a taste on ever since the year started. somewhere, you could be blamed for your hectic schedules. studies, lab work, and thesis, they suffice for all the stress a student in post graduation studies can handle. volunteering and writing papers is on you, things wouldn’t have been arduous if you had decided to move slowly, one step at a time. sometimes, the hunger for more leaves you starving— quite literally. 

you spend an hour or so in the classroom along with a few other students, going through the same old routine of yours— watch videos, take notes, transfer them to your document in your own words and make it sound as innovative and convincing as possible. heeseung would be better at this than you. you’re exhausted to the point that accepting your defeat to him doesn’t even faze you anymore. he used to be a literature student, had english as a side course as an undergrad, he’s bound to be better than making essays sound they came right out of shakespeare's drafts, phrases and metaphors that would put fitzgerald to shame. 

you didn’t care about what went down in your classes until heeseung came along. call it craziness or the weird impression you have of students in your field, heeseung is far from the typical biotechnology student aiming for a postgraduate degree. he skips classes, plays basketball as if studies are a side business, and yet still manages to ace every test like an all-rounder. he shouldn’t even be in classroom, he should be in the labs, being the most important subject of studies. there are days you think of him as a social experiment— how quickly can a robot piss off a straight-A student with its impeccable skills— of course, the subjects wouldn’t know it’s a robot but you do, you’re almost convinced he is one. there’s no way he’s the top student with the amount of effort he puts in. one would claim that he studies after classes, at home slash dorms, but you can bet your life he doesn’t. there have been numerous instances when you’ve spotted him in the background of someone’s picture at a bar. he’s always with people, he has a humongous friend group, god knows how someone can live like that. at first, you were convinced he isn’t real, as worrisome as it sounds, and if he is real then he needs to be studied. 

which leads to what you’re doing right now— making your way to the basketball court. you don’t know how or why you’re doing it. you started with your studies, ended up thinking about heeseung, and now you’re on your way to the basketball court. although, it’s not half a bad idea, now that you think about it once again. 

your mind goes all the way back to when you watched him play for the first time, which was just a day ago actually. you don’t know anything about basketball, you don’t know much about heeseung either, but there’s one thing you’re sure of— heeseung is class and heeseung on the court, they’re different. you’ve noticed the way he clicks his pen relentlessly out of nervousness when he can’t solve a question, the way his back tenses up for a fraction of a second as soon as he’s asked to explain something. you’ve seen the hints of fear in his eyes when he asked you for notes last semester just three days before exams, scared that he would fail. heeseung isn’t sure of a lot of things and basketball isn’t one of those. 

“you’re not practising?” you ask him when you swim out of your thoughts, watching him climb up the bleachers and sit next to you. the court seems much better when it’s empty, free from the loud cheers of spectators, but that could be just you. 

“i was, as you see, but i saw you up here and thought it was time for a break,” you could see his teammates shake heads at him in disappointment, proceeding to continue with their practice. “what’s up?” 

you don’t respond to him and instead, take your time watching the others practise their shots. you watch the way one of them, who you think is taehyun, goes for a dunk, credits to hanbin for telling you names for a few shots. next to you, heeseung shouts out a tip or two for the boy for him to have an easier and effective approach at the said move. heeseung is good at dunks, you’ve heard it from students, you’ve seen it in the last match as well. just one shot was enough to tell you how good he is at it, it’s like basketball flows in his veins, like he can close his eyes and still manage to get a basket. 

your eyes ghost up the court and shift to him— there’s a content smile on his face, a relaxed posture as if there’s nothing for him to worry about. he takes a sip from his energy drink, you wonder if he, or anyone from the team, even gets time to have their meals. the expression on his face, it’s something you’ve never seen on him during lessons. it takes you back to the match, how he looked on court a day before, certain of every move he made, every step, every breath, without doubts, no second thoughts. you’ve done enough lab projects with heeseung to know how his hands shake when he’s preparing a slide or extracting a sample from a centrifuge, afraid that one wrong move and he would mess up the efforts of everyone in the group. that hesitation is nowhere to be seen on the court, gone like it has never existed. as if lee heeseung, the star student and player, has never had an encounter with nervousness and hesitation in his life. there’s a thin line between studies and sport for him, you finally realise it after much consideration. maybe, you’re going beyond your boundaries and making assumptions about a guy you barely know, even if you would never voice all these thoughts to him, you think you know the reason why there’s a different him on the stage when the ball is in hands.  

“how did you realise that you like basketball? you know, like it enough to devote so much of your time and have it alongside studies?” because even if biotech is something he’s studying and wants to make a career in, you guess that it’s just a source of satisfaction. in your eyes, through your perception, basketball is what makes him truly happy. 

you don’t know why someone wouldn’t pick satisfaction over happiness, especially when it’s coming with its hands full of opportunities to grab that bag.

“eh, i don’t have a sob story about it, if that is what you’re hoping for,” he chugs down the contents of the can before crushing it to the slightest, eyes squinting at the opposite wall before they move back to meet yours. “i never had to sit and think about basketball and studies, you know, as in how am i going to manage both of them. it just happened. i started playing basketball in middle school and it has been with me ever since,” 

heeseung’s side of the story is simple— a mediocre guy who was introduced to sports by his older brother and now, it’s one of the most important things in his life. middle school heeseung preferred staying in and playing video games instead of going out. in fact, middle school heeseung resembles you in all the ways that make him different from you right now. he has been good at learning and remembering things, he takes liking to things quicker than others do. basketball was like for him— easy, quick, fun, like a way to release all the stress after a long day at school. in heeseung’s story, there isn’t a main character who helped him choose the path he’s walking right now. instead, all he had was his family who introduced him to the various aspects and opportunities, and he simply ended up joining hands with the ones he liked, deciding to not let it go before the dead end. 

“i want to have that passion for things,” a soft laughter falls off your lips, it’s an attempt to make your sob story look less pitiful. “i used to paint and play piano— but painting, mostly, was really good at it. i learnt how to draw before i learnt how to tie my shoelaces. i couldn’t go a day without painting, but then highschool happened, i had pressure to do well, expectations from friends and family, had a dream outside painting, and now, i haven’t painted in years,” 

unlike heeseung, art started as more than just a side business to you. it’s not something you were introduced to in the middle of your life but rather is something you grew up with. you can blame or credit your mother for making paintings and having them in almost every corner of your house. it’s one of the reasons why at five years old you were beyond fascinated at all the patterns and colours. no one would’ve guessed that science would manage to sweep you off your feet right from the first grade, given the way your hands danced a duet to their own melody along with a paintbrush, as if each stroke has a conscious life of its own. no one would’ve guessed that your mother would tell you to stop painting and focus on studies, neither would they have known that she would become the reason why you no longer feel the same way about art. as stated before, life is unpredictable— because no one would’ve guessed that sitting here on the bleachers with heeseung and sharing a piece of your life would water the seeds of doubts in your heart, the ones that bloom at the sight of him.

he thinks your story is sad— with all due respect, without sarcasm, of course. it’s the best he can say. “i think it’s more of a ‘connection’ thing. you think you’ve lost the connection but you simply need to pickup a canvas and some colours to relink, if you get me,” because heeseung has had somewhat of a same experience, with music, and sitting front of a piano to play one of sibelius’ symphonies after senior year highschool finals was all it took him to find his lost interest in music. even though it’s nothing more than just a hobby, even if it's just something he considers as a way to pass time, heeseung knows how it feels to let go of something that is an integral part of one’s life. 

“it has always been about timing, heeseung,” you shake your head, trying to prove him wrong using your own arguments. “you think i haven’t tried painting again? i still have art supplies stacked up in my cupboard. it’s all about timing. when you like something, you only get a few chances to make sure it stays with you for a lifetime. how many people do you know who have given up on their hobbies because they claim to have lost interest? the thing is, the interest is still there, it’s the inability and fear of not being able to do it again. if you timing is off, no matter how much you try, things won’t work, and what you love will end up becoming a closed chapter of your life,” 

a pause. he sits still, eyes admiring your face while his mind is busy replaying your words in the back of his head. heeseung wonders how valid they are when it comes to people. he likes you, despite the constant denial which is only for show, by the way. it doesn’t take a scientist to read him. reading him isn’t even close to rocket science, he doesn’t understand how you haven’t caught up even after being incredibly smart. he has seen you hang out with hanbin— heeseung hates that guy, by the way. there’s no solid logic, it’s just that hanbin seems to be around you all the time and heeseung thinks of him as a leech sucking blood off its host. heeseung would never admit but it’s just his jealousy playing tricks on him, and even though it doesn’t look like you have any romantic feelings towards that guy, it would be fucking embarrassing for heeseung lose you to a guy who isn’t even half as qualified as him. ( yes, he is judging characters based on academic qualifications, no heeseung wouldn’t explain why )

“i like you,” and so, he lets his feelings win for once, deciding to let his heart take control instead, closing doors to any room for rational thinking like it never existed. “you said it was about timing, about trying hard enough and having only a few chances, perhaps, just one bullet, and i’m shooting my shot right now. i don’t want to remember you as a closed chapter of my life,” 

it would be such a waste of chemistry if you end up becoming just a closed chapter of his life. heeseung has done his research, more like reading tons of books and watching hundreds of movies to understand the potential that two academic rivals have. no one knows this, not even his closest friends, but heeseung’s favourite genre might simply be enemies to lovers and living that trope doesn’t sound as bad when it’s with you. he has spent hours thinking about the number of productive library dates you could have, working on projects together and brainstorming about the next biggest revolution in the RDT world, changing the public’s outlook at genetics forever. it sounds stupid and makes him sound even stupider, even as a lost cause, but heeseung doesn’t care. in his mind, it’s the best date someone could have. to live and become successful together, it sounds like a perfect plan to him.   

truthfully, you have always been a part of heeseung’s future, near or distant. he always always pictures you in his life, standing next to him during graduation, bidding goodbyes at farewell, exchanging shy greetings at reunions ten years later while reminiscing about everything he did to irritate you, that would sound embarrassing a decade later. your presence will always be significant to him, he just hopes to remember you as something more than just a rival, just a classmate he never really got to know, just a person he spent his two years hating upon, just a crush he didn’t get to confess to. 

the catch— heeseung has already started picturing his future and you are not even sure of your present— and while he is looking at you for an answer, you’re lost inside your head, looking for words to articulate. 

heeseung is someone you planned to stay away from for the rest of your university life. him stepping into your life already costs you a lot, namely: dropping in ranks and losing your infamous title. his actions cost you the time you could use to study, which is actually upon you because you can simply ignore him instead of spending hours on thinking about his hows, whens and whats. heeseung was supposed to be the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, but beyond rivalry, feelings, etcetera. you knew the way you felt about him, even though you couldn’t be as certain as him, or even to claim you see him the same way he feels about you.

turns out, heeseung has always been sure of certain things in his life. 

“heeseung, i’m—”

“not sure? busy? stressed? i know you have a lot of things going on right now. take your time, study for the finals, finish your papers, sort out your own issues and then come back to me. i’ll be waiting,” it’s like he’s not only good at studying but also at reading minds, because heeseung seems to have guessed a part of exactly what you’ve been thinking. call it timing, jay calls him to get back to practice just a few seconds later— a perfect excuse to leave. “looks like my break is over,” 

you sit speechless, watching him walk away like an opportunity that just walked out of your hand. it feels like a slight defeat, like a test you failed when you could've scored better, if not a full score. it's funny because this wasn't a competition, you weren't rejected, more like you rejected him, but it still feels like he has the upper hand. it's funny and equally annoying because heeseung is supposed to be nothing more than just a nobody, somebody you aren't even supposed to spare two thoughts on, but here you are sitting with the guy with your feelings all over the place. 

“heeseung,” you stand up, your voice making him turn to look at you, both of you ignoring the sight of his teammates standing motionless in their positions, too stunned at your voice reverberating in the almost empty court. “let’s do this: if you manage to stand first in the finals, i’ll date you,”

a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition. his lips morph into a smirk, the ones he'd pass you before tests, an open challenge offered directly to you. “and if i don’t?”

and you mirror the same smirk back at him, you weren't going to back off simply because it's about the person you possibly have a crush on. “i become just a closed chapter of your life,” 

let the game begin. 

III. LIAR AND THE LOVER

despite heeseung’s sudden confession, you’re doing quite well, taking it better than expected. you had your moment of confusion back when the words of proposal fell off his lips— anyone would. after all, it’s lee heeseung we’re talking about. you can only imagine the saddened faces of his fangirls once they hear about him confessing to you.  

“jay told me you made a bet with heeseung?” hanbin’s question catches your attention as soon as he steps into the cafe, managing to turn a few heads towards you in the process. 

“you know jay?” 

he sits next to you, pulling out his laptop in a hurry. you can guess it’s because of his essay that’s due before six in the evening, one he could’ve written last night instead of getting wasted at his friend’s birthday gathering. “we share history, also, that’s not the answer to my question,” 

“it’s not a bet, ‘bin,” your words aren’t half wrong. “just a silly game, y’know? i didn’t even expect him to agree,” frankly, even you don’t know why or how you came up with such a bizarre idea in broad daylight. usually, people get bouts of excitement or embarrassment while confessing or being confessed to, but in your case, you jumped over the fence and made a proposal that you have only seen in fiction. 

“nah, no way you’re setting up your whole love life for failure and calling it a silly game,” the disappointment is evident in hanbin’s voice as his fingers danced over his keyboard, typing with a speed that could leave the trains behind. well, people tend to get like that when you have an assignment due and the deadline is just a few hours to go. you guess that he’s too busy to even listen to your reasoning, which is appreciated considering you have no reasoning as for why you did what you did. 

“you made a bet with heeseung,” you turn your head around, making the boy next to you do the same in the process. it’s miyeon— you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. your actions have consequences, as always, and one of them is dealing with her non-stop interrogation as if you’re the prime suspect for some gruesome crime and every question answered wrong opens gates to capital punishment. sometimes, you wonder why she didn’t go with studying law instead. 

“how do you know?”

“everyone knows, yn. it’s all they’ve been talking about,” she sighs, sitting opposite to you while taking a look at hanbin’s laptop. “even the football fanatics are talking about attending the game, god, hanbin we better hurry that day or we’re not getting a seat,” you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. miyeon might not be the most social person, but she definitely is the most updated. nothing escapes her, every tiny incident reaches her ears one way or another, and if not, then she just finds out about it using her sources, given you don’t know about her sources. it’s one of the reasons why you’re almost convinced that she runs a shady side business alongside her career in bioengineering. 

you take a sharp breath, going through the bunch of papers arranged in your file. “it’s not that serious. he confessed to me and i said i’d date him if he manages to secure the first position in the finals as well,” 

“you did that knowing he hasn’t been studying because of games while you’re studying like your life depends on it? there’s no way he’s going to be first, and everything aside, it was a wrong fucking move to play with his feelings,” play with his feelings— a pause, you don’t like how it sounds. you’re not playing with his feelings, that’s far from what you’re doing. it’s a game, a competition, new to your friends but you and heeseung have always been familiar with it. there’s an unspoken rule to test each other’s limits. the last time you and heeseung did something like this, it resulted with you writing ‘lee heeseung is smarter than ln yn,’ in bold on a sheet of paper and putting it on the notice board for the whole campus to see. in your eyes, it's history repeating itself yet again. sure, there is something else at stake, but the rules are the same, and you don’t know why your friends are acting like you’ve done something terribly unethical. 

“no one’s playing with his feelings, miyeon, and i know for a fact he’s making time to study for finals,” you clarify your side, slight annoyance evident in your voice. “besides, it doesn’t matter. it’s not like this is serious, i only did this to buy time to figure out my feelings while the game gives me a reason to study and not get distracted. you know how i get when i lose focus,” 

that could be the reasoning behind your actions, of course. even while sitting in a cafe with your friends and having a conversation that is about to make your blood boil, you’re thinking of heeseung in the back of your head. his words play over and over again like a broken record player, the image of him on court or studying pops up in your mind every now and then. obsession is a disease and you have it bad. it’s crazy to be thinking about someone so much without being absolutely floored for them. 

“so you’ll date him despite the outcome?” hanbin drags you out of the well of your thoughts, a question that leaves miyeon flabbergasted. 

“if i manage to figure out my feelings then of course,” a chuckle falls off your lips. “i’m telling you guys, it’s not that serious. i’m sure he knows it too,” and you’re really confident about this— it usually never ends on a good note. 

“and if he doesn’t? what if it’s serious for him? yn, you never know how one thing might affect someone, and feelings are not something to gamble on. you should’ve told him you need some time to think instead of giving him a false hope or whatsoever,” it’s now that you start having second thoughts. the next two hours go by amidst silence, a few small talks blooming here and there, but dissolving just as quickly within the ticking clock of deadlines for assignments and exams. 

it doesn’t take a scientist to know when miyeon is upset, for she isn’t the best at masking her emotions. through the sneaky glances at her that you’ve stolen over time, you can tell she’d rather spend the evening in silence than talk to you, which is a challenge with herself because she’s really talkative. it takes two to sing a duet, two to play and game, two people to make a relationship work. heeseung and you— the two of you are enough to make decisions for yourselves, decide what’s right and wrong and, something about miyeon questioning your choices doesn’t sit right with you. 

too many cooks spoil the broth, it’s the principle of your life, the words you’ve been following to this date. it was your decision to have a few friends instead of a fifty— quality over quantity, as one might call it— and there has never been a moment when you regretted having a handful of people to call friends. instead of consulting too many people about your major in university, you simply went with what your parents and homeroom teacher suggested. life has been good so far. the more the better is something that isn’t applicable in your case. instead of telling everyone about your dilemma regarding heeseung, you decided to keep it to yourself, eventually opening up to heeseung when the time comes. you’re doing just fine on your own, it doesn’t make sense to you why a third person’s opinion is making you doubt your decision making abilities that you’ve been so proud of. 

this is not a gamble, you tell yourself, it’s a fair play. you gave him options, he made the choice, it’s consensual. you didn’t force him into this game, he didn’t pressure you to respond, it’s a harmless competition that’s bound to have a positive outcome. you even spend a good fifteen minutes wondering if you should go back to heeseung and take it all back in case he finds it insensitive to put his feelings on the line. doing it in person seemed impossible so you resorted to texts, typing and deleting your message before giving up altogether. in your head, this was an okay decision. a sweet confession, a person with unsure feelings, a harmless competition. 

you hope it doesn’t backfire ten times worse. 

. 

. 

.

three days later, you find yourself on the way to basketball club rooms once again. you checked the court, it was empty, and your only option was to check the club slash locker rooms if you wanted to see heeseung. okay, first things first, you don’t miss him— maybe a little, but it’s because you miss hearing his weird ass answers in class even though they’re right. heeseung just has an unique approach to things, in other words he simply knows how to buy time and go in detail about things he’s an expert at to impress the professors. however, that doesn’t seem to be the case for him because he has approached you six times in the past three days, asking if you’re free to hangout. 

you like to think he misses you or that his requests were because he wanted to make sure you don’t study and lose to him, either could be true. knowing heeseung, he’s capable of going both ways. whatever may be the reason, you turned him down all six times, and it’s not because you have something against him— of course, you don’t. that’s common knowledge by now— your reason for not hanging out with him is studies, as expected of you honestly. the bet aside, you had way too many chapters to learn before exams and all heeseung ever does is take up your headspace everytime you sit down with your books spread open. avoiding him in thoughts wasn’t possible so avoiding him in person was your last straw. 

which leads to the present : you rushing to heeseung, again,  not because you miss him but because you need his help, though one of the reasons could be that you feel bad for turning him down six times. you can hear muffled laughter from a distance as you approach the club rooms, a bang against one of the lockers, a loud profanity that follows afterwards. their humour is beyond your level of understanding. 

“heese— oh, um—” you greet and turn away just as quickly when you realise that one of them is shirtless. it’s obviously heeseung, you can’t mistake his face for someone else. and you’re guessing he’s the last one to come out of shower because everyone else is dressed, maybe he’s someone who likes to take his time showering— you seriously need to stop thinking before your imagination goes bonkers. “sorry, can you come outside for a second when you’re ready?”

another round of laughter follows, more like teasing remarks because you can swear you heard a few of them refer to you as his girlfriend, and it gets you a little flustered, you won’t lie. you even hear one of them yell ‘ooh, get it, heeseung,’ as heeseung walks out, fixing his t-shirt, responding back with his middle finger up at whoever made the comment. 

“hi,” his voice isn’t much louder than a whisper, eyes fluttering between you, the floor, and his teammates who pretend to not look when you peek inside. there’s a soft smile on his face— it’s cute, you think, and then rethink what you just thought. heeseung is, well, not cute— usually. he’s good-looking, handsome, hot, sexy, even, since you’re on the topic of finding adverbs that suit heeseung. cute is rarely one of them, you don’t think you’ve seen him as flustered as he is right now— rubbing his nape, a tint of pink on his cheeks, avoiding eye-contact— that’s far from the heeseung you’ve been seeing for past two semesters. 

“hi, can you send me the pdf of the extra set of questions that prof sent last week? i think i accidentally deleted it while clearing up my storage,” you get straight to the point, trying not to waste much of your precious time. “i could’ve texted you but figured you’d be too busy with practice to check messages,” you remember what happened last time; he took six days to reply to your texts. you’re quite a patient person otherwise but in this case, you’re in dire need of questions to practise for tomorrow’s mock. 

“ah, sure, give me a minute,” and he pulls out his phone, scrolling through an ocean of files and documents to look for the one you need. you do think he’s gorgeous though, it’s a well known fact that he’s stunning, but you think this look of heeseung surpasses the other ones quite easily— hairs wet after shower, partially covering his forehead, a white t-shirt that’s slightly wet near the shoulders because of the water dripping down— you wish he’d at least dry his hair before catching a cold. “actually, i would have replied to your texts if you had— oh, yes, there you go. do you want me to email it to you or…?”

“oh, just texts would be fine, thank you,” 

“done,” a pause, you feel his eyes on you as you go through the pdf to take a brief look at the contents. “do you want to go for a walk? or are you getting back to studies?” at this point, you’re sure that question is a way to tease you about your obsession with studies. heeseung may think you’re overdoing it because you want to win, but it’s no more than the normal amount of hours you spend studying. he never paid you any attention to care about that. 

“no, i’m done for today, actually,” and that’s a big fat lie considering you were planning to solve some questions and revise two chapters before leaving the campus, but it’s fine. you feel bad for rejecting him six times either way. 

never in your life did you imagine that you’d be going on a walk with heeseung. it’s nothing serious, you just didn’t think there would be a day where you two would have normal people conversation while doing normal people activities instead of trying to disparage each other based on grades and academic performances. to think about it now, heeseung isn’t half bad, it was all in your head. it’s not like you had vile assumptions about him, you did find him annoying and way too prideful— anyone like him would be, actually, and heeseung is still quite humble about his achievements because if it was someone else, they sure would have made it everyone’s problem. 

actually, heeseung is insufferable as well. you remember your first encounter with him, first and so far, the worst— in the laboratory. you and heeseung sat next to each other and when the professor asked him to briefly explain his experiment, you realised it’s oddly similar to yours. you had accused him of cheating, like any sane person would, which led to him getting two scores less than a perfect. he only lost one score because of you, actually, and that too because you were professor’s favourite and heeseung was new to the department. the other score, you don’t know where he missed, but that incident led to heeseung deleting your powerpoint thirty minutes before your presentation, which led you stealing his notes and selling it some junior through an undercover twitter account, which led to the professor asking you to help him with notes before exams, and everything ultimately led to the realisation that heeseung is actually quite decent if you behave with decency as well. the give and take is serious for him, because he gave you notes and so, you had to take his offer of going on a walk. even though it seemed like you had a choice, a part of you knew it was a mirage. you would’ve ended up on a walk with heeseung one way or another. 

“i come here whenever i’m tired or just not feeling well,” he says and you wake up from your daydream of memories you shared with heeseung. the way he phrases his words makes it sound like he has brought you to one of his most secret locations, one that no one knows except taehyun, probably, considering they’re close friends, but in reality, it’s the playground you pass by every single day on your way from your apartment to university. 

“oh, are you okay? are you nervous for tomorrow’s match?” you continue, deciding you shouldn’t ruin his favourite place for him. honestly, no one would’ve guessed that lee heeseung would come to a children’s park on bad days. 

“actually, this walk was for you, you looked like you’d pass out if you spent another hour in front of books,” and you’re done, standing speechless with your eyes wide open at his words that he says with a victorious smile on his face. “you should start taking breaks, yn. it’s not a bad thing to go home earlier when you’re tired,” 

he’s right, oh, you know he’s absolutely right about everything he just said, from passing out to going home. a part of him probably even feels glad to have you out on his little walk with him, you’re getting your well deserved rest, thanks to him. heeseung might even ask if he can walk you home considering you’re ‘done for today,’ which is very thoughtful of him— but what does this make you? a liar? miyeon was right, you’re gambling, even though it’s not that serious. so far, you’ve lied about being done with your studies and the bet you made with heeseung because at this point, it’s more like a prank, except it’s not funny and that it might end up with him getting upset with you because tomorrow is basketball tournament’s finals and you’re here wasting his time, all because you lied. 

a liar and a lover, on a date at children’s park— match made in theatre club, you’d say. 

“are you sure this is not your way to manipulate into not studying and losing to you, just so you can date me?” you try to play it cool, knowing very well that it can be one of his tricks or whatsoever. after all, it’s the same heeseung who made you trip in front of your class just three days after being transferred. 

“i was being genuine but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” of course, it doesn’t. he gets to win, after all. “can i walk you home?” just as you had guessed. 

“i would love to go home but my bag is still in the library,” you had considered taking it with you, actually, but dismissed the thought once you realised you had to come back to the library and continue with your studies. albeit, you’re not studying, that’s on you for lying into oblivion and giving into his requests.  

once again, you two are back to walking, this time back to the university campus. it’s nice, having a walk with heeseung, it’s sweet, slow, comforting, like slow music flowing around and engulfing you in its arms. the unsaid words are weighing on your shoulders, you can feel the pressure, but it’s not awkward. above the busy hustle of the city and blaring horns, it’s a quiet world with heeseung, it’s nice, like a warm hug after a long day. you didn’t think you had it in yourself to spend a minute next to him without overthinking and possibly starting a banter. you didn’t think heeseung had it in him either, to make a walk feel so close to home.  

“so, how are you coping knowing you’re going to lose once again?” and, it’s back again. everything is a hoax actually— his looks? a trap. his smile? a trap. it’s all a facade because once he opens his mouth, nothing but horseshit comes out of it. 

“very well, in fact, because i know i’m the one getting that first spot this time,” call it overconfidence but you really do think you’ll get your title back this time. you’ve been studying well and hard enough, solving questions and going through every extra set of notes and exercises your professor sent. although, you would claim to beat heeseung had you been prepared or not because it’s fun messing with him. 

“i’d rather have you show some mercy, in that case,” before you know it, you’re already standing in front of the library. “academic defeat and a heartbreak, it already sounds painful. i hope you go easy on me,” it’s sarcastic, of course, all these saccharine words of confessions made you forget how he is under the layers of smiles and winks that adorn his face. a session full of silence follows, the comforting tranquillity morphing into something tensed as he steps closer, your breath getting caught up in your throat as your mind dysfunctions— it’s the effect he has. 

“heeseung,” you put a finger on his lips— the only thing between him and you, the only thing helping you stay sane and composed at the moment, because only you know the struggle of pulling yourself together while standing inches away from heeseung as he grabs your wrist and plants a soft kiss on your finger before removing it from his lips. 

“why, that’s unfair. you get to see me anytime you want while i have to wait because you’re busy studying, you even get to see me shirtless, and i can’t even get a kiss?” and you hate the look in his eyes, you hate how close he is standing and how it makes your heart go crazy. this isn’t even the beginning and you hate how you feel like you’ve already lost, and you hate how confident he is with every breath he breathes against your lips. “just kidding, see you tomorrow,” 

and you hate how this is where you realise that you’ve fallen deep, and you’ve fallen hard. 

IV. PLANET TO A SUN

heeseung has been thinking about the walk for an hour and twenty-seven minutes— actually more, ever since the moment he got home last night, but that is how long he has been practising for, eyes on the ball but mind revolving around you like a planet to a sun. you had texted him about a rule this morning— no kissing before finals. actually no kissing before we start dating, lee— your exact words. they have been holding him back from thinking straight, even made him practise an apology while looking in the mirror if in case his actions offended you in any way. lost in thought, heeseung manages to get another shot in. that’s twenty-third in a row ever since he stepped on the court, which is unbelievable, even for him. 

“is it just me or did heeseung’s performance improve overnight?” jake looks up at jay, fastening his shoelace, a chuckle escaping his lips that goes unnoticed. 

the latter offers a hand to jake, helping him stand as they share a laugh before jay passes him the ball. “well, of course it will. he has to impress his girlfriend today at finals,”

“she’s not my girlfriend,” heeseung grunts almost as if hearing you and the word girlfriend in the same sentences cuts ten years from his lifespan. he knows it doesn’t, he’d kill to call you his’. the reason behind his edgy behaviour is your text and the weird rule you’ve inserted in an already weird bet— it’s not like he minds it, the bet, obviously. heeseung definitely minds not getting to kiss you for the next few weeks. 

“yet,” jay clarifies, emphasising enough for the world to understand that his words are supposed to be in italics. “she will be if you score more than her in finals, which i don’t think is possible because unlike you, she has been studying all day everyday. i don’t know how she’s still alive,” and jay isn’t half bad student himself. juniors in business have his name residing on the tips of their tongues. he simply thinks you’re a freak for being in no clubs and not participating in anything that doesn’t involve studying. 

“she’s the top student for a reason,” jake adds. 

“i am the top student,” and hearing his friends call you the top students hurts heeseung’s ego a little bit. crushes aside, you’re his rival before his girlfriend, and you’re not even his girlfriend. you’re basically just a rival. “also, it’s not hard to study all day if you’re used to it,” 

and jay scoffs in disbelief. “right, you would know something about it, lee i can’t go a day without playing basketball heeseung,” 

“hey, everyone,” your voice reverberating in the court is what stops heeseung from responding to jay with a snarky remark. “just wanted to wish you all goodluck. i really hope you guys win the tournament or else, it’s going to be hard for heeseung to deal with two loses after i beat him in finals as well,” 

heeseung rolls his eyes in disbelief, you hear taehyun exclaim that he has been team yn since the very first day, a claim that few others proceed to back up, especially sunghoon, with his own lore of how he prays everyday for you to win the bet with heeseung. you’re honoured to receive such support, to some extent. a part of you still wishes for the whole thing to be a secret restricted to just heeseung and you but again, it was your fault for placing bets in court, in front of the entirety of the basketball team to witness, even their coach. 

“you’re a little too confident, don’t you think so?” he smirks, taking a few steps towards you with the ball supported between his arms and torso. “let me know where you’d like to go for our first date,” and it turns out heeseung is just as confident about winning the bet as you, perhaps even more. you are not surprised, being defending champions does that to people, or so you believe.

“mhm, let’s have you score a date first, lee,” you would have loved to talk more but decide to bid your goodbyes as soon as hanbin’s message pops up on your phone, the little scowl on heeseung’s face going unnoticed the moment he sees his name on your phone screen. heeseung would never in his wildest dream confess to being jealous— it doesn’t even make sense for him to be jealous of hanbin because he confessed to you, and you seem to like him back. his worries are pointless just like the useless art projects his art teacher used to assign in middle school. 

your fingers dance on the keyboard of your phone as you reply to hanbin, the subtle taps synchronous with your steps with you rushing across the quadrangle, taking the nearest flight of stairs to the library. you wanted to spend the day at your apartment since classes are suspended for the rest of the day on account of the match. however, hanbin managed to convince you into coming to the library to help him with a few assignments here and there. you’re not opposed to studying on days-off, in fact you think it’s better since you get all twenty-four hours to yourself instead of investing any of it in classes. the match gave you an excuse to call in for a break, or an excuse to take your time choosing the outfits as if you’re the main character on such a big day. 

the librarian gestures to you to slow down the moment you almost avoid slipping on the tiled floor, in the process of holding the door frame to stop yourself, an embarrassed apology makes its way from you to her as you spot hanbin in the further corner with his airpods plugged in. your first instinct is to scare him from behind but the thought leaves your mind as soon as you remember that you’re in a library, and getting kicked out on a day that has been treating you well so far doesn’t sound so smart. 

so, you settle with approaching normal, instead of pulling random stunts, pulling out the chair opposite to him quietly to not make any sounds, mumbling a soft ‘hi’ as he takes out one of his airpods. “where’s miyeon?” 

“sick, she’s skipping today’s match as well,” hanbin replies, eyes fixed on the notes he's copying from the laptop to loose sheets of paper, before looking up at you with another question on the tip of his tongue. “are you two still not talking?” 

“we did, none of us brought up what happened that day, though,” you shrug as if it doesn't bother you anymore, as if you don't want it to bother you more than it already does.

miyeon and you have known each other since university, she was a senior in undergrad course who was forced by financial circumstances to skip one academic year, thus rejoining in third year along with you and hanbin. seeing her was less frequent while she was still a senior, although you're not sure if you've spent more than three days away from her ever since postgrad school started. a heavy tension masks all your conversations with her, over texts or in person, and even though you're trying to act like the small talks with her don't hurt you, a part of you is starting to miss the best friend you used to talk to all night, about wasted matters and sharing useless gossip.

silence fills in for the lack of words between you and hanbin and you allow it to do so, deciding not to disturb the decorum of the library anymore. you scroll through your phone mindlessly, there’s nothing to look at except people going crazy about the evening's match. you even manage to stumble upon a thread of arguments featuring students of your university and the one the team is going against. it’s all empty threats, seriously, ‘kys’ and ‘ur mom’s in my bed’ aren’t even insults at this point. they’re funny, sometimes, but you’ll never understand why or how they ended up being insults. ( honestly, you don’t see the potential ) 

“are you serious about heeseung?” a crack in the ice, hanbin's question catches you off guard, with a number of questions running back and forth in your mind before you settle with the one to respond with in return.

you blink in confusion. “i guess so, why?” 

“nothing, it’s just i never expected it to be him, y’know, considering your history,” you think it's unavoidable, questions along these lines, they would've been asked sooner or later. truthfully, even you didn't expect yourself to fall for heeseung.

your history, what even is there to call history except blood and war? both you and heeseung have been up each other's neck from the moment your gazes collided. it sounds like a stupid beef between highschool students, almost embarrassing now that you both are nearing post graduation. with all the days that you’ve spent thinking about ways to get on his nerves, or worse— ruin his projects, it wasn’t just you who resorted to ruining each other’s hard work— no one would have known you and heeseung would ever end up on this note, with him chasing you and you pinning for him, all under the blankets of a silly bet.

“well, as i always say, hanbin, life is unpredictable,” there’s a smile dancing on your lips, a dazzling hint of factuality in your eyes. “besides, he’s a nice guy behind all the annoying things he does. i think he's pretty serious about me, or us, too,”

hanbin has noticed the way you smile at your phone. it doesn’t always happen, only when you’re talking with miyeon or a few friends from highschool, now heeseung ranks up on that list as well. he’d be lying if the uneasiness doesn’t bother him, it’s bound to surface when he remembers all the nights you spent complaining about heeseung. actually, the rant session included hanbin, you and miyeon, but she would rather go to sleep than listen to you complain like a child for hours on roll, leaving you and hanbin driving the conversation. he has lost count of the amount of times you’ve ended up crying in the process, or the amount of times he has hung up on you only to show up at your place late at night to make sure you’re doing okay, and the nights you two have spent watching movies and falling asleep on the couch, followed by the mornings gone by with miyeon being salty over the fact that none of you invited her to your impromptu nightover. 

the thought of heeseung confessing to you still surprises hanbin, it’s one of the things he deemed as impossible since forever. and he can go, warn heeseung about hurting you, dropping all sorts of threats at the boy. hanbin can go on for hours about how he would make heeseung’s life a living hell if he ever broke your heart. he can prove the righteous friend that he is, but at the end of day, he would always be the third person between you and heeseung. hanbin can only assume so much about you two, not even sure if all of it is right. he can only wish so much for you to have eyes for someone else. 

and so, all he does is shoot a smile at you. “i hope he is,” 

. 

. 

.

the only time you step out of the library is exactly three hours and thirty three minutes later, to sprint towards the basketball knowing that you absolutely cannot afford losing seats in the first two rows. fortunately, or unfortunately enough, you’re not the only student going crazy about the game. you can swear at least a dozen came out of the library right after you, even though all of them may not attend the game.

you’re already running late— well, still twenty minutes early but that doesn’t give you much time to meet the team and secure the front row seats. and meeting the team is an excuse, let’s be honest. you want to meet heeseung, have a quick private talk, kiss him good luck, you don’t know; you wouldn’t. your head is in a mess, behind you hanbin is yelling for you to slow down as you run down the stairs. half of you is worrying about seats and the other half is wording her sentences out for you to say when you meet heeseung, and the team. you can wish them all the luck in the world, after all, it’s the university team and you would love to see them win. the whole craze about sports doesn’t feel real and worth the hype but things start coming full circle when you’re the one watching. slowly, as one would expect, but you are starting to understand why everyone goes bonkers during tournament season. 

“damn, slow down,” hanbin huffs, grabbing your arm for you to slow down. “it’s not like they wouldn’t start without you,” 

“that’s the problem. what if they start without me?” but your legs wouldn’t rest before arriving at the court. you know your words sound funny, painting you as if the result of today’s match depends on you. it feels crazy to be this excited about a mere basketball match, nonetheless you know it’s not the match you’re actually looking forward to. “besides, i’m more worried about seats,” 

“i asked hao to save two for us. he’s friends with heeseung, i think he will do that much for his friend’s girlfriend or whatsoever,” you see him roll his eyes at his own words, proceeding to slide his hands into yours before continuing on your way to the venue, this time a little slower. 

you have heard about hao from hanbin and miyeon a few times. he’s pursuing a masters in music, wants to teach violin professionally according to hanbin. miyeon has even attended one of his recitals last autumn, something from sibelius, if you remember correctly. he is popular, and you see the depths of his popularity as soon as you spot him on the bleachers, surrounded by people left and right, one of them trying to grab a seat next to him before he points at you and hanbin, and the crowd goes mild, ultimately dissolves as the players step in. 

“i didn’t know heeseung had a girlfriend,” you don’t know what you were expecting, perhaps a few words of greetings, hi’s and hello’s since you two are meeting for the first time. anything, except that question. 

“believe me, i didn’t either,” and why even is heeseung going around telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend?        

the court breaks into cheers as soon as the game commences and yet, it feels a little quite. perhaps, it’s miyeon’s absence getting to you. had it been her next to you instead of hanbin and hao— who are busy amongst themselves by the way, talking about anything but the match— she would’ve been eating snacks non-stop, giving you a little talk on every player, like a resume. it’s take her fifteen minutes to give you summaries on players from each team, their achievements, girlfriends and probably even mothers, who knows. although, you haven’t attend many games with miyeon to pinpoint every good and bad thing about her impromptu presentation, her unofficial commentary helped you sit throughout the match. it feels incomplete without her, not just the game but days in general. it’s definitely her absence making your surroundings feel quieter. 

so, long story short, you don’t have a clue of what’s happening. well, you do, a little. you know what a dunk and a three pointer is besides the names of players on your university team, but that basically sums up your knowledge about basketball. all sorts of voices are mingling in the air but you’re busy following the ball around the court with your gaze, occasionally cursing and clapping when the team misses a close basket or scores a comparatively difficult basket. the tension between the two teams keeps rising as the game continues. you notice sunghoon groan in disappointment as one of the players from the opposite team gets in a banked shot from the wings, scoring two points for the team. a part of the crowd goes quieter at jay’s failed attempt to save the score for his team, beomgyu patting on jay’s back while muttering something along the lines of ‘good job.’ involuntarily, your eyes travel to heeseung, whose expression stiffens at the sight of the scoreboard displaying a two-point lag.

a time out call follows as the players move back to their respective ends, and it physically hurts you to see the difference in atmosphere between the two teams, or the frowns on the faces of players on your university team. for a second, you even consider walking down to them as they gather around the coach, grabbing water bottles and towels while nodding at the coach’s words between heavy breaths. you catch jake looking in your direction for a brief second, a smile makes its way to your lips before he responds with one as well, proceeding to nudge heeseung’s arm and pointing in your direction. his actions are left with no response— it hurts a little, although you are aware that anything else falls after winning the match on his priority list— and they get back on the court as the game resumes. 

“they need to catch up soon,” hanbin mutters, taking a look at the clock. and even if it’s just a two point difference, you’re starting to understand why it creates a huge gap. it’s almost like scores on a test. going from eighty-three to ninety then hundred is easier than going from ninety-eight to hundred. greater differences are easier to overcome; for you have so many rooms for improvisation and thus, so many chances at closing the gap. the closer you are to a perfect score, the narrower are the chances and it’s almost impossible to pin-point and work on every single weakness of yours within those two points. you’re pretty sure your words would hardly make sense to anyone else, but nonetheless you understand why everyone on the court looks more attentive, probably like meerkats on the lookout for preys and predators. 

much to your disappointment, the play continues with the rivals dominating the court, giving low to zero chances for the opposition to get their hands on the balls. you even see a few of them trying to provoke heeseung, the latter trying his best to not react but you’re afraid he would start throwing punches if another one of the players passed by him with his middle finger up heeseung’s face. one of them, who you assume is the captain judging from the way he has been directing his team, goes in for a hook, immediately getting blocked by taehyun as the court bursts into loud cheers once again. 

“that was a little too far for a hook,” hao comments, and you nod as if you understand his words and know exactly how a hook is supposed to be. you didn’t even know about a hook until now, and you’re still not sure what it is since all the shots look almost the same to you. 

from that second onwards, it felt as if the control transferred to heeseung’s teams as they transition quickly from defence to offence, making quick passes and running the court, practically catching the opposite team off guard. jay passes the ball to jake, who takes a leap from half court, driving towards the unguarded basket. a quick layup using the backboard, as you hear hanbin name the shot, and basically everyone runs to jake for scoring two points for the team as the scoreboards displays a sour tie. it’s a seemingly easy match after that, especially when the players look like they’re back into the game. sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung who goes for another layup and fails, much to his despair, before going in for a dunk and scoring yet another basket for the team, leading it by two points. you see him passing a cocky smirk at the player from before as jake pats him in the back with heeseung almost stumbling in the process. 

heeseung shoots you a wink before focusing on sunghoon’s words as they get back into position, and even amidst the butterflies you got by his recent actions, you don’t miss the way he stretches his fingers, ring-finger specifically, pointing something about the movements to jay before getting his focus back to the game; and you just hope it isn’t what you’re thinking it is. 

it’s a slow game after that, no points scored, four fouls with two of them back to back, one by each team respectively. the frustration increases on the court, evident in each step taken by the players, groans and sighs fill the atmosphere and get louder than the cheers that have gone quieter once again. it isn’t until a few minutes later that all the players run to the front court as soon as they see an opportunity for a fast break with taehyun taking the lead, passing the ball to jay just a few seconds after, who passes it to heeseung— and call it the lack of efficiency or bad timing, heeseung bumps into one of the players from opposite team, an uneven balance, and falls directly on his right knee, as one of the opposite players throws the ball off-bounds to stop the play. 

the medics take him to the benches, bringing ice packs and everything else before escorting him inside. you considered following him inside before hanbin tells you that the officials aren’t letting anyone meet him, probably until they receive updates of his situations. you bite the inside of your cheeks in nervousness, palms sweating as if you’re about to appear for an exam you weren’t informed about until five minutes ago, or maybe it’s even worse. the murmurs from the crowd or the group of girls behind you, to be more specific, do nothing but make you feel more anxious. zhang hao, being a sports medicine student, tries to give you an insight on heeseung’s injury, telling you that even if he fell directly on his knee and it could result in a patella fracture, or perhaps just dislocation— words that compel you to yell at him to shut up before he ensures that heeseung will be fine. hanbin does that for you, noticing your slightly panicked state, telling hao to talk about anything but anatomy of how badly a simple injury can affect a player, and when sunghoon and taehyun return to the officials with an update on heeseung and a pale face, you knew you had to run to your heeseung as if it’s the end of the world. 

“heeseung,” you breathe out, stepping aside to let the nurse from the infirmary leave before you walk closer to him. the awkwardness between you and other players, namely jay, jake and beomgyu, besides the coach, rings all the bells to remind you that coming here was probably a bad idea. well, of course, you like heeseung and are worried for him, but the tension in the air makes you feel like you showed up uninvited. “are you okay?” 

you ask nonetheless, voice close to a whisper, as you stand at a distance, looking at the bruise on his knee. the smell of antiseptic spray fills your lungs, nose scrunching at the way you could almost taste the diclofenac at the back of your mouth. 

“not really,” he inhales sharply, exhaling a reply once everyone left, knowing they had a game to get back to. “look at you, are you worried for me?”

“i’m regretting coming here now,” liar. and then you let the silence carry the conversation with itself for the next few minutes. you don’t know what to say— what can you say? all you do is sit next to him, hands brushing against his as his winces at the slightest touch. heeseung opened his mouth to say something before dismissing his words with a heavy sigh the very next moment. you almost hold his hand— almost, thinking of holding it ever so carefully as if it’s glass with thousands of cracks, and then you’d kiss it ever so delicately, you did it— almost, but then, it’s just you getting upset over the fact that he played even after hurting his hand.

“so, they’re benching you,” you say in an attempt to strike a conversation, a little conflicted with your choice of words, wondering if he even wants to hear about something related to the match at the moment. 

“of course,” he says it like a matter of fact, a fact whose impact doesn’t seem to touch him. “please tell me they have jeno substituting for me. i’ve barely been getting updates in the group chat,” the least he expected was for one of the substitute players to keep him updated about the game through texts, and heeseung planned to get back to the court until you showed up, taking a seat next to him on the benches in the locker room. you don’t understand why they didn’t take him to the infirmary, and decided to think it’s because locker rooms are closer and if there’s anything heeseung should not be doing right now, it’s moving his injured leg. 

you shrug. “i don’t know, i’ll ask hanbin,”

“thanks,” and even though heeseung isn’t really fond of your friend for reasons that are widely known, at least amidst his friend group, he really hopes hanbin is of some use. 

it’s quiet now. you can hear faint cheers buried in the layers of walls and rooms that stand between the court and the locker room, a few muffled footsteps filling up any spaces left in the air, here and there. you assume it’s his fans trying to check up on him, as annoying as it sounds to you for you’d rather have this moment with him all to yourself. you hear him sigh heavily once every few minutes, trying to ball his injured fingers up in a fist to allow the slightest of moments and ensure healthy circulation, a soft hiss leaving his lips at the sensation of striking pain shooting up his nerves. unlike heeseung, your attention shifts to his injured knee with a faint chill running down your spine as you look at his bruise, which now looks more bluish than it was when you had arrived, signifying the possibly alarming amount of blood that has now clotted in the tissues. 

“you can cry,” nudge him with your shoulders and heeseung directs you to the most disgusted face in return. “what? it’s the finals and you’re injured so you won’t be able to play today. any normal person would sob their eyes out,” 

“i’m not a kid, yn,” he nudges back, a chuckle slipping off his lips. 

“trying to act all cool but you’re probably going to cry yourself to sleep for days, or even weeks,” he holds out his hand for you to hold it as you stand up, an action you give into without opposition, intertwining your fingers with his. there’s a smug smile on your face and he sees it as well, although only you know the way your heart is somersaulting at the way your hands fit his’ like pieces of a puzzle. “i know what you are, heeseung,”

he scoffs at your words, hands still entwined, a lovesick glow in his eyes— it’s your first time seeing this side of him, you’re glad to be one of the people to see it. silence has never felt so comfortable to you. the distant noise from court feels like it rushed on its way to you and heeseung, and stopped at the doors, as if you two are beyond its reach. you might never say it to him, but everything seemingly ceases to exist when you’re with him, and the world feels timeless. it’s embarrassing, cringe, and it’s making your heart beat faster with the way he looks at you. “you need to shut up,”

“make me?” a quick response, one that was supposed to be a joke, a joke which was supposed to be accompanied by laughter and brushed off as another baseless comment, but another second passes as you continue to look into his eyes, and you realise you’re actually considering it— leaning in towards him while giving his hand a light tug to pull him towards you the slightest, your other hand cupping his face as your gaze ghosts up his eyes and settles on his lips. when it comes to him, rationality is out of the window and your lips are on his’ planting the softest kiss at the corner of his mouth before pulling away like nothing ever happened.  

a pause; you could hear the silence ringing in your years, eyes fixed over him as if you’re spilling all your secrets to him, waiting for him to take a hint. “what even happened to the ‘no kissing before finals’ rule?’”

and you realise you had actually forgotten about it, for better and never for the worse, because as you said and as he repeated, it’s all about timing. empty locker rooms, quiet hallways with not a soul around, your hand in his, his eyes on you— the timing couldn’t be better, and you know better than messing up and letting heeseung become just a closed chapter of your life. “yeah, i could care less about that,”

there are a lot of things you could care less about, like the cold metal that stings against your back as he pushes you against the lockers, or the fact that anyone could walk in, any minute; you don’t care, don’t know. his lips are on yours and his hands are on your waist, it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. it’s intoxicating and is making you go insane, the way he manages to sweep you off your feet with the smallest of actions and simplest of words— from the very first day. 

heeseung was right, and you as well, it’s all about timing. from the day you first looked at him in a seminar, to the day he switched to biotech— you plan on asking him why because so far, all your guesses seem implausible— down to the day he confessed, leading up to this moment with you pressing against the lockers and his lips against against yours. heeseung sighs softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips when you pull away just when it was about to get better, avoiding his lips when he leans in to chase yours barely a millisecond later. your eyes shift down to his hand, one that has been injured during the game, and you proceed to hold it carefully, brushing your lips over the bruise lightly before adorning it with feathery kisses as his other hand travels down to your waist once again, pulling you closer. “you should go easy on yourself,”

you whisper the exact same words he had told you a day ago, traversing your eyes back towards him while your gazes have a conversation so foreign, as if it’s only for the silence to understand. and it’s quite literally just the two of you basking in silence as he rests his head against the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses here and there before pulling you even closer, as if you were going to disappear any second. “i think, i’m in love with you,” 

and timing be damned— because heeseung confesses to you once again, and then he’s kissing you once again, slowly, sweetly, in love, and timing doesn’t even matter because every second feels right with him. with the same air of delighted indifference he comes to know well in the gleam of your touch and the curl of your lips, you simply kiss him back as if to say, hate to admit, but i’m in love with you too. and timing really be damned because you hear loud rounds of cheers as you feel his shoulders stiffen. a slight disconnection between you and heeseung makes you wonder if he’s thinking about the results of the game, which is inevitable, but this is about you and him, and nothing else. you hear the notifications from his phone go off, hinting that the match is probably over, and you pull him into another kiss, another round of selfishness guised as an outlet for him to forget about the game, another round of messy make outs, tasting the freedom of ignorance. 

and then you don’t hear from heeseung again.  

V. OBJECT OF ALL DESIRES

days without heeseung feel like they’re forty-eight hours long.

you think it’s a disease or some sort of withdrawal syndrome. this isn’t your first time without him, in fact, you used to do just fine without him in your life until you let him in. at this point, it isn’t even about not being able to see him— heeseung has been absent for almost seven days. you even asked jay about him to see if he has been in contact with any of his teammates but much to your disappointment, he disappeared off the face of earth like he never existed. taehyun has constantly been reminding you to not fret too much, knowing that heeseung gets a little dramatic after losing matches. you can take his word, obviously, a friend from highschool would know heeseung better than a girl who started talking to him normally barely weeks ago, although you couldn’t help but worry about him as seconds passed like water dripping down the tap, disturbing the silence. 

you know how losses feel— like a part of you has been taken out and you’re left to bleed. it’s worse when it’s about something you’ve loved all your life. you’ve walked next to losses, hand in hand. when you know you’ve lost something while having it in the palms of your hands the whole time, the feeling eats you inside. you wonder if heeseung is feeling the same way you think he is, even if he didn’t show it a week ago when you had met him in the clubroom, the feeling starts to sink in when you’re alone amidst the ghosts of nobodies. even though he was smiling and acting like the little shit he is, you felt anger and regret in the way he kissed you. there was a sense of numbness dripping down his fingertips in the way they brushed against your cheeks, cupping your face. you could’ve been a sweet escape— it hurts to admit that the emotions weren’t possibly real, but you couldn’t blame him. 

losing a match, to put it in your words, meant failing in a test; and losing because of an injury, it’s like skipping a test you prepared for, because of fever. except tests can be rescheduled for students who missed— a luxury heeseung, as a basketball player, cannot enjoy. even you couldn’t believe your eyes when the students on the forum started talking about the lost match, all sorts of comments going around, though none targeted at heeseung, fortunately. yet, your first instinct was to dial his number— out of reach, the first thing you hear on the other side of the line, and all you’ve been hearing for days now. 

you had considered cutting ties with him, not literally, but as in stopping to chase him as if he’s the oxygen you inspire. you could’ve showed up at miyeon’s place with apologies, her favourite snacks and a brief explanation of why you did what you did, and everything that has happened as the consequences of your own actions. with weekends approaching, you could’ve planned a two-day trip with her and hanbin before the winter snow made it hard to commute— just anything to get your mind off heeseung, since apparently, you weren’t on his mind either. albeit, you end up doing nothing, no trips, no plans to see miyeon, it’s just you and your bruised heart with soju on the side. your mind is way too cluttered with thoughts about heeseung to focus on studying and at the same time, it’s way too empty to try doing anything else.  

so, you simply venture down the hallways, drowning in all kinds of thoughts, good and bad. you can use the time to study but concentration has been far out of your reach ever since the match, or ever since he went underground, to be more specific. the impromptu make out session was probably his last straw— it makes sense. you kissed someone who had been walked out of a match because of an injury instead of consoling them. you let your feelings get the best of you, making everything about yourself yet again. you won’t be surprised if heeseung decides to ghost you for the rest of his life after that; or maybe, that’s not possible since you see a familiar figure sitting in the outdoor basketball court, spinning the ball with it’s axis on the ground in a directionless manner. 

“heeseung?” you notice his back tense at the sound of you calling his name, head down low as if he’s responding with an exasperated sigh. “where the hell have you been? i’ve been trying to reach you— heck, even your friends haven’t heard a word from you in days,”

“not now, yn, leave me alone,” and an exasperated sigh is what it was. 

“look, i know—”

“just, what part of leaving me alone do you not understand?” you try to speak but heeseung cuts you off just as efficiently as he does other things, with annoyance heavily evident in his words. had it not been heeseung, you would’ve left already, for you have more important things to tend to, and you’re certainly not interested in matters you’re not supposed to be included in, if only it wasn’t heeseung, and if only you weren’t crazily worried for him. 

“oh, i understand it clearly, every part, actually, and i also understand that you’re upset and leaving you alone would certainly not be the best move considering the way you went MIA for a week,” and you understand his impulses about disappearing into thin air, wishing the ground eats him up or for the walls to cave in till he’s entombed in them, but a person as smart as him should know taking out helps better than thinking about wanting to vanish. “we can sit and have a talk if you stop being such an asshole about it. i’m down to listen to—”

“fine, what do you want to hear about?” he cuts you off in annoyances, the ball rolls down to a distance like your heart when you see the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. “you were right. i went home and have been crying myself to sleep. i haven’t been eating well either. i skipped five out of nine mocks and barely passed the four i gave, let’s add that too. is that enough?” 

you don’t like the way he puts it, as if it’s supposed to make you feel better. maybe about the bet, maybe, since he’s supposed to rank above you in finals to get around dating you, and maybe watching him lose is supposed to offer you some sort of relief— seriously, what you’re feeling right now is far from that. guilt, anger, shame, you’re not unfamiliar with those emotions. they eat you inside and it’s not because you’ve met with defeat, it’s because of falling off all the expectations people had, giving them another reason to point fingers and laugh. you could be really over-reacting, but if you didn’t have your parents telling you it’s going to be fine every time you didn’t do well on tests, you don’t know where you would’ve been right now. and you think you can play a part of the same for heeseung, if not all. 

you sit next to him, nose scrunching at the sight of dust on the cement laid with cracks. that’s what you get with an outdoor court no longer in use. you can see little plantlets germinating from the soil, emerging through the cracks, the rusted ring catches your eye. heeseung huffs as you settle next to him, wondering exactly how long the court has been unused for, considering its lack of maintenance. “let’s date,” 

and your words are not what you were planning to say or what should be said in this situation, but they still manage to extract a response from him. “don’t play with me,” 

“i’m not, in fact, that is what i’ve been wanting to say to you for days. of course, this isn’t the best timing, but i don’t know what else to say,” you pause in what feels like embarrassment. too bad, his crush is not good at conversations. sometimes you end up nodding and blinking for five minutes straight before saying anything, after a person opens up to you with tears and blood. “and, i’m not going to tell you to stop acting like a child or whatever because the team lost such an important match and somewhere, you’re blaming yourself for it, which you shouldn’t, by the way. all i need to say is that you still have the next year to make up for what you’ve lost now,” 

second chances come with higher expectations from people along with words that end up making one feel worse about their situation. you’ve already heard a few students talk about how heeseung should’ve been more ‘careful’— as if it was his choice to get injured and lose the match. you know it wasn’t going to be easy, especially with his injury that probably requires him out of the court for weeks, but you hope that amidst whatever he’s feeling, between self-loath and regret, heeseung manages to find himself once again. 

“actually, i’m planning to drop out of the team next year and focus on studies. my parents were already against me playing basketball during postgrad, i’m finally starting to notice why,” basketball could’ve been his entire career if heeseung’s grandmother had not wished for him to go into the medical field. seeing the insides of a person makes him want to empty his bowel from the mouth so biotechnology was his next option. heeseung thought having two hands would give him the benefit of managing basketball and academics together, unlike how his parents had wished for, but his recent mock scores and lack of time devoted to studies is making him question his choices. “and what the hell were you on about dating, by the way?” 

you’re half immersed in your own thoughts until heeseung directs the question at you— brows furrowed, confusion shadowing his face— you realise it’s your turn to do the talking. “oh, you know, dating. i think we should start dating already, it’s quite inevitable after that day in the clubroom,” 

it is evitable, really, but you’re down bad— with all due respect. 

you haven’t been okay ever since you realised that you like heeseung, and you’ve been trying to act normal about it, attempting to not lose your cool-hard-to-get-girl composure— miyeon’s words, and they make you cringe— while the thought of him is eating your brain slowly and gradually, making you go insane. if you were to narrate from where you opened and closed the door at, it would be a slippery slope, you don’t know how someone ends up falling for the person they despise. the yn from a month or two ago would be knowing, you can see her shrugging and getting back to her books, saying see saw it coming. ( it’s miyeon’s fault for making you even think about having a mind blowing chemistry with heeseung ) the you from two semesters ago, when he first transferred, would hate you and call you a traitor, might even write whore on a mirror while looking at it because you fold at the sight of hot, smart and sporty men who are perfect at everything, even at ruining someone’s life, like he’s ruining yours; and the yn from highschool, you see her squealing on the floor because oh, what a fan of enemies to lovers she was— heeseung wouldn’t even have been in the current picture if your highschool crush slash rival liked you back. the current you, well, she’s a goner, and in denial that she’s a goner. too much pride does something to a person, especially when you’re an over-scorer and an academic weapon. you’ve lost all your abilities of letting your guard down even once, refusing to give up and accept defeat, no matter how tortuous it is on the inside. 

the current you is more like a victorian man looking at ankles for the very first time. 

“and the bet? what happened to it?” he chuckles, of course, anyone would, considering the way you’ve lost after placing the bet with utmost confidence slash overconfidence. see, it never ends well, anything, with overconfidence, it doesn’t end well, never have and never will. and you, you don’t learn, sitting with the very well known fact that if you were given the chance, you would place the bet with him again.  

“ah, i didn’t mean to do that, honestly. i was confused when you confessed, it was so sudden, i didn’t know how to respond. the bet was the best i could come up with,” miyeon was right, you could’ve used something along the lines of ‘i need some time,’ that day instead of pulling out a bet right out of your ass, and now you don’t know how to save face. at least the fact that heeseung confessed first makes you feel a little better about yourself. “c’mon, i know you love challenges. i was just trying to see if it gets you turned on or something,” 

and heeseung scoffs in disbelief, eyeing you at your choice of words. “yeah, i feel very turned on knowing my crush dragged me into a bet that i’ve been working so hard for and she wasn’t even serious about it,” 

“working hard? from what i saw, the only thing you worked hard for was basketball,” you raise your brows, a taunting intonation in your voice. a part of you regrets the choice of words, knowing that basketball is seemingly quite a sensitive topic to bring up at the moment. albeit, the slight fear evaporates off when he laughs and dismisses your words and nothings. 

he leans a little closer, hands touching yours. “you never know what i’m up to at home,” 

a pause; you look in his eyes and then at his lips, he mirrors your actions with a smirk on his face. you guess that there’s a second meaning to his words, not sure what, but the look in his eyes tells you something about it. “i think we should get back to when you were talking mental and i was talking you down,” 

and you could grab his face and kiss him with no one around, on the unmaintained basketball court for the grey and cloudy skies to see. you could run your hands through his hairs and tell him how crazy he makes you while planting kisses down his neck. you can kiss him till both of your lungs are begging for oxygen, and that's when you'd tell him how he makes you feel— breathless and drowning, a little insane every time you see him flirting with someone that's not you. you can kiss him till the sun goes down and evening takes over, it doesn't matter if you're outside for the world to see. you would've kissed him if heeseung hadn't leaned back, looking at the ball lying stray at a distance.

“by the way, i’d love to date you,” he smiles at the infinite horizon before looking at you, as if waiting for a response already known.

“yeah, i figured that,” you try to play it cool as if you’re all knowing. it’s partially true, he did confess to you first. “let’s make another bet: no kissing before finals, and the one who ends up giving in first has to buy dinner,” you come up with yet another bet, your voice hinting the enthusiasm for no apparent reason.  

heeseung squints at you, a little conflicted, quite unsure of your words. it sounds like a moment of deja vu, hopefully on a better note this time ‘round. “that’s not even valid, we made out not even a week ago,” 

“let bygones be bygones, hee,” he likes the sound of the little nickname you've given him, unlike bygones, the word you use to refer to your very first kiss with him as if it's an unfortunate memory. “it’s decided then, no kissing before finals and the loser has to buy dinner, and i won’t be satisfied with anything less than a five star meal,” 

you squint, index finger pointing at him, a challenging composure. another chuckle from him makes it’s way to you, lips curling into a faint smile. it takes you all the way back to the day you placed your first bet with him, with head empty and no logic, for the entirety of the basketball team to see, hear, and talk about it as if it’s supposed to be on the headlines of the national newspaper. your eyes spark up in anticipation, wondering if the two of you are down for another bet, one that doesn’t proceed towards failure, hopefully.

“the last time you did something like this, you ended up running back to me and asking me to date you,” he scoffs softly, side-eyeing you with a mocking gaze, quite ready to pull out the receipts if you ever deny his words. you hate how correct he is, all the time, actually, and you hate how you don’t have words to argue back.

lee heeseung, a nobody to you till he switched to your department, just some student who was there to pass time until he started ranking above you on tests and flipped your whole world upside down. you tried to not think about him and failed every time— still beats you why. you’ve never let distractions get the best of you, but heeseung, perhaps he’s more than just a distraction, or maybe he isn’t a distraction at all. he’s like a plant in your garden that you could care less about— should care less about, it’s growing without harming your plants, but it’s creeping against a wall with pretty flowers for show, and before you know it, it’s demanding for all your attention that you offer without second thoughts, unwillingly at first. 

he’s the bane of your existence and object of all your desires, to put it simply and make it sound cliché. you’ve had your moments trying to run away from him, get him out of your head, annoy him to the point he’d prefer flying to the other side of the globe, or that could be you too, anywhere, far from him. but life, for the thousandth time, is unpredictable. when was the last time something worked out exactly how you had planned— can’t remember, obviously, just like the way you don’t remember when heeseung started occupying a corner of your brain, popping in and out at random times and disrupting your thought process. the more you tried to ignore him, the further he housed in your head, the deeper in your heart, closer, within your reach, as if for you to grab his hands and let him enter your side of the world. 

and so, you kiss him again, pulling him towards you with the collars of his jacket. you feel him smile, a triumphant smile, as expected from someone who is used to winning. you don't think you can say you've lost, not at the way he cups your cheeks and tilts his head to deepen the kiss just moments before you pull away. “i always run back to you, don’t i?” 

and you're a child infatuated with their favourite sport, a painter falling in love with strokes, a pianist dancing to the melody of rachmaninoff, a student addicted to getting a perfect score, a player addicted to winning. you trace back to things you like, you always run back to heeseung,

and you always would. 

TEN MINUTES LATER :

heeseung plants a soft peck on your lips. “dinner’s on you,” 

“fuck!” 

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 17

Warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of cheating, underaged drinking and drug consumption, break ups, mentions of injuries, mentions of pregnancy (it's just a joke)

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You spend the night before your birthday with Steve and the same night, it takes a turn for him.

Word count: 9.5k

A/N: This chapter made me realize that my writing needs way more improvement, my words are too repetitive, please ignore. Also big shoutout to @hellfire--cult for throwing some really really amazing ideas at me, thank you, love. I appreciate you! @mysticmunson my angel, thank you for always helping me 🤍

series masterlist

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You missed the warm nights, the transition from winter to spring and spring to summer, where every day it gets warmer and warmer. The sun gets brighter and the flowers adorn every field that you pass by. 

It’s only the end of April but it’s already so warm, this night especially. The breeze you feel on your skin is one that reminds you of a chilly summer night. 

Your eyes are closed, you are leaning back against the railing as you sit outside on your porch steps, waiting for him to come. A year or two ago, you would have waited for him in your room, you would have waited for him to climb through your window and surprise you with a present. 

This year, everything is different. 

You don’t want him to sneak into your room, that would only bring up painful memories again and you have had enough of those in the past few weeks, you know that seeing him tonight, will only make things worse. Still, you can’t help but feel excited to see him. 

You shouldn’t feel this way, you really shouldn’t. 

But you miss him, you miss what you used to have. 

The sound of a car pulling up and the bright headlights make you open your eyes. 

This feels so wrong. To let him back into your life so easily is such a huge mistake. You don’t know what prompted you to say yes to him when he asked you if he could come over the night before your birthday. Maybe it was the wish to uphold the tradition you have had since you were kids or maybe, it was your stupid heart that made you say yes. 

You should have said yes to Eddie when he had asked if you wanted to see a movie with him tonight. You shouldn’t have said yes to him. 

He gets out of the car and his eyes instantly lock with yours, his brows furrow, he is probably wondering why you are outside. There is something in his hand, you can’t make out what it is. 

“Hey,” he says when he walks towards you. 

You force a smile, to match the one on his face. 

“Hi Steve.”

The gravel crunches beneath his nike’s and he looks down, breaking eye contact for a moment. 

You eye him in curiosity. 

Isn’t this weird? 

To do this when he is with someone else? 

Does she know where he is, right now? 

He sits down opposite of you, leaning his back against the other railing. His breathing is a little unsteady and he clears his throat. The porch light is the only thing lighting up the area around you, it’s very dim but you still notice the flushed cheeks. 

“How are you?” He asks, nervously. 

Only as you hear the shakiness in his voice, do you realize just how nervous he actually is. 

You don’t know this side of Steve – you don’t remember ever seeing this side of him. The Steve you once knew was always full of himself, confident, arrogant and cocky. Never nervous. 

You haven’t talked to him in a while. The notes you have passed to each other in class don’t count. 

“I’m okay,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, “how are you?”

He hesitates and his eyes stray away for a few seconds, he looks down at your hands, staring at your rings. 

You notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way his features are etched with something that reminds you of something that you always used to see on your face whenever you looked at your reflection in the mirror, when he was seeing Nancy. 

“I-I uh, I’m good.” 

It’s a lie.

He usually used to avoid looking into your eyes whenever he lied to you. 

“Are you?” You ask before you can stop the words from spilling. 

When he looks up and you see his eyes again, you notice the frustration behind them. He wears the same look that you used to wear after every fight with him. 

Did they fight? Did she make him cry the way he made you cry? Is that why his eyes are glassy and red rimmed? 

He only nods. 

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah,” you whisper and hold eye contact. 

You hate your birthday, god, you hate it so much. If you could, you would sleep the day away but you can’t.

“What’s that?” You ask, gesturing to the tiny box in his hand, the one he hasn’t let go of since he came here. 

He hesitates when he follows your gaze and looks down at the object in his hand. 

“Uh, it’s your birthday present.”

You raise your brows and you ignore the way your stomach flips at his words. 

“Oh?”

He nods and then scoots closer to you but he doesn’t hand it to you yet. He still holds it tightly. 

“What’s in there?” 

A smile tugs at his lips, “never the patient one, are you?” 

A breathy chuckle falls from your lips and you shake your head, “you know me.” 

His eyes skim over your face, your soft features and the light in your eyes that never died, even after everything he had put you through, the light is still shining brightly even when you can’t see it. 

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers. 

He places his palm on the ground beside you, he is closer now, closer than he had been in a while. His nike’s bump against your black converse, his fingertips graze against yours and the urge to feel his whole hand on top of yours is so strong. 

You look down, eying his knuckles, eyeing the scar. You know where it came from, you still ask, “what’s that?” 

He furrows his brows at your question, then follows your gaze to see what you are looking at. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. 

“I know where you got it from but, how did it happen?” 

You avoid his eyes this time. You never thanked him for what he did. It’s something that 

Steve doesn’t even expect from you, it’s not something you have to thank him for. 

He scratches the back of his neck, “uh well, apparently Ray is a fan of pocket knives,” he laughs. 

Your eyes widen and you stare at him in shock as your heart leaps to your throat. 

“What?” You gasp. 

Eddie told you some things but you know that he left a lot of details out. He didn’t want you to worry. 

Fear flashes in your features and you instinctively reach for his hand. The thought that something worse could have happened to him and to Eddie makes you feel so guilty. 

“It’s fine,” he whispers.

The worry in your eyes makes his heart flutter in his chest. 

You still care about him, you always will. He looks down at your hand, your touch is making his skin tingle and a smile tugs at his lips when he remembers all the times he was able to just take your hand and hold it without a second thought, without having to worry about anything, without having to feel guilty, without feeling like he’s doing some forbidden thing. 

He can’t just hold your hand now, not anymore. 

Not even when she – “No, it’s not! Something worse could’ve happened, Steve–”

“But it didn’t,” he says, interrupting you, “nothing happened to us. We’re fine. Please just, let’s drop this, y/n.”

“But–”

“No buts, I’m not here to talk about that asshole. What’s done is done, let’s leave it in the past, okay?”

Oh, how easy everything could be if that was possible. 

You begrudgingly drop the subject when he keeps interrupting you, not wanting to talk about it. When you try to pull your hand away, he stops you and holds it tighter – you let him. 

You lean your head back and take a good look at him. His hair has grown longer and there is a kindness in his eyes that had been missing in the last few months of your relationship. His touch feels more gentle, his presence makes you feel calm instead of anxious, he seems like the old Steve – the one who still loved you. 

She brought him back, she did something that you could not do. 

You weren’t good enough for that – he did not want to change for you. 

“Does she know that you’re here?”

He tenses up a little and for a moment, he frowns. 

“She wouldn’t care.”

What?

“She wouldn’t care that you’re spending time with your ex girlfriend?” You ask, confused. 

“No,” he says, cringing at the word ‘ex girlfriend’.

You don’t believe it, you can’t believe it, especially not after the way she talked about you after he had dumped you for her. Clearly, she can’t stand you and the thought of her not having a problem with her boyfriend hanging out with you, just seems a little too weird to you.

You would have a problem with that. 

“Okay,” you mumble under your breath. 

“Is everything okay between the two of you?” You ask, still looking down to hide your eyeroll. You don’t really want to hear him talk about his relationship but, you can’t help but feel a little curious. You know that the pain in his eyes isn’t for nothing. 

He hesitates and he tenses up, yet again. You feel it in his touch. 

“Yeah.”

“I know when you’re lying,” you mumble, glancing up at him to see him looking away. 

The chuckle that falls from his lips, isn’t one of amusement. He glances up at the darkening sky.

“I-I just, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?” You frown. 

As he looks back into your eyes, he sees everything that he is looking for – everything that he can never find in her eyes. 

“She is not you.”

For a moment, your heart stops beating, your blood stops pumping, the world stops spinning. Everything stops. 

How can he say such a thing? 

“She’s not the one that I want.”

How can he say this to you after he had told you that he fell in love with her? That he never loved you? 

How can he say this when he looks so happy with her? 

How can he say this when you had asked him to let you go? 

“Steve.”

“I know,” he whispers, frowning at the ground, “I know, I’m sorry. I-I made a mistake and I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

You hate the way your heart flutters despite the pain it’s in, right now. 

You hate the way you wonder about how things could’ve been if you never let him go so easily. 

You hate the way you feel so little again, the way you just let his words get to you, the way they are able to make you feel sad instead of angry. 

You feel like a fool again, the same fool who forgave him over and over again. 

“We both did.” Those three words spill from your lips before you can stop them. 

You feel stupid, you instantly feel so so stupid. You miss the anger, the coldness – the one that never let him back in. 

He looks up, a bewildered look on his face as he stares at you in shock and confusion. 

“What?”

“We both made mistakes.”

He shakes his head, you had never seen such a deep frown in his features, his lips are pursed as he tries to come up with words but he can only stare at you with a questioning look in his eyes. 

You blink, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the nervous feeling that is building up more and more. 

“I-I just,” you pause to take a deep breath, to give yourself the chance to say something that won’t ruin everything again but, something pushes you to say this, “I keep wondering how things could’ve been if I never let you go, how it would’ve been if I just fought for you.”

He whispers your name as he stares at you with eyes that soften the longer he looks at you. 

“I-I never did, I just let you go. I keep thinking about that night at Tina’s party. You spilled that stupid red wine on you that you didn’t even like.”

Steve nods slowly. He feels the bitterness on his tongue, the taste of the sour wine still lingers when he thinks about how much he had drank from it to gain more courage, to make it easier to lie to you, to break your heart. 

“You told me that you weren’t in love with me anymore and I just, I said ‘okay’ and then I left and that’s all.” 

You look back at him with glossy eyes and a frown on your lips. 

“Don’t put the blame on yourself,” he says in anger for himself, “I was the one who lied to you, I was the one who fucked up. Not you, y/n. Never you.” 

“But–”

“No!” He shakes his head, “stop it, where’s this even coming from?”

You shrug and it only confuses him further. 

“Would you have stayed with me if I didn’t let you go?” You ask, “if I fought for you?”

He feels ashamed, he feels guilty and so horrible. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I would have stayed with you.” Because this is what he wanted. He wanted you to fight for him, he wanted you to make him stay. 

You know that he is honest and it breaks your heart again. 

“But you shouldn’t have, it wasn’t your job to fight for me. I should have fought for you. You should’ve been the one to leave, not me.”

“What?”

“I was a fucking asshole, y/n. I was an asshole to you, every day of our relationship, I kept fucking up, over and over again and you tolerated it, you never left me. You never got mad at me, you never said anything rude, you never did anything bad, you were – fuck, you were perfect, you are perfect,” he holds your hand tighter.

The tear that rolls down your cheek is quickly wiped away with his thumb.

“And I’m sorry, I am so fucking sorry for what I did to you.” 

He hates the way your eyes continue to well up with tears. He hates the way your bottom lip quivers as you try to not break down. He hates the way you are still hurting because of him. 

“Steve,” you whisper, not wanting to hear his apologies anymore. 

He shakes his head, stubbornly. 

“I’m not just saying sorry for leaving you, for choosing her over you. It’s not just that.”

You sniffle quietly and you press your knees to your chest. Your hand is still in his and you don’t make any moves to pull it away. 

“I’m sorry that I acted like I wasn’t interested in the things you loved doing. I’m sorry that I didn’t show you how much I really loved you. I’m sorry that I didn’t hold you enough, that I didn’t kiss you the way you should have been kissed, that I didn’t take care of you.” 

You start crying before you can stop yourself from doing so. 

“I should have held you that night. God, I hate myself for what I did to you that night. You cried a-and I-I didn’t do anything, I just listened to you cry.”

You close your eyes when your vision blurs. Your heart drops to your stomach and a sick feeling rushes through you. 

You didn’t know that he was awake, you always thought that he fell asleep before you broke down. But he was awake and he heard you. He was awake and he listened to your cries, he just listened and kept his back turned to you when you needed him to just fucking hold you. 

Steve watches the tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other. 

Back then, he could’ve just pulled you into his arms. He could’ve hugged you, he could’ve held you but he never did – now he wants to so badly but now, he can’t. 

He sees how much you are struggling, he sees how hurt you still are. All these months, he thought that you had moved on, that you had left him in the past, that you had forgotten about the pain. But he was so wrong about everything. 

You have not moved on, you have not left him in the past and you especially, have not forgotten about the pain that he had put you through. 

The girl he knew is still in there just like the boy you once knew is still in him. 

You both changed but, you are also both still the same. 

“I should have given you the locket,” he whispers as he turns your hand around and places the little box into your palm, “I shouldn’t have given you the fucking bracelet that you never wanted.”

To see you cry will always hurt. To know that he is to blame for your pain, will always make him hate himself. To see the way you look at him with so much sadness and still so much love in your eyes will always make his chest burn with regret. 

Your brows are pulled together, your lips are parted and you look down at the box with big eyes. 

You pull your hand away from his and you wipe your tears before you open it after a moment of hesitation. A tear drops on the beautiful locket that you have fallen in love with a year back. 

A present that would have brought you joy back then, only makes you sad now. 

He could’ve seen a smile on your face. He could’ve seen happiness in your eyes. He could’ve heard you squeal in excitement. 

He could’ve. 

You stare at it, a minute passes and then another, you stare at it in silence. 

“I-I didn’t put anything in there,” he mumbles, pointing to the locket, “I know you always wanted a picture of us in there but uh – I figured you wouldn’t want that anymore.” 

You take it out of the box, the heart shaped locket is engraved with little flowers – it’s beautiful. Despite the sadness and the anger that is buried deep somewhere, you smile. 

It’s something that Steve did not expect. The thought of gifting you the little piece that you have wanted for so long after he left made him anxious, it was a last minute decision – this was not the gift he wanted to give you but it’s something that he found when he took his room apart while searching for a box to put the original gift in. This is what you wanted. 

You wanted it for your last birthday but instead he put a bracelet around your wrist, one that you did not wish for. You still loved it, you still smiled brightly and stared at it as though it was the prettiest thing you had ever seen. 

He bought the locket three days before he left you, he intended to give it to you after Halloween but it all went wrong. 

Everything went wrong after that night. 

He chose her and you chose to act like he didn’t exist anymore which is something he isn’t mad at anymore, you should have done worse. 

You gave him the cold shoulder, the glares, the snarky replies whenever he talked to you, whether it was about the essay you had worked on together or something else. You were mean, dismissive and cold. It went on like that for two months until that night when you had parted ways after the party at Jimmy’s place. After that you just seemed unbothered by his presence, like he didn’t matter anymore.

Now you are showing him a side that he does not deserve to see – the vulnerable, loving side that he only got when you were still his. 

He hates that you think that you should have fought for him. He never deserved it. He never deserved you. 

He prefers it when you hate him – he deserves that more than your love. 

You are silent for the longest time, just staring at the locket in your hand and he watches you with a bitter taste on his tongue and a deep sadness in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Stevie.”

It’s been a long time since you called him that. 

You lift your head and turn to look at him, your eyes meet and he smiles. 

“You’re welcome, y/n.”

The smile that you give him makes him realize just how much he truly misses you. 

He misses the sound of your giggle, he misses the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, he misses the way you would smile into the kisses, he misses the way it feels to hold you, he misses being with you. God, he misses you. 

You look down and with a heavy sigh, you push yourself up, “I-I should go inside.”

The disappointment that rushes through him is deep, he doesn’t want this to end, he doesn’t want to say goodbye again, he doesn’t want to go back to a love that is forced. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, getting up as well. 

For a moment, you stand in front of each other, not moving, not looking away from one another. His hands itch for your touch and you long to feel his arms around you. 

Should you tell him how much you miss him? 

Should you hug him?

Should you tell him how he haunts you in your memories? 

His hair looks soft beneath the dim porch light, his eyes even softer as he stares at you, his lips – stop. You curse at yourself for letting your mind go there. He is not yours, he belongs to someone else. 

Steve sees the way you look at him; it’s still the same. 

And that little moment is enough for him to make a decision. 

“Goodbye,” you whisper. 

He hesitates. 

Once again, he finds himself here, not wanting to say goodbye to you.

“Goodbye.”

You tear your eyes away from him, you look down and walk towards your door. You lift your hand, reaching for the doorknob when you feel his fingers closing in around your wrist. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

You’re met with a smile when you look back again. 

“Happy birthday, dolly.”

A breathy chuckle falls from your lips and you smile, “thank you.”

Last year he would have kissed you. 

This year he can’t even hug you.

You turn back around and he watches you hesitate, his hand is still holding your wrist and you turn to him once again. You let go of his hand and you lift the sleeve of your sweatshirt to show him something. 

The dainty pearls around your wrist make his eyes widen. 

“I love the bracelet, by the way,” you say with a smile before you walk into your house, leaving him standing on your porch. 

The warmth in his stomach is only there because of you, because of the love you still got for him – and even if you had no love for him anymore, he would still feel it. You could break his heart into a million pieces and Steve Harrington would still love you more than anything else in this world. 

He can push you out of his life, he can try to fall in love with someone else, he can replace you with another girl but no one will ever be you. 

No one will ever make him feel the things that you make him feel. No one can make his heart race the way you do. No one can make him feel so safe and loved despite the distance, no one but you. 

It’s always you, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you. 

There is no point to be with someone he can never love the way he loves you. There is no point in being with someone who could never love him the way you loved him.

It’s all just pointless, everything that has happened since Halloween night is pointless. 

His mind is filled with thoughts, ones that keep him so distracted that he doesn’t even notice that the light in his bedroom is on. Only when he steps into his room and he notices his girlfriend sitting on his bed, does he realize that he is not alone tonight, like he wanted to be. 

He instantly notices the frown on her face, the crossed arms and a look of anger in her eyes.

“Nance,” he mumbles with furrowed brows, confused by her presence. 

He takes a look around his room to find it a mess, messier than it was before. Books, clothes and notes are scattered all over the carpet, an open box lying on the floor, pictures of you and him spilling out of it. Your green scrunchie from cheer practice lying on the sweater that belongs to him, one that he had put into the box because it was basically yours, it smelled like you, it probably still does. 

Realization floods through him, but there is no ounce of fear inside of him. He isn’t scared of what is about to happen.

Nancy is holding one of the many notes and she looks at him in disbelief, scoffing as she holds it up for him to see. 

“I’ll throw it away later, huh?” She asks, mocking him. 

He doesn’t have to take a closer look to know which note it is. It’s the one she found in his car a few months ago, the one he promised to throw away.

He doesn’t know what to say so he just stands there and looks at her, trying to figure out what she is feeling right now. 

She is not hurt, he knows she isn’t, just angry. 

Her eyes have strayed away from him just a few weeks after he left you for her. The moment Jonathan stepped into her life, her heart was no longer his, she gave it to her supposed new friend. 

He saw the stolen glances, the lingering touches. He knew about the secret meetups, he knew about what she did when they had decided on taking a break. But, he never said anything, he never did anything about it. He tolerated it because he thought that he deserved it. 

She did the same thing that he did to you, just so much worse. At least, he had never slept with anyone else, he had never kissed anyone else. 

Everything that she did in the course of their relationship is something that he was afraid of you doing to him. He was stupid for even thinking that. You would never do that to him. 

“I wish I could say that I’m surprised,” Nancy mumbles, throwing the note on the ground, “but I’m not.” 

Nancy isn’t blind and she isn’t stupid either, she always knew where his mind was at when he was with her, when he kissed her, when he touched her, when he slept with her. He was thinking about you, all the time. 

When she came over tonight, she didn’t expect to walk into an empty house or the mess that he had left in his room. She waited and waited and he didn’t come so she decided to keep herself busy. She began to clean his room, she organized his desk, dusted his furniture and put away his clean sweaters into the closet when she had found that box. Normally, she wouldn’t have opened it but curiosity got the best of her and now she feels relieved that she had done it, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach. 

Steve is calm, that’s something he had never been when he had gotten into fights with you. 

“Are you not gonna say anything?” 

Steve walks further into the room, he looks down at the things that belong to you, the things that he should’ve never put away in the first place. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Nancy.”

She tilts her head as she looks up at him, “you lied to me.” 

He nods. He lifts his hand and runs it through his hair. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, “I lied to you.” 

He lied when he said that he moved on from you. He lied when he told her that he loves her. He lied so many times and still, he tried to be good for her because he really wanted to try and be with her. 

“Do you love her?” She asks, already knowing the answer. 

Steve doesn’t even hesitate, he is done lying.  

“Yes.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes and he doesn’t even understand why – he is not the one that she wants. 

“Was it all just a lie then?” She asks, throwing her hands up. 

He shakes his head. No. It wasn’t all a lie, only his feelings, they were a lie, his love for her, that was a lie. 

He likes her, he always did. He liked spending time with her, he liked taking her out on dates, he liked studying with her and taking her to the movies afterwards but that’s all it was, he liked it. 

“No.” 

“God,” she breathes, “you’re so full of shit, Steve.” 

Her eyes that held pain and disbelief are now filled with anger and rage. 

“It wasn’t a lie?” She asks, stepping closer to him. 

As he looks down at her, he notices that he isn’t scared of what she is about to say. He isn’t scared that the relationship will be ruined after what words will spill from her mouth. He isn’t scared of what he will feel once she’s gone because, even when she leaves, his heart won’t be broken. 

No one can break his heart, no one but you. 

“No, I really liked you, Nancy.” 

She nods, her eyes widen and she purses her lips as she looks at him through her lashes- angrily. 

“Liked,” she says with such distaste in her voice. She takes a look around the messy room, she takes a look at the things on the ground, your things. “This is such bullshit.” 

Steve tenses up at her words, a cold shiver runs down his spine as he looks at her. 

“Why did you – why did we even get together?” 

He doesn’t know, he won’t be able to give her an answer, he doesn’t even have it himself. 

“Why did you leave her when you clearly still loved her?” She asks, raising her voice as she begins to pace around his room, kicking away the book that once belonged to you, one that he never gave back. “Why did you lie to me and say that you didn’t love her?”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. 

“Why did you tell me that you love me when it was all bullshit?” Nancy asks and suddenly halts in her tracks when she realizes that she did just the same. She told him that she loved him when her heart was somewhere else. “You know what, this is all bullshit.” 

“Nance,” Steve mumbles as he opens his eyes. He looks down at the ground. He can’t stand to hear these words again, it will always take him back to the night in your room, when he had almost kissed you, when he told you that he still loves you. 

“No!” 

She turns around to face him, she points her finger at him. 

“Let’s not fight.” He raises his hands up, trying to get her to calm down. “I don’t–”

“This whole relationship was bullshit, Steve! W-We kept acting like we’re in love when we–”

“When we aren’t in love?” He asks calmly, eyeing her slumped shoulders and the defeat in her eyes when she realizes that there is no use to fight. 

She doesn’t want to admit it, still worried about hurting him when she knows that no one could hurt him, no one but you. She looks at him, she takes in the sight of him. He is calm, even after what he found out a few days back. 

Suddenly, Nancy feels like a hypocrite for doing this to him. For taking his room apart, for getting upset over your stuff in his closet, for confronting him like this, for yelling at him when she was the one who got caught kissing someone else – she got caught by him and unlike her, he didn’t get mad, he just accepted it and then acted like nothing happened. 

Just like you always did. 

“Where were you tonight?” 

He doesn’t know why she is asking him that, they both know that this is the end. 

“I was with y/n. Her birthday is tomorrow. We have always spent the night before together, ever since we were little kids.” 

She raises her brows and nods, still feeling bitter about it, despite everything. 

“And you?” He asks, tilting his head, “where have you been? I dropped by your house earlier tonight and you weren’t home. Where were you?” 

Once again, she breaks eye contact, too ashamed to give him the real answer. 

Steve can tell the truth now. She can’t. 

But he is done with this, with everything. 

He sighs and he walks closer to her. 

Nancy crosses her arms over her chest, she bites down on her lip nervously. 

She is struggling to tell him the truth but he wants her to know that it’s okay. 

“Nancy, look at me.” 

He takes her hand in his, ignoring the way it feels so wrong to hold hers after yours. 

“Please.”

She looks up at him. 

Blue eyes filled with guilt meet the warm hazel ones, the one filled with sadness but also with calmness. 

“I know what happened with you and Jonathan, back in december,” he mumbles, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Steve..”

“It’s okay, Nance,” he whispers, squeezing her hand, “it’s okay.” 

“You should be with him.” 

Her brows snap together, her lips part in surprise. She blinks, staring up at him with confusion in her eyes. 

“We’re not right for each other,” he whispers, “you love him and I love her – and I can’t be with her but you can be with him.” 

Her eyes soften and the tension slowly leaves her body. She still feels guilty, for more than one reason. 

“It’s enough if one of us is miserable,” Steve says, trying to crack a joke. 

The smile on her face is forced. 

“We both know that this isn’t working, Nance. We keep pretending, we keep lying to each other, we keep acting like we’re happy with each other when we’re not. This needs to stop.” 

Her eyes well up with tears but she agrees with him. 

“Yeah,” she whispers and slowly removes her hand from his. 

“So this is it?” She asks, lifting one shoulder as she gives him a look of uncertainty. 

“Yes,” he nods, “this is it.”

“Okay,” she whispers. 

Both of them felt it coming. It’s been tense between them for weeks now, ever since the night you had called him.

When he and Eddie went after Ray and he walked out of the fight with injuries, with bruises on his temple and his knuckles, he had to lie to her to avoid the truth. She didn’t believe him when he said that a few guys from the basketball team had attacked him so she kept pressing him for answers, she wanted the truth, the truth that she never got. 

To this day, she doesn’t know what really happened. 

That put another dent into their relationship. 

But her lies were so much bigger and crueler than his. 

Still, he tried. He took her out on more dates than usual but both of them forced their happiness, their love and even their smiles. It was all forced. 

A heavy sigh falls from her lips, she wipes away the tear that fell down her cheek. 

“I-I guess I’m gonna go.”

He nods. 

They both take one final look at each other. Both of them knew that this would happen but neither of them thought that it would happen this soon. 

“I’ll drive you home.”

She shakes her head, “I took my mom’s car, didn’t you see it in the driveway?” She asks. 

“Oh,” he scratches the back of his neck. He didn’t see it, he didn’t really notice anything, his mind was with you, “right.” 

“Yeah, uh.. I guess I’ll see you around?” 

“Yeah, see you around.” 

The moment she leaves and he hears the front door slamming, he feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders but at the same time, he feels this grief inside of him because he knows that now, he is truly all alone. 

His parents are gone. 

Tommy is gone. 

You are gone. 

And now, she is gone too and there is no one he can distract himself with anymore.

He is all on his own now. 

He drops down on his bed and he looks at the mess in his room. He stares at your things. Something shiny that glistens beneath the light in his room catches his attention. He leans down to pick it up. It’s your hair pin, the one that you wore on your birthday last year. 

He feels the coil in his throat, the sickening feeling when he thinks about what happened when he came back to you after he left you all alone on your birthday. 

He drank at Tina’s party, he drank so much, he was miserable without you, he was angry at himself for the way he treated you, for the way he had been treating you for weeks prior to your birthday. 

He didn’t party, he didn’t dance, he didn’t laugh, he didn’t even spend time with Tommy. He only drank until the bitter taste of whiskey made him feel sick and long for you. Without saying goodbye to his friends, he left and walked across town to your place. 

It was 11pm by the time he got there, he sneaked into your room to find you in the same state as him. You were sitting on your floor with a half empty bottle of whiskey, you were crying and staring blankly at the TV screen. 

“You gotta stop leaving your window open,” he said, startling you. 

Your head snapped towards him, your glossy eyes widened and you instantly put the bottle down, you jumped up. 

You stood there and stared at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“I-I always leave it open for you,” you said with a shaky voice.

It was his fault. 

He hurt you on your birthday and he came over to fix it but he only made it worse. 

He kissed you. He kissed you so deeply and passionately the way he had never usually done anymore. He took your clothes off and you helped him out of his, before you both made your way over to your bed. 

He kissed all over your face, he kissed your neck, your chest. 

He intertwined your fingers together. 

He praised you. 

He told you how much he loved you. 

He made love to you that night – it was soft, sweet and perfect. And he didn’t realize just how much it was hurting you that he was doing that while he was drunk, while you were both drunk. That he was showing you a vulnerable and loving side after all the alcohol he consumed. That he was giving you something that he never gave you while sober. 

He gave you everything in that moment and then, he took it all away again when he pushed you off of him after you tried to lay your head on his chest. He pushed you off and he didn’t bother to look at you, he didn’t bother to look at the shocked and hurt look in your eyes when he turned his back to you. 

He pushed your hand off when you tried to hug him once again. 

He pushed you away twice. 

“Steve,” you whispered with a shaky voice. He knew you were on the verge of tears, he knew you were about to cry. 

You touched his arm, softly, carefully. 

“Don’t.” Is all he said to you as he shrugged your hand off. 

He heard your sniffle and the rustling of the sheets as you pulled away from him. You turned away from him too and you waited, you waited until you thought that he had fallen asleep before you broke down again that night. 

You tried to be quiet but you couldn’t, you cried. 

You cried and he did nothing. He just laid there, blinking away his own tears as he looked out the window, asking himself why he couldn’t just hold you. He listened to you cry and he did nothing, not even when his mind was screaming at him to just turn around and pull you into his arms. 

When your sniffles died down and he was sure that you had cried yourself to sleep, he did something that he couldn’t do while you were still awake. 

He turned around and he wrapped his arm around you.

-

“Are you ever gonna tell me where you’re taking me?” 

Eddie shakes his head, flashing you a smile. 

“Nope.” 

You chuckle and lean back, you look out the window. 

Eddie doesn’t know what day it is and you feel relieved about it. You will forever continue to be dramatic about your birthday, you like to pretend that this day doesn’t exist – which is impossible considering your family and friends know about it. 

“Are you hungry?” Eddie asks, “cause I’m hungry.” 

You hesitate and Eddie narrows his eyes to look at you. You lean forward, turning the volume up when your favorite Metallica song comes on. He knows what you are trying to do.

“I ate earlier.” 

“Ah, what did you eat, sweetheart?” 

Birthday cake. Your mom made it. 

“Toast.”

“That’s all?” He gasps. 

“It’s only 6 in the evening!” 

“Yeah and you only had breakfast!” 

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Y/n,” he sighs. 

“Eddie,” you sigh, giving him a sweet smile. 

A look of disapproval crosses his face, he shakes his head at you. 

“I’m gonna make you dinner.” 

You snort when you look out the window. You are far from the trailer park and from your house. He picked you up in the afternoon and took you to the movies the way he wanted to the night before. 

He didn’t ask what you did last night and he didn’t ask where you had gotten the necklace from, the one that is now around your neck. 

He knows everything without having to ask and you don’t even know that he is aware of things that you are trying to keep a secret. 

When Eddie pulls up to the quarry, you look at him in confusion, “uh the quarry?” You ask, “what are we doing here?” 

You’d hung out at Lovers Lake, Skull rock, Lake Jordan and even at the hidden lake in the woods but you had never come out here. 

As you look around, you wonder why you haven’t been here before. It’s quiet with no people around, it’s a beautiful spot to come out here whenever you need a moment to yourself. 

The sun is shining down on the blue water, it looks good enough to jump in but it’s still not warm enough to take a swim.  

“Well, it’s about time we find new hangout spots!” He says with a grin. He turns off the engine and it falls silent between the two of you when the music stops playing. 

“Ready to get high, sweetheart?” 

You chuckle, “yes.”

He gets out of the van and you follow suit. Smoothing down your dress, you reach for your jacket before you close the door. 

Eddie walks around the van, bowing down before you, he offers you his hand. 

Giggling, you shake your head as you place your hand in his. 

“Dork.” 

He gives you a proud smirk as he pulls you closer to him, he raises your hand towards his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Your dork,” he winks. 

You can’t help but laugh, unaware of the blush on your cheeks. 

“Definitely a dork,” you giggle, “a cute dork.”

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder, “come on.” 

The confused look on your face makes him smile smugly. That smile should have been enough for you to know. 

You look around, there is nothing but rocks, trees and the huge lake in front of you. Not a single bench in sight, nothing to sit down on but the hard concrete floor, “are we not gonna smoke in the back of your van?” You ask, “where are we supposed to sit?” 

There is an innocent look on his face but his eyes are filled with mischief. 

Maybe he does know about your birthday. Maybe he is mad at you for keeping it a secret. Maybe he is gonna push you into the water for not telling him – that thought makes you want to laugh. Eddie would never do that. 

“You’re not gonna push me into the water are you?” You joke. 

You can’t help but smile at the sound of his laughter and at the way his eyes shine so beautifully when he looks down at you. His curls aren’t as messy as they usually are, he is wearing a new shirt and a new cologne. 

It makes your stomach flip – you don’t know why. 

“You smell good.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks despite the pounding in his chest. 

You nod. 

“New cologne?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“I like it.”

“You do, huh?” 

“Yes,” you smile. 

The look in his eyes suddenly makes you nervous, you have to look down to avoid the fluttering in your stomach. 

He leads you down to the little bay, one that is surrounded by beautiful pine trees and a secret camping place. He smirks at the sight in front of him and glances down at you to see you still looking down at your shoes, just as you’re about to lift your head up, he grabs you and pulls you against him, holding both hands in front of your eyes. 

“Eddie?” You ask, chuckling. 

He leans his chin on your shoulder and pulls your hair back, “not gonna lie, I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me.”

You frown, “w-what?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers and removes his hands again to reveal his little surprise. 

Your eyes widen, your jaw drops as you look around in confusion and surprise. 

There is a campfire, logs surrounding it, a boombox perched on one of the tree trunks. Coolers and snacks, along with a birthday cake that Robin is holding up with a grin on her face. 

Your friends are here, well, most of them. 

Heather, Chrissy and Robin are standing next to each other looking at you in excitement. Gareth, Jeff and Grant are wearing party hats, the sight of them makes you giggle. 

“Surprise!” 

“Happy birthday!” 

“Oh my god, are you kidding?” You laugh, clapping your hands together. 

“Happy birthday!” Chrissy squeals, being the first to run towards you and pull you into a tight hug. “I’ve been waiting for this all day!” 

You wrap your arms around her, “thank you, Chris,” you giggle, closing your eyes as you hug her back just as tight. Heather joins the two of you, hugging you from behind, she kisses your cheek. 

“Happy birthday, babe,” she grins as though she hasn’t been the first to call this morning, pulling you out of your deep slumber. 

“Can I join you girls?” Gareth asks, wiggling his brows at Heather who flips him off. 

“No boys in a girls group hug,” Chrissy says to him. 

“I can’t wait to give you my present, y/n!” Jeff grins as he is the next to hug you. 

“What did you get her, Jeff?” Gareth asks, “a poster of Eddie?” 

Grant bursts into laughter and so does Gareth, proud of his own joke. 

Eddie rolls his eyes with a blush on his cheeks. 

“C’mere, birthday girl!” Robin says to you, stealing you from Jeff, she kisses your cheek, “I can’t believe you thought that you could keep this from us!” 

“I can’t believe you guys are throwing a party for me,” you say, blushing. 

“That was Eddie’s idea,” she smiles, winking at you. 

Huffing, you turn away from her to hide the flustered look on your face. Eddie stands there with a smile, watching you interact with your friends before your attention strays back to him and your soft eyes lock with his. 

“Let’s party, guys!” Gareth claps his hands together, walking away from the group. 

Grant walks over to the boom box to put on some music. Jeff gives Eddie a sheepish smile, “I’ll get the drinks.”

“I’ll help!” Heather says, following him. 

That only leaves Robin and Chrissy who are still looking between you and Eddie before they look at one another. Robin smiles down at the blonde, “wanna help?” She asks, wanting to give the two of you some privacy. 

Chrissy’s brows furrow, she stares up at the tall girl. 

“With the drinks, I-I mean,” Robin mumbles. 

“Oh!” Chrissy giggles, “yeah, let’s go.” 

You and Eddie don’t notice the two blushing girls, you are too busy looking at each other.

“How did you know that it’s my birthday?” 

“I asked your mom,” he responds, quirking a brow as he looks up at the sky, “like, back in december.” 

Your eyes soften. 

He asked your mom about your birthday?

“Eddie,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You lay your head on his warm chest, “you are the sweetest.”

His chest rumbles as he laughs at your words, hugging you tightly. 

“That title belongs to you.” 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you mumble into his chest, “not for me.”

Eddie frowns at your words and he squeezes your arms. There is nothing that he wouldn’t do for you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I’d do this for,” he whispers before he places a kiss on the top of your head. 

You lift your head up and you look into his eyes with a smile, “thank you, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear. “I got something for you.”

“More?” You ask surprised. 

He chuckles, “yeah, come on,” he whispers. 

You follow him without question, letting him lead you down to the water for a little more privacy. 

The sound of music fills the air, drowning out the voice of the crickets and your friends chatter.

“You’re spoiling me today,” you giggle. 

“Gotta spoil my best friend,” he winks at you before he takes both of your hands and turns you around so you’re both facing each other again. “I got a feeling that your friends won’t let me have a moment with you alone so,” he pauses as he lets go of one of your hands, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little bag, one that is in colorful wrapping paper, “you’re getting this now.”

“Another birthday present?” 

“Of course,” he chuckles, “I’ve only been waiting for months to give it to you,” he says dramatically with an eyeroll. 

“Months?” You gasp. 

“Yeah, months!” 

You giggle, looking down at the little present in your hands. You unwrap it quickly and eagerly. 

Eddie laughs but watches you in anticipation. 

You scrunch up the wrapping paper and push it into his hands, making him laugh again. He stuffs it back inside of his leather jacket. 

You open the bag and gasp, “oh my god!” You squeal, jumping in excitement, “no way, Eddie!” 

You reach for the ring. The skull ring that you have seen in the window at the Gothic shop that you passed by when you spent a weekend in Indianapolis, back in February. 

“Where’s the other one?” You ask, knowing that it’s a set. 

He grins at you, motioning you to put the ring on your finger before he picks the matching one out of his pocket, showing it to you. “I’ve been waiting to finally wear it!” 

“Put it on!” 

He chuckles at your excitement, unable to fight the grin off of his face, he puts the ring on his finger and holds his hand out to you. 

“We’re matching!” You smile as you eye the ring on yours and his finger, “I love it so much, Eddie!” 

“That makes me happy, sweetheart.” 

He might not be able to give you expensive lockets or bracelets but, he still gets to make you smile and that is enough, for now. 

You cup his cheeks and stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek. 

His cheeks heat up at the feeling of your lips on his skin. 

“Thank you,” you whisper again. 

He can’t help but place a kiss on your cheek as well, making you giggle again. Neither of you notice the flash of the camera going off.

You are happy, you are smiling and this is all he wanted to see. He wanted to see you happy, especially tonight. After all your horrible birthdays, he wanted to give you one that you can look back on and smile instead of thinking of it with a heavy feeling in your chest. 

So he tries to make it as memorable as possible so it may be able to put a shadow over all the bad ones that you have had. 

And the night is perfect, this birthday is perfect. 

You laugh with your friends, you share a joint and you get tipsy from all the mixed drinks. You make s’mores and listen to your favorite songs. 

You unwrap the presents your friends had gotten you – including Dustin’s present who wasn’t allowed to this party. He of course got you a Hellfire shirt, the very persistent boy has been trying to get you to join their club for months now. 

And when it’s time for your cake, you can’t help but giggle when the guys sing out of chorus. 

“Who made this cake?” You ask after blowing out the candles. 

“Uh, the store!” Robin says, sheepishly as she gives you a crooked grin. 

“I tried baking one myself,” Eddie says next to you, “I almost ended up without a home.” 

“Wait what?” You ask, laughing but holding your hand to your chest, giving him a pout. He even tried to bake a cake for you. 

“I’m surprised you had a fire extinguisher at your place,” Robin jokes. 

Eddie clutches his chest, giving her a glare, “I’m insulted, Buckley.”

“You could live with me,” you giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

He looks down at you with a smile while everyone else shares a look. 

Chrissy, who has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looks at Robin, who sits back down next to Gareth. Feeling eyes on her, she lifts her head to catch the pretty cheerleader staring at her. 

It’s dark out and the only light surrounding the group is the campfire. That is enough to make the red cheeks very visible, on both girls. 

Jeff glances at the matching rings on yours and Eddie’s hands.

“Nice rings, why didn’t you invite us to the wedding?” He asks, wiggling his brows at the two of you. 

“Did the invitation get lost in the mail?” Eddie chuckles, “sorry about that.” 

Gareth gasps, clutching his beer tightly to his chest, “you’re not pregnant with a Munson baby, are you y/n?” He smirks. 

You put your hand on your stomach, “oh yes, I’m having quadruplets!” 

“Oh my god, y/n!” Heather snorts, “stop joking about it or you’re actually getting them someday!” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder, “yeah so? We’re having our own band, the new Corroded Coffin.”

“No!” Grant almost yells. 

You and Eddie laugh at his sudden outburst. 

Chrissy and Robin fade out the conversation around them, their eyes are locked and the only sounds they hear is the crackling of the fire and their pounding hearts. 

As they are unable to keep their eyes off of each other, you and Eddie are unable to move away from one another. 

He puts a blanket around you when the night gets colder and you still scoot closer to him, reaching for his hand in search of more warmth and when he kisses the top of your head, a new pair of eyes catches sight of you with him.  

Steve didn’t plan to show up at your party. 

Despite how well things had gone between the two of you the night before, he still didn’t want to intrude, knowing that he isn’t welcome here. 

But he wanted to see you, even if just from afar, he wanted to see you and make sure that you are having a nice time, that you are having a better birthday, a better night than you have had in the year before. 

So, he showed up at your party. 

But he did not expect to see you in Eddie’s arms – not like this. 

He sees you smile and even though it breaks his heart to see you with him, he can walk away with a calm feeling in his chest because he gets to know that this night won't end for you in tears this time.

But for him, it does. 

next chapter

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tagging friends & mutuals!

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @screammunson @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx @nemesis729 @somethingvicked @sherrylyn628 @chrissymjstan

[the-local-scp]

guess whos back on Danganronpa bullshit and has their first non despair au idea. Me. Its me guys.

So like. The idea is that Junko is just another student at hopes peak right? But as the Ultimate Analyst, the school recognizes her past grades n shit and are like "okay shes brilliant, but what else?" so they spend the first few days observing her and what her talent really *means*. They determine that shes obviously bored with their standard curriculum and shes bored in ultimate specific classes

They recognize Junko is beyond genius, so they offer her something that will hopefully keep her entertained. They allow her to update ultimate specific classes, tests, trials, whatever. On top of that they allow her to personally oversee the lucky students, in hopes that because lucky students rely on worldly phenomena it will actually give her a challenge to make trials for them/take notes and figure out how their students luck works.

Enter Makoto Naegi. he gets hurt at some point, one of his very very few major injuries ever, and has to sit out the luck tests for awhile. He ends up chilling with Junko as she observes the other students, and they start talking. Makoto quickly figures out that oh she's in charge because this is helping her become even better and its challenging for her, and Junko is almost surprised he understood so quickly. She already thought Makoto was interesting because of his luck and how it only affects him and how there's no rhyme or reason to it, but now shes even more invested because he quickly understood her and why shes there.

They end up bev genuine good friends, tho occasionally Junko does remind Makoto that she could just destroy the country if not start a new war if she wanted. She's smart enough to do so, it just takes a few computers and phone calls. But Makoto knows this, and he also knows she's never actually gonna do it. Cause if she wanted to, she would have already. He may not be as smart as Junko, but he knows that she's not the type to sit around and wait for something, usually she wants and she gets.

But really, the reason Junko likes Makoto the most is because he treats her like a person. He was intimidated by her originally, but they got more familiar and he wasn't afraid to do so. Usually other ultimates are careful around her, reserve course students almost cower away from her. But Makoto Naegi, some rando who won the lottery, is the first person to look at her and say she looks "weird". He's the first person to offer to share his lunch, he's the first to offer her his number, hes the first to share stupid memes with her.

tldr: Makoto and Junko should be friends i think

[moondirti]

10. RESILIENCE

CHAPTER TEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter nine / chapter eleven ⇀

summary: miguel gives you something to work for

explicit (18+) | 5.1k words warnings: enemies (with benefits) to lovers, SMUT, fingering, praise kinks, edging, miguel is a tease, training arcs, using sex as encouragement, strict mentor miguel, angst, blood and injury notes: this is just five thousand words of banter and filth. am i sorry?

You’ve never been one to reminisce. 

Nostalgia, déjà vu – to pull a sweet memory often feels like trying to fish a lightbulb out from the traps of your jaw. Impossible, not unless the glass shatters to cut your gums and you’re left with the bitter aftertaste of tungsten. There’s a barrier preventing it, somewhere in your mind, built to divide your life into two clean segments. Before and after.

The woman you were before the incident at Alchemax had plenty to look forward to. She spent her time shooting way beyond her ground to ever consider slowing down, lured by aspirations far more tempting than the comfortable life she led. Had she stopped to smell the flowers, to appreciate the way lavender lotion felt on her skin or the past not yet marked with blood, you believe things could have gone differently. That too is hard to consider.

The girl you are now is ripe with rot, softening in the places touched by radiation, crystallising in others. To bring anything – a voice, a face, any memory ­­– back from your previous life would mean spoiling it, so you keep it all banked behind that wall. And of course, from the year past, there’s hardly anything new to recall with a smile.

Had you been anyone else, you suppose this could’ve been one of those rare times.

Because the gym is unchanged, exactly as you left it. Realistically, it’s only been a week, and to expect any major upheaval would be counting on a tragedy like the one that befell your Earth. Yet­–

Somehow, you believed that coming back could paint it in a new light. Like the ground would collapse where you took him, and the mirrors would crack, all to expose an element you’d failed to consider. One to help you take comfort in the fact, despite your reckless tryst, you’re still here. Returned – which means that all your worst worries were needless, and that this is just a gym, and you are just a person. Perhaps, if you were to pace around that gaping realisation, then your anxiety would give away to thrill.

Would’ve. Could’ve.

It still looks like the roots of your most recent mistake, though. Your tummy knots with it, tangled in that dermal tissue. You’re overcome with the urge to run, in an almost exact mirror of the last you were here. The air brims with promise; not the well-heeled kind, but a twisted sort that makes it hard to breathe. You’re afraid that, whatever happens today, things will only get more complicated. You won’t handle it well if it does.

You’ve never been one to reminisce. This morning, it is all you can do.

When eventually it gets too much to bear, you search for something else while you wait. You’d come early, right out of your third shower of the weekend, to counter the warning he’d given you.

(‘Don’t be late.’)

Shivering, you zip your jacket before arranging your things on the entryway bench. You avoid your reflection on the mirror-lined wall, turning to face the machinery instead. They aren’t conventional, you notice – though a shelf holds an array of dumbbells, they run up to twice the average weights found elsewhere. There’s a frame resembling a medieval torture device; two hand pull mechanisms on either side, both of which are attached to a tower of barbells. To try pulling both up simultaneously would rip an unenhanced human apart, you think. It certainly would come close in doing so to you.

Of the bunch, your least favourite has to be the leg press sent from hell. That’s what you assume it is, at least. In truth, you can’t exactly tell. With a plate large enough to cover your entire lower half, wedged underneath approximately forty thick slabs of solid steel, the pressure alone would be enough to crush you.

You remain firmly within the confines of the hand-to-hand combat mat. Safe, if not somewhat weird for your foul misuse of it in the past. 

But your unease is heavy enough to diffuse into your fingertips now. Your knuckles shake with it, and you must do something lest you start clawing away at your palms.

Stretching, maybe.

Yeah. Stretching would be good.

You start with what you know. The familiarity is agreeable enough to lose yourself to it. Five minutes pass; you’re bent into a low lunge. Ten, and you’re forcing your knees to touch the floor in a butterfly spread. Fifteen is when your tendons start to tremble with a warm ache, when you finally feel loose enough to relent and take a quick rest.

It turns out to be fortunate timing. The door swings upon not a moment later, the atmosphere sinking to accommodate the gravity of his presence. You catch his shadow from the top of your peripheral, hanging upside down as it appears from your point of view – laying on your back with your head slightly tipped.

You can’t see his face, and therefore have nothing to occupy yourself with. In its absence, you’re forced to consider the uncomfortable parallel your position draws forth. The only thing missing are his thick thighs, straddling your chest with subdued strength.

Swallowing, you flip around to settle on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a good look at him. Last night, eyes hot and cloudy with tears, you refused to do yourself the favour in fear that his allure would only exacerbate things. You begin to understand the sentiment when your gaze locks to his.

“Morning.”

“You’re late,” You attempt to joke, grimacing at the awkward timing. The beam on which your relationship stands is precarious, possibly even more so than when you’d been plain-cut enemies. Everything is painted in grey, and it’s near impossible to discern where one boundary branches and the other ends. The confidence with which you once divulged in your humour is lost within the midst – your best bet is to cling to whatever instinct feels right.

Miguel nods, eyebrows raising in tandem to his languid shrug. There’s an almost playful beat to the way he walks, lined perfectly with the perimeter of the mat. You take note of his chosen apparel – his spider suit, perfectly complete save for the mask. A swell akin to disappointment rises within you.

“That expectation is solely reserved for you, fortunately.”

“I see. I suppose heroes have much better things to do, then.”

“Fate of the multiverse,” He waves his wrist, like the barb is easily dismissed. With what you’ve gathered about the man, you’re aware that’s far from the truth. “I still have things to tend to, beyond your containment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” With the way he’s pursued you – relentless, a panther trapped in a box with an immaterial mouse as its meal – you’d have thought he’d delegated all other responsibilities to his trusted teammates in order to make time for it all. “Coming back from a mission?”

He traipses closer, blinking slowly in the affirmative. Unconsciously, you wiggle away.

“Successful, I take it?” You prod. “That an oddity for you, O’Hara?”

“The opposite.” He mutters, assessing your resting stance with mild intrigue. Your neck throbs with the angle it takes to peer up at him, again prompting a reminder of your last combat session. To quell it, you shift to sit on your knees.

Then, you imagine how your adjustment must look. Worse, likely. Wanton.

(Caveats seem to exist in abundance with him. There is always a but to your actions, a perspective to consider lest you want another misunderstanding.)

“My case being the exception?”

“As it continues to be.”

“I’m here though,”

“You are.” He pauses, inflection softening, as though the argument were fresh news. You half anticipate praise – a recognition of the effort it took for you to return. You’d spent your sleep after coming down that rooftop in a half-conscious state, reaching beyond your feverish dreams to grasp at whatever motivation you had left. You find, the longer he goes without mentioning it, the greater it begins to wane. Like a dying star, sputtering the last dregs of its fuel.

“Early too, I should mention.” You simper. For most intended purposes, it’s a crack at him, a push for the levity today so desperately needs. Yet another, lower part of you already mouths the response you wish to hear.

Good job.   

He doesn’t give it to you. “Which brings me to the topic today’s lesson,”

“As a precaution, I should tell you that any of the equipment will likely kill me.” You disclose, if only to brush off the disillusionment, pointing in particular to the leg press. 

“We’re not just there yet.”

“Then…”

“You want to know why you failed to pin me down when I asked you to?” He crouches, levelling to a degree closer to your eye-line. Still taller, you note. You steel yourself against shrinking back.

“Because you threw me off.”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “If you had kept with your attack, then you would’ve managed.”

You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to consider the reality of your clumsy attempt. The conversation lulls to make room for your contemplation. You’d thrown yourself onto him ­– like a glorified backpack – and were too wrapped up in your own panic that you hadn’t noticed his. With hindsight, though, it’s clear as day. He’s right, you could’ve managed. “But I faltered.”

“Exactly.” He echoes. “You didn’t stand your ground, which gave me the opening.”

It occurs to you that he doesn’t know the scope of your supposed error. It had really been the effect of his borderline aphrodisiacal cologne, potent and a dangerous addition to the vertigo that came with being jostled around. You consider pointing it out, a desperate last bid to disprove the very true argument he’s making, until he interrupts:

“Face down, forearms and toes on the floor.”

Your heart clenches with a febrile panic, blood piping hot through your veins at the same rate that your brain detangles the command behind his words. Either you’re debauched beyond reason, or it registers as filthy because he meant it to be. And where you’d usually rely on context, the murky limits of your relationship makes it hard to comprehend. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and decide that the former is the more plausible option.

(Or you can’t admit to yourself how badly you want the latter to be true.)

Either way, you do as Miguel says.

Once across the ground again, you’re able to better process the direction he’s taking you in. A plank: he’s asking you to do a plank. Ironically, you dread it more than you would’ve done the alternative.

You keep your pelvis to the mat, not yet exercising your core strength. He carries on.

“You lack resilience. Not only are you unable to withstand struggle, you don’t think to recover when you eventually fall.” The barbed observations hurt, striking you where you’re tender. It’s the part of you that’s always dissected everything he does into small, digestible pieces, but has failed to realise that he might’ve been doing the same in turn. “The first mark of a hero is their resilience. For you, that means pitting what you want to do against what you need to do.”

Another strike. You’d poked fun at his philosophical approach before, but it’s starting to make sense. Perhaps that fact alone should scare you.

Perhaps it does.

(What you want versus what you need.

Is that what you owe the world, then? Self-sacrifice – some bloody atonement – like you haven’t already bitten tooth and nail in guilt?)

“So, you’re going to make me plank?” You snap.

“I’m going to make you hold a plank. I won’t define a duration; you’ll just have to keep on until I tell you to stop.”

“O’Hara, not to question the metaphor you’ve got going on, but what could I possibly want from that?” 

“I’ve only witnessed you work hard for one thing.” He explains. It takes on a different tone than the one he’s been using thus far, though. Gentler, well-versed in the ways of a veterinary placating a feral cat. He’s treading lightly, you can tell that much, but for what you’re not sure. Because you’re close to walking out again, or because he’s about to broach unmarked territory. Whatever it is, it reads as condescending. Your muscles start to tense, like a taut elastic ready to snap, and your critique sharpens for what he’ll suggest next. “I won’t assume, and with what it can do as a form of encouragement, it’s important that you agree.”

“Spit it out.”

He doesn’t know you; you tell yourself. You’ve given him a lot of your worst, and maybe he can decipher a few truths from that, but he does not know you. You repeat the mantra over and over like a soothing balm, attempting to tamp your frantic confusion at this whole ordeal. 

“I’ll touch you. Return the favour, goad you along – but only for as long as you’re able to hold it. Drop, and I’ll stop. Pick yourself back up, I’ll continue.”

Oh.

Oh.

“When I feel as though you’ve met today’s goal, you can cum.”

And then he goes quiet. Deathly still, pouring his scrutiny into your wide eyes like he can read every thought that fires within you. But he wouldn’t be, because there are none. You don’t think. Can’t. It’s absolutely the last thing you could’ve predicted, a declaration so far removed from your worst-case-scenario that it sends you reeling beyond your flesh. You’re watching yourself in third person, a voyeur to the blubbering spectacle of Wraith – blanched and warm and entirely empty-headed. It’s unfathomable, disconcerting. 

Then, to make matters worse, you laugh.

In a manner completely unbecoming of the seriousness you’d opted to take this whole thing with, you laugh.

A crowing, boisterous sound of relief that crackles through your chest like lightning. You have to heave huge gulps of air in between to be able to respond. “You’re serious,”  

A dark eyebrow raises, the corner of his mouth curling with it. He must find it funny too, and for that you’re thankful. The mere notion injects a molten buzz into your gut. “Yes.”

“So… What – you’re insinuating a mentorship… with benefits situation?”

“No.” He shakes his head, like the title is any more ridiculous than the fact. “I’m giving you the option. You can’t trust your encouragement alone, so take it as something to look forward to. Something to work for. With it, you’ll be able to tell when you’re on the right track.”

“You’re going to Pavlov me into becoming a hero.”

He blinks. You meant it as a joke, though he seems to be taking it into account.

“If you don’t-”

“I want to.”

It’s said so quickly that you regret not faking a moment of deliberation. Really, though, there are only three things that occur to you:

Your contrition following last time was solely based on your fear of having overstepped.

The bottomless itch in you demanding some sort of recognition for your efforts remains unaddressed.

And him. It’s such an abstract reason that you can’t exactly name its contribution to your answer. Just that it’s him who’s asking; patchouli infused, broad-shouldered and stubborn Miguel O’Hara. The same man who you’d bet your life on wanting nothing to do with you, whose claw marks still scar the flesh above your wrist, whose venom still undoubtedly lingers in your system – making itself familiar with the chambers of your heart, that which you yourself can’t map. The very same man you can imagine being a father to adoring little children, because despite all the evidence to your feud, he’s also the same man who answered your curiosity about the 2099 space station with patience. Who’d cradled your neck between that rubble and refrains from calling you Wraith since you expressed your distaste for it.

Who felt so heavy on your tongue, pulsing and so fucking thick you wake up some mornings to the phantom feel of it stretching your lips.

Desire begins to gnaw up your bones. Changing your mind now would be the most blatant betrayal of oneself.

(What was it you promised earlier; to cling to whatever instinct feels right?)

“Extend your legs then.” He doesn’t let you dwell on it. “That means hips off the floor.”   

You adjust yourself into a proper plank position. Or, less than proper. Miguel takes several issues with it, rising from his crouch.

“Your elbows are too wide apart.” His foot nudges your arm until you bring it parallel to the other, straight beneath your shoulders. “Evenly distribute your weight to your forearms and toes. Everywhere else should be rigid.”

“Like this?” You turn to assess his expression. Already your lungs clench in exhaustion – this isn’t as fun as you thought it’d be.

“Of course not. Stop trying to look at me. Face down, you’ll hurt your neck like that.” The air swooshes and you assume he’s crouched back down, near your middle. A large hand grazes your belly. It tickles. “Contract it.”

You try to, but the slightest movement causes him to come in contact with you again. It’s over your jacket, just the barest of touches, yet it’s enough to make your form go weak. Your legs almost give out.

“Sorry– Just…” You huff a nervous laugh, adjusting yourself the second his warmth pulls away.

“Not just your abdomen, but your glutes too. You should feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Full body tension.” You tune in to every syllable, triggered into every command like a well-rigged machine. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The acknowledgement makes you preen. It must affect your stance too, because he promptly clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Most importantly, you don’t want this.”

And he finds the small of your back – right where your ass curves upward – to guide you back down, completely straight. His hand doesn’t leave you afterward, either, warm enough that you can make out the contours of it through body heat alone. Somehow, it stirs you even more.

Your groan is so pained that you hope it’s from exhaustion and not pining. “How much longer?”

“Really?” He deadpans.

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Your hips dip.

“I haven’t started the timer yet.”

His fingers slide along your pelvis, tracing it around the curve of your waist, down to where you’re sinking. Then, he lifts you back into place – anchored right above your pubic region. His press now is firmer, nudging into your flesh with the pads of his fingertips, and you can’t help the nauseous thrill arising where they do. They brush beneath your baggy top, skimming the precarious edge where your pants’ hem dives to skin.

You feel like the pages of an old book, flipped through an array of different scenes.

The first and most blatant is the discomfort that starts seizing control of you. Miguel insists you haven’t begun, but your unfit body is already suffering from positioning alone. Contracting your muscles proves harder by the moment, fragility skipping along the tissue until you’re convinced of the temptation to just let go. Your feet are unbalanced, and the unforgiving ground does a number on your elbows. The thin sheen of sweat beading across your hairline can only aggravate your suffocation, not cool you down as needed.

What’s harder to focus on – for all its monopoly on your mind – is how intentional his caress is. Every shift of his hand is practised, hovering right around where you need him but never doing anything about it. If he hadn’t admitted his course of action, then you would have tricked yourself into calling it professionalism. But while you can’t see him, his smirk is almost palpable – like humidity that makes a temporary home in your lungs – and you’re confident enough in it that you’re able to name him a tease. He’s teasing you.

The amalgamation of it all sends you into overdrive. You’ve only begun and you’re already yelling.  

“The timer!”

“You’re making it worse for yourself, you know.” He says, though moves to fiddle with his watch. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know.” But he’s right. Talking amplifies the fatigue.

“I’ll add that to the list. Right next to cocky bastard.”

“Don… Don’t forget sadist–”

“Hm,”

And, as if to emphasise its inapplicability, he cups you.

From behind. Dips his fingers in the space between your thighs, winds them to the front of your groyne, and palms your clothed cunt. 

Your skin prickles. 

“Fuck!”

Static envelops your arms as they phase right through the floor – momentum stopped only by your chin, which remains corporeal. If it weren’t for your tongue, which slips to wedge itself between your teeth, then you’re sure your jaw would have shattered on impact. Ichor floods your mouth, sharp, like butter melted on a penny. You groan, rolling around to rapidly blink up at the ceiling, purging the stars speckling your vision. 

Miguel just looks at you, expectant. His biceps flex when they cross over his chest. 

“That was four seconds.” 

“Oh, pleath. Thpare me the lecture,” Upon sitting up, you spit the blood out to your empty side. Your limbs have already reverted back to their natural state. “Not that you care, but it still counts as a personal record.”

“Go figure.” He mutters, helping you back into place. He doesn’t have to correct your posture this time. “Back to zero.” 

Silence follows the beep of his watch. 

Really, it’s more of a mental hush. You force your mind to scour all preoccupations to the backlog, cleansing the forefront of it to steam-pressed sterility. What had caught you off guard was your lacking focus on the physical; if you had been aware of the smallest movements coming from behind, then perhaps his touch wouldn’t have prompted you to phase out. You hadn’t even noticed his gloves retracting into his suit. 

Your tongue is still sore with incisor shaped indents, and you vow not to repeat the mistake that caused it. 

So, you focus on what’s happening rather than what could. Baby steps, one second after the next, waddling until you find a gait that suits your rhythm. When anything but your abdomen aches, you readjust. Your shoulder joints aren’t supposed to tense like that – you can almost hear him say – so you work on fixing it. If your toes begin to hurt, then clench your calves. Dig your nails into a fist, it helps take away from everything else. 

The air conditioning unit hums evenly from all around you. The echoes of other spider-people outside filter in with it. The combat mat has a vinyl surface that zips when you scratch it. The material of his suit smooths tacitly across your jacket. Your breath is as consistent as you allow it to be, stunted when you exhale. 

Your sweat is itchy as it dries to your lip. Your ribs pound where they fractured a while ago. Sinew wears down the longer you continue to flex it. He flicks the trim of your leggings, stroking the valley of your spine. Your palms split as your nails plough further into them, marked with crescent-shaped beads of red. 

Varicoloured motes float by your nose. Somewhere, hitchhiking on your train of thought, there’s a confusion. No stream of sunlight exists to highlight them. They shouldn’t be here at all. 

But then Miguel slips in, ironing over your cotton panties. Your whole body knits together, bracing like a compressed spring. There’s nothing you can do without making him stop, no jump or grand feat that promises release. You can’t even see the finish line, the marker an uncapturable notion, a rainbow moving away at your same speed. So, instead, you revel in how unwavering he is. 

His hand strokes over the line of your ass, about to push downward to where you need him most, before deciding against it.  

To pinch a cheek. 

He… pinches the swell of fat, right where your rear curves to your hamstrings.

It’s rough enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise. 

“Nmmgf–” You sulk. “Don… Y– T-tease.” 

“Se te olvidó. Squeeze your glutes.”

The sarcastic yes sir dies in your throat. Your face is aflame – from the work out, his ministrations, the revelation that when he reaches your cunt, he’ll be greeted with a humiliating mess. Your thighs are spread apart, yet your underwear still slides over your core, jostled by his intrusion and too slick to provide any real friction. 

That is, until he nips the fabric to bunch up between your lips. It stresses over your clit, biting down on the fattening pressure there. Pleasure tremors up your nerves, unsure of its validity under such an unfamiliar sensation. Your subsequent moan is almost miserable in contrast.

“P-Ple… O’H-ra.” To punctuate your plea, you purse your bottom as hard as you can. A physical signal, a question – is this good? Is it not enough? But all that manages to do is worsen your lust. Adding to the fire tenfold, potent as a gallon of petrol. You try to remain steadfast in the face of it all – this calamity, bombs upturning battlefield soil, to keep yourself in the position he’s asked of you.

But fuck if it isn’t punishing. 

“Mierda– that’s it.” He curses. You’re at the point where it’s enough praise to urge you along. “You’re soaked.” 

You hadn’t noticed his index and middle digits, finally fondling over your hole. Fabric still separates you, bunched tight right over the weeping thing, but as you hold out, he moves it to the side. It snaps away like he’s vocally ordered it to stay that way, his whims laws of physics in their own right, and you use that skewed rationale to supply the basis to your obedience. You couldn’t have done this alone – in no universe, of the hundreds you’ve visited, have you ever thought of it. You’d purchased gym memberships for their showers and walked right past the purpose. In your own world, you’d wasted your limited free time in strangers’ beds.

There’s always been a deficit of purpose in your life. For a brief moment, you’d found it in the stars. Now, with Miguel, you’re granted every ounce you might’ve missed in between, if only to experience what it would be like to unravel by his touch. 

And he leads you to it like he’s been trained in your precise anatomy. Blunt fingers implant onto your electric centre – that bundle of nerves overfed by the edging – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike wrecked sobs. Your eyes cloud with desperation, foggy tears budding at your lashes and flowering down your sweat-slicked cheeks. His thumb responds, thrumming along your opening to test its elasticity. Upon deeming you ready, it dives to plug you shut. 

It’s delicious. You’re beyond delirious. He’s got a grip on you in every way; spiritually, his philosophy for today echoing as your only tether to reality. Mentally, with his stupid fucking lesson and this god-forsaken plank. Physically, strong arm literally hooked into your cunt and coaxing new slick with every quirk of his fingers. 

Which press down with a vengeance now, bearing on a trillion little synapses that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Everything is screwed in, bolted to the same position he asked for – you don’t dare let go. Not as your heart stutters out of beat, finding the pace he dictates instead, flicking over your clit unhinged. Not when the digit that fingers your clinch twirls in place, searching for the lewd sounds it can create. Or with the following squelch, your lungs flaring – embarrassed – at every consecutive one thereafter.

He’s talking, whispering, goading you along. You can’t hear any of it. Either dirty talk or reprimand, it’s lost amidst your self-doubt. 

Because truthfully, you can’t persevere through this much longer. The tunnel continues to unroll before you, the light at the end waning dimmer and dimmer. How wonderfully poetic, you brood; your whole spider-hood spent chasing salvation, navigating through one purgatory to the next, only to lose sight of your little prelude to heaven. 

You want this – so much so that the word begins to blur with need, and Miguel’s lesson gains more relevance. You want this so bad that you’d worship every atom, every callus of his, from cuticle to elbow. 

(Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.) 

What you want and what you need. 

Which is which, again? 

You can let yourself go now, suffer through a shameful orgasm by collapsing to the floor and holding his wrist still to fuck yourself onto. It isn’t so much about that anymore, though – that pure sexual gratification, the most basic of requirements. 

It’s about the thing you’ve been wishing for the whole morning. Approval, the cue that you earned it, filtered through his encouragement alone. Not the physicality that manifests as a screeching voice inside your head, but his own – unadulterated, smoke-charred, the slightest of accents scorching its edges. And whether you like it or not, you can only gain it by enduring this test.

(He walked into this gym with the assumption that you’d want your way, and need his. 

Funny, how things turn out. It’s completely the opposite.

Perhaps he does not know you at all.) 

But he sees you. 

Watches the rigidity of your muscles, how they stiffen further given your newfound resolve. Observes as you smear bloody palms onto your wrists, and sniff back the cries you’ve let rip thus far. Your heels straighten out, ninety degrees to the arch, your head ducking to ensure your torso is as straight as can be. You hardly feel the pain anymore. 

And you see him. 

Or – the vague shape of his hand, tucked beneath your leggings. It’s dark, shadowed by the overhead fluorescents, but the bump is big enough for you to pinpoint when exactly he makes his decision. It halts, breaks away a smidge, and comes back with a renewed vigour.

“Can I!” 

“Go.” He permisses. 

(And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before matter meets antimatter, where magnets lose their function and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, mass converting entirely to energy. When you roll into a ball of fear–)

You wind impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in ripples, but as one metre-high wave, floodgates open to the mat beneath you.

(–and your best to embrace a quick death.)

Miguel aids you down to lay on your back. When he lifts his wrist to check the set stopwatch, his hand glistens with your juices. You're compelled to wipe it off, raptured by humility like he isn’t the one that just fingered you into oblivion.

“Two minutes.” He says. “Good.”

“That… that was only one-twenty seconds?” 

“Talk about a personal record.”  You huff. “Shut up.”

chapter eleven

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[hardlyinteresting]

“you need help.” “no, i need you.” From the prompts list please. And if you're comfortable with it would you write it about the reader being injured and kind of out of it and asking for Hotch

Just you

Warnings: injury, concussion, mentions of blood (non-graphic), stitches

Aaron has seen his fair share of injuries. He's spent time in hospital himself, and sitting vigil at the bedsides of others. His job is dangerous, and more often than not, it's gorey. He's seen blood, and burns, bruises, and contusions. But this is the first time he's ever seen someone so out of it with a concussion.

You're sitting on the back step of the ambulance when he arrives, trying to get away from the paramedics, and worming your way out of the holds Prentiss and Morgan are trying to keep on you. "I'm fine!" He hears you insist as you try to stand again. Your eyes widen when you set your sights on him walking toward you, and he can't help but wince as your head jerks away from the medic who has been trying to stitch the wound on your forehead with a butterfly bandage. "Aaron tell them I'm fine!"

He looks towards one of the medics who explains that you're definitely concussed and the cut on your forehead will need help to close. They're kind and professional as they go over your injuries though he can hear the undertone of mild frustration as you fight to get closer to him.

"You need help," Aaron tells you, letting you take his hand hoping that being next to you might help calm you enough to get you patched up.

You pout, your brows furrowing as you frown and it makes your laceration bleed again. You're holding his hand in both of yours now as if you're afraid of him disappearing. "No, I need you".

"I'm right here," he nearly smiles. Morgan slowly slips away leaving room for Hotch to sit next to you. "The sooner you get patched up, the sooner we can get home".

"We should all get Thai food," you say matter of factly. Emily laughs, now moving away as Morgan had a moment ago, "if I had known I just had to offer you food, we would've been out of here twenty minutes ago".

You know she's only teasing, but Hotch still asks her to go meet up with the rest of the team getting ready to leave. He squeezes your hand as your eyes slip shut watching as you blink yourself awake. Silently he does the math, making a mental note of what times he'll need to set alarms for tonight, very serious about following concussion protocol and making sure he's up to monitor your symptoms.

With your butterfly stitches applied, he guides you to the waiting SUV making sure you're settled before he shuts the door. He trusts JJ to keep an eye on you while he drives, incredibly glad this case was local.

You're more yourself again by the time you've collected your things from the office and made it home. Everyone accepted your rain-check for Thai food with good humour and you're more than ready to just flop the moment you get through the door.

Aaron encourages you to do just that. He helps you change into your pyjamas when moving around too much leaves your head pounding. Once he's changed himself he disappears only to return with a painkiller and a glass of water for you. He seems relieved when you reach out with fairly steady hands to take them.

"Do you need anything else?" He asks making sure you're comfortable.

"Just you".

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[pearlywritings]

Intimacy shared in the wild

synopsis: you and your lover have a steamy moment outside PART 3

pairing: Alhaitham, Kazuha, Tighnari, Thoma (separately) x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, VERY much suggestive, Kazuha is 23-25, breeding kink, oral

word count: 4.4k+ words in total

author’s note: you can check part 2 here and there is going to be part 4!

Alhaitham

Having a pair of piercing eyes make a hole in the back of your head occasionally is exactly what you expected from your little expedition to Mawtiyima Forest. To a passerby on the road between the Sumeru City and the Palace of Alcazarzaray that would look like two scholars are simply on their way, but Alhaitham is watching you like a hawk. That was anticipated, but the lack of the conversation you’ve had ever since leaving through one of the multiple Akademiya exits creates quite an oppressive atmosphere.

Even you have to admit it’s hard to digest.

“Hey,” calling out to him, you slightly turn your head to see if he is listening or not. With a quick movement of his eyes from observing the surroundings back to your figure you are assured that he does. “You know you do not have to go with me there? I just need to take a couple of pictures of the Leylines to illustrate my research of the Forest grounds, I would’ve been back before dinner.”

The man looks you directly in the eyes, and, have you not dated him longer and known even longer, it could’ve sent chills down your spine and urge you to quickly divert your gaze somewhere else. But you know your boyfriend - to prove something to him you need a strong argument, which sometimes feels like you are defending an academic paper.

Eventually Alhaitham sighs and you brace yourself for an argument of his own, one you are aware of too well.

“It’s been just a couple of weeks since your group was attacked during your research outing and you got injured.”

Yes, that is true, but you got injured only because you were protecting others. It just happened that at that time you were the only weapon wielder in your small team, and the closeness of the area of your expedition convinced you and your colleagues from the Spantamad Darshan that hiring the support group is unnecessary.

If it wasn’t for your injury, which is fine (Akademiya doesn’t have healers for nothing), the Scribe wouldn’t even know you went somewhere and then returned. You saw his working table, you know how much work is on his hands at the moment. But that unfortunate encounter made a stoic man lose his cool a little and go as far as order your Darshan’s secretary, to whom every student must hand the application for any kind of research outside of the Akademiya building, especially in the wild, inform him immediately should you hand in one.

So much for a low-profile relationship.

“Alhaitham,” you stop in your tracks and turn around to come face to face with him. Your lover looks at you inquiringly, stopping only when there is just a few inches between your chests. Next second the teal eyes slightly widen, revealing his diamond-shaped irises fully, and hands dart to wrap around yours, cutting off your attempt to undo the next fastener of your uniform.

“What do you think you are doing?” The feigned calmness in his voice contrasts with the worry in his eyes. You roll yours, sighing in exasperation.

“What does it look like? Trying to open the front of my uniform to show that there is no longer any ready to reopen gash under my collarbones.”

His eye twitches, and for a reason his rising irritation fuels your never-ending desire to mess with him, because actually getting a real reaction out of him is priceless. Especially today.

“And what did you think of, Sir? Oh, I might know,” an alluring grin earns you a huff. “You thought I was going to give you a look at my chest, didn't you?”

“What? This is ridicu-”

“Come on, no need to be modest, my love,” taking advantage of his distracted state, you escape his grip and quickly make work of two more fasteners. “You love my breasts, don’t try and argue, this is an axiom.”

You honestly assume he looks insulted for a moment, after your words leave your mouth and register in his brain. However, this man is much more intelligent and self-assured to actually take an insult and act offended about it. No, he tends to backfire.

“Simply because you turn into a moaning mess when I play with them,” it is your turn to gawk at him wide-eyed, fingers frozen in place on the fourth clasp. And fuck do your knees buckle when he smirks, tasting the control on his tongue again. The control over you with mere words. “Whining and squirming and rubbing your thighs together, when I toy with your nipples. What’s with the face, dear? Am I wrong here? Don’t you beg me to suck just a bit more, while you desperately hump my leg, clawing at my shoulders or tugging on my hair? I know what kind of person you are behind the closed doors of our bedroom, Y/n, I made sure to memorize it.”

“Pff, only bedroom? How bad of a scholar you are, Alhaitham, so unwilling to broaden your horizon,” you move the fabric away, showing him more of the smooth skin and the swell of your breasts. The man feels something else starting to swell in his pants because of your tempting teasing. But he is not ready to give up just yet.

“Oh? Are you implying that I should fuck you right here?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“I am implying that you do not have enthusiasm to do so. How sad, looks like those piles upon piles of papers stripped you bare of your desires. Must be hard doing all this work all the time.”

Something is off about the way you are speaking of his duty. This mischievous glint in your eyes and the smile playing on your lips, like you are taunting him of something he hasn’t figured out yet, of some scheme you came up with and trapped him into… 

Wait.

“You don’t need to take the pictures, do you?”

You throw your head back and heartily laugh.

“Nope.”

“And you sent in the application, because you knew I’d follow you.”

“Yep.”

“Because you know that simple words won’t get me out of the office and pay attention to you.”

“Wow, you are so smart,” you applaud him with the most ‘I’m impressed’ look on your face you could master.

He is going to wipe it off.

His sturdy body practically pushes you against the nearby solid surface, mouth silencing yours and hand sneaking into the opening of your uniform, cupping one of the mounds. A moan follows instantly and Alhaitham greedily swallows it, molding your lips with his, hand gently lifting the soft flesh and a thumb running over the swollen bud applying pressure.

“You won’t be so sarcastic once I have you on my cock, and I bet you are tight,” you mewl, when he pinches the nip between his thumb and forefinger and tugs.

“But that's part of "broadening our horizons", right? Now, let’s get your robe out of the way…”

Kazuha

The Chinju Forest basks in the dusk and the beautiful silence. When you and the man beside you were kids, you both were nervous and scared to roam around the area, where the yokais were believed to live. But it always was the most enigmatic and attractive place to you two, and every time the Kaedahara heir came to visit, you ran to the forest to test your courage.

Years later the place doesn't frighten you, quite the opposite - it brings you comfort. It awakens the memory and the flowers glowing all around you make the pictures in your head even clearer.

Of Promises Unkept the Night Flowers Speak… What a poetic name, but such a rueful meaning. You and Kazuha shared so many promises among the fields of fluorescent petals, childish and innocent, but that weighed heavily on your heart when he wasn't there.

I will return again…

You are so glad he did. Many times and yet again.

Of course I will remember you!

And your heart did. Always.

We will never be apart for long or forever…

This vow almost became broken, when your first love fled Inazuma and disappeared into nowhere, a place you didn't know, a place where you couldn't reach him. 

One day we’ll be together till the end of our lives…

Not fair! I wanted to say that!

A promise you try not to think about, as you don't want to demand anything from the wandering samurai. He's just been justified and returned to Inazuma to tend to some important matters, concerning his family and legacy. You doubted he'd stay forever.

"You are so quiet," the voice, akin to the whisper of the wind, makes you shiver as if caressed by a passing breeze. "It doesn't sound like you at all."

"How can it sound anything, if I am silent?" You attempt to joke and indeed hear breathless laughter. You don't have the power to tear your gaze from the quickly darkening sky and glance to the side, where you know the person of your many dreams and nightmares is lying on his back, with one knee bent and arms crossed behind his head.

"You know what I mean, sweet sakura bloom," the term of endearment, one from the past, makes you swoon. 

"Just thinking," you shrug your shoulders, hands clasped together and resting on your stomach. "About the past."

"The past…" It echoes and quickly disappears in the rustle of grass. The conversation seems to come to a halt, and the word hangs in the cool of the air, like an echo that forgot to run far far away, beyond the line of your sight and the limits your hearing can meet. However, Kazuha proves you wrong, as you sense him moving a little.

“Can I have your hand?”

“What?” Your head whips to the side and your breath hitches, when your eyes make contact with his. The young man is gazing at you, like you are holding stars in your palms, and each one of them has his name written on it. He’s changed his position, now resting on his side, supporting his upper body with an elbow.

“Your hand. Can you give it to me?”

“Um…sure?” Having zero idea of what to expect, you raise the hand, which is closer to him, and reach out. Delicately looking, but roughened by wielding a sword, fingers wrap just beneath your wrist and tug.

Heart skips a beat and then starts violently abusing your ribs, as his lips gingerly press against the inside of the wrist. Eyelids slide close, and Kazuha hums, slowly sliding his fingers higher, until his palm enveloped the back of yours and brought it to his cheek, leaning in your hand.

“Kazu, what are you doing?” The whisper leaves your lips, and you think you lost your voice, eyes stinging and heart aching. You shouldn’t look too deep into it, right?

“I don’t know, Y/n… But it feels so right… Being with you feels so right…” His eyes are back on yours, and you feel like you could kiss him right now, right here, among the glowing flowers, under the cover of the night.

“Do you think we have a chance?”

Do you? This question has been having your mind wrecked for all those years he wasn’t there, couldn’t be there. And every time you came to the only possible answer.

“Yes. I think we do.”

Maybe it is the moon shining in his eyes, or maybe it’s happiness, but the wandering samurai smiles, and the smile outshines the flowers.

“Is that a promise?”

“It is an oath,” you cup his check and trace your thumb under his eye. 

“An oath…” he dreamily sighs, and closes his eyes again. You cannot miss the opportunity.

The kiss tastes like the first one you ever shared - the scenery is authentic, the stars, the moon that bask you in their light, are the same. Maybe you two have changed, but the union of your lips is just as innocent as years ago.

You gasp and heartily chuckle, when he rolls you in your previous position on your back and hovers over you. Long locks of his white hair fall down and tickle your cheeks, but you do not mind, raising your arms and wrapping around his shoulders. One arm keeps him above you, and the other hand settles on your hip - gently, yet so intimately.

“If it is an oath, I want to solidify it. To prove I will come back. Will you let me?” Seriousness overtakes his features, as the fingers on your body move to the hem of your yukata. You get nervous.

“Kazuha, that’s-”

“I am not going to penetrate you, my bloom,” soothingness is back again. “There are more ways of engraving myself in your body and giving you pleasure a woman like you deserves. May I show you?”

You chew on your bottom lip. Though still nervous, you know that Kazuha will never do something to hurt or disrespect you. And after all these years, you still trust him.

“Yes… You may.”

Your body writhes and spasms, nudging the sides of your open yukata further off your body. The cool air toys with your heated skin, but you could care less, when your man, your lover, is showing you ecstasy you never knew one could experience. Sure, you touched yourself and slid your fingers between your sleaked folds, learning of pleasure with burning cheeks, but his mouth is nothing in comparison to it. He kisses, he licks, he sucks, he worships you, and pours his love into your body, for it to stay with you, until he comes back.

"One day we'll be together…"

Well, 'one day' is not 'never'.

Tighnari

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

The sound of heart is in your ears and your head pulses with each beat, as lungs are desperately trying to provide you with oxygen. Your legs are starting to wear out, and your stamina is running out, as you are fleeing farther and farther into the woods, though making sure to follow the general direction of close to where you should end up.

It’s a good thing you know Sumeru’s wilderness better than the back of your hand. The bad thing is that Tighnari knows it even better.

For the current occasion it’s also a bad thing that his tracking and hunting skills are insane, and the keen sense of smell and hearing he possesses as a fennec fox hybrid doesn’t help at all.

Which is actually the whole reason behind you sprinting around the Avidya Forest - your lover’s hybrid tendencies, that includes many instincts, as well as him experiencing rut. Now, it’s not all that bad, he has it once a year and is always prepared with other forest rangers ready to take over in his stead for a week, while he is away, holed up in his special cave, and dealing with what he calls an “inconvenient, but luckily short occasion”.

Only this year it is different, because you, his lover of a couple of years, expressed your willingness to help him out, since he mentioned in passing, how having a partner commonly shortens the extension of ruts.

You remember it clear as day, how his ears perked up and tail stilled completely, as his eyes, usually exuding calmness and confidence, stared at you dumbfoundedly. And that’s quite understandable why - sure, even if he wouldn’t say it outloud unless explicitly asked, the man already considers you his mate, someone he’d be delighted to spend the rest of his life with. Offering him your assistance during such an important and vulnerable moment is almost like asking him to marry you and start a family together. Which is exactly what his animal side would want, as he told you, after sitting you down to explain what you were proposing to him. 

Your cheeks flush, when you remember his precise words.

"Y/n, listen attentively and take in everything I am going to say. While in a rut I won't be in the right state of mind. Everything about you will drive me crazy - you touch, your smell, your taste… The only thought planted in my head would be to breed you, to make you a mother. You sure you are ready to try and handle me?"

And you sure are, with the full knowledge of what to expect and all those birth control medicines you've drunk and stored even more in a cave just in case, to prevent any unwanted outcomes. This way you know you can let him go wild and do whatever he needs for his own inner comfort.

A twig snaps nearby and you are reminded of your game of escape - something to whet and fuel Tighnari’s desire, teasing him by depriving him of your body - the only thing he needs right now.

Thump, thump, thump

Thump, thump, thump

Your heart is beating even faster and legs ache, hardly having any strength left to go on. You think that maybe it is enough - after all, you still need energy for what is to come - so you turn to the left and slow down a little, heading towards your haven.

”Found you, little minx.”

You gulp and almost cry in surprise when a low snarl is uttered near your ear. Spooked, you attempt to dart in the opposite direction, but two strong, trained with bow arms circle around your middle and yank you backwards, closer to the man’s body.

Instantly you become uncomfortably hot; he seems to be overheating, because there is no way a person without pyro vision could produce so much warmth. Initial shock is quickly replaced by concern, and you grab one of his hands, still clutching your waist, and squeeze it.

“Tighnari, are you alright?” You sound breathless and you are, chest repeatedly rising and falling with every sharp inhale and exhale. The male behind you growls and buries his face between your neck and shoulder, sniffing and shuddering in pleasure from smelling so many delicious scents that are parts of you.

“Yes… Yes, I am,” he pants, free hand reaching up to grope your breast, mindful of his claws.

You are so soft, so warm, so welcoming… Everything in him screams to mark you, to claim you, to sink his teeth in your flesh and his cock in your tight walls, and breed, breed, breed.

However, there is still a sliver of consciousness in him and he wills to unclasp his arms from around you, stepping back a little, and ask you one last time.

“This is your last call, Y/n. If you have any doubts, better leave now, before I drag you to the cave and-”

“I am not backing down,” you turn around to face him, and Archons, you are so beautiful, with that determined look in your eyes, hands reaching for his, gently, but firmly enveloping them in your hold. If he could, he'd curl his tail in the shape of a heart. “Yeah, maybe I freaked for a moment here, but it’s just because I’ve never had you chasing me all the way through the forest,” you chuckle, cutting the distance between you two again and kissing the tip of his nose, smiling when Tighnari lets out a quiet purr. “And I don’t mind being ‘dragged’ to the cave, because, honestly, my legs hurt.”

“No second thoughts?” The male rubs his nose against yours in a comforting manner, ears twitching excitedly. You shake your head, pressing your body to his, provoking another shudder to run down his spine and hips buck into yours with a low groan.

“No second thoughts,” you reassure him, gently smiling. “So, with everything discussed once again… How about you bring me to our…” his pupils blow wide, when he guesses what you are about to say,” …nest?”

Before you can say anything else, something indefinite glints in your lover’s eyes, and the next moment you find yourself thrown over his shoulder, and carried to the safety of your temporary ‘home’.

Thoma

Even two islands away, feet firmly planted on the Watatsumi grounds with your hand tightly clasped in a big warm one of your husband, it is still so hard to believe it. A whole two-week vacation the Kamisato Estate's housekeeper was granted by his blue-haired master. Two weeks of no duties, no running around doing seemingly endless errands, no coming home late, because he had to stay longer to check and make sure the estate’s grounds were spotless before some esteemed guests visit–

Two weeks of having the love of your life all to yourself.

You suspected that the one standing behind this sweet surprise was actually Lady Ayaka, whose friend you'd become soon after your husband - boyfriend at the time - made your relationship official and introduced you to the siblings per their request. You know she easily could, as she often expresses her sympathy when it comes to Thoma spending not only his day, but night as well at their residence completing the tasks.

If this is really the case, you'll have to thank her later, because you haven't seen your man be more excited about spending time with you in a while, and that elation was absolutely catchy and mutual.

Having no desire to attract any attention from the Sangonomiya Shrine, you opt to stay at your friend’s house in the Bourou Village, which, after the battles were over, started progressively growing as many people moved to live there, your friend and her family included.

First two days you slept like logs. As your friend told you on the first day, hardly concealing her laughter, she tried to wake you up around the afternoon to offer lunch before she’d go to work, but you only groaned and clinged to each other tighter, bodies practically intertwined, completely ignoring her words and presence. So she let you be, leaving the shoji doors slightly open for a small breeze to enter your room.

The next couple of days you spent exploring. Now rested and full of pent up energy Thoma wanted to look around, with your hand in his and a bag over his shoulder with some snacks and beverages. Kind elders tried to volunteer as your guides, but you kindly declined before your lover could say anything - it was your vacation after all, and you were willing to share the experience with him only.

That’s how you found this pretty cave - an azure glimmer played on pinkish walls, creating an absolutely magical atmosphere in the dimmed light of the grotto. The passage was quite narrow and hard to notice from a glance, so you kinda assumed people hardly came here.

Your own temporary romantic spot to be alone…

You kissed Thoma so hard when he suggested returning the next day.

The water is cool, but it is nothing of a problem for a pyro user. You test it with the tips of your toes, fingers busy with your clothes; warmth shoots all the way up, pleasantly pouring in your chest, and you exhale softly.

“Too hot?” The usual spring verdure in his eyes shines akin to the clearest emerald the jeweler could encounter, and you find yourself lost in their glow. Smiling, you draw your foot back and, shrugging one of the outer layers off, step closer to where he is crouching with his hand kept under water.

“No, honey, it’s perfect,” your fingers find their way in his short blond hair and gently ruffle, making the man mirror your smile.

“Well, if you say so,” ah, here his lovely face is - right in front of yours, gaze soft and adoring, melting your heart like a popsicle.

Thoma blissfully sighs against your mouth, when you purge your lips together. Warm palms instantly settle on your hips, while you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your body closer to his, humming in pride when his breath hitches.

"But you know what, or rather who is hot?" The question leaves your lips just a second after his lips leave them. The tall man hums, lowering his head to lead a trail of soft pecks from the side of your jaw to your collarbones.

"Yeah… It's my wife," he says as a matter-of-factly, but so tenderly, planting a kiss right between your soft breasts, nose nudging the hems of your shirt further apart. You burst into giggles, reaching your hands to cradle his head and then bend down to kiss the top of it.

"I was actually meaning my husband," a murmur to his hair feels like a sacred secret, but to Thoma, who knows your heart, it's the truth he believes in.

You lower yourself into the water. The rise in temperature makes you shiver, and your breasts pleasurably tingle, nipples swelling and getting sensitive. With a soft bite on your lower lip, you slowly, barely graze the stiff nubs with the pads of your forefingers, and keen on the sensation. Only Archons know how long it has been since the last time you and your husband were intimate. You miss the weight of his warm body on top of yours, of his mind-blowing kisses, which grew desperate closer to the release, of his deep and steady thrusts, of the angelic noises escaping his unmarked throat…

You hope Thoma is having the same urges and is going to make love to you right here. Well, right after he finishes folding your clothes, of course. Yeah, habits die hard, especially if they are part of a working routine. But damn, do those ripped back and defined shoulder blades look nice…

When his body slides next to yours, you don't lose any second and settle in his lap, arms loosely resting on his shoulders and chest pushing against his. Comprehension flashes behind green eyes - the sultry look on your face and the way you press your bodies close are the giveaway of which mood you are in.

Your back slightly arches when two callused fingers slide between your folds, the pads pressing into your clit, giving it a small rub, as his mouth leaves open-mouthed kisses against the heated skin of your neck. Thoma shudders at your needy mewl, not even fighting the desire quickly rising in his chest and in the pit of his stomach.

He is going to remind you of how head over heels he is for you, and make this vacation truly memorable.

Even if it’s not in the aspect one would expect.

[nats-bottom]

NR - She's Gone

Summary: Soulmate AU - Reader and Nat are soulmates where they feel each other's injuries. When Nat sacrifices herself, Reader doesn't know what is going on.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Nat Death, The Blip, Panic Attack, Injuries

Notes:

I also have accounts on Wattpad and AO3! The users there are @ paige_vers

Please give me requests! You can submit them here or on my insta, @ scarlettsoutset

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

Y/n POV

I knew they were out there somewhere, but I just couldn't wait to meet them. My one and only. My other half. My soulmate. All my friends had found their soulmate, but I had yet to find mine. The way people found their soulmate was by receiving the same injuries as them, but to a lesser extent. And for some reason, I always got hurt. Well, my soulmate was, and I was just feeling part of it. I didn't hate them for it, but sometimes I wished I got hurt more just to give them something back. 

I remember this one time when I was about 17, I got this pain in my lower abdomen that felt like the worst cramps I had ever gotten. It felt more like my uterus was being ripped out of you. It was terrible, and I even had to take school off that day. Ever since then, my period has been irregular. I wondered what happened to my soulmate, and what they went through to make me feel that pain.

But now, I am also in a lot of pain. My whole body ached, and I had cuts and bruises everywhere. This happened often, so it wasn't anything new to me. 'Who is my soulmate? What do they do for a living?' I asked myself. I wondered if they were a stunt person, or some sort of fighter. Whatever they were, I just wanted to meet them and ask them why they were always getting hurt.

Natasha POV

The team and I were just climbing back on the Quinjet after fighting some aliens. I felt so bad for my soulmate. Whoever they were, they always had to endure so much from me, when I hardly ever felt anything from them. Occasionally I would get a pepper cut, or a random bruise here or there, but that was it. It was nothing compared to the pain I gave them. 

I decided just to rest on the way back to the compound and to try not to worry about my soulmate. Once we get back to the compound, I just go clean up myself, and go rest. As I clean up my wounds, I flinch at the sharp pain from pouring on the hydrogen peroxide. I bandaged myself up, and put on ointment to the bruises. I can only hope that my soulmate does the same with their wounds. They must wonder where it all comes from, this only makes me feel more guilty. I lay down on my bed, just overthinking about how guilty I feel, and how my soulmate must hate me. Before I know it, I am too tired and end up falling asleep, forgetting about my worries. 

TIME SKIP TO A FEW YEARS LATER

I'm going on a walk in the park with Wanda, Carol, and Maria. Maria and Carol have already found their soulmates, but Wanda and I have yet to find ours. As we walk in the park, I see this cute girl, and part of me feels some sort of connection towards her. 'Should I go talk to her?' I think. But as I'm looking at her, I trip on the sidewalk, skinning my knee. I hear an "Owww" from the woman and see her clutching her knee. Still on the ground, my face lights up as I think that I have finally found my soulmate. But before I can do anything about it, Wanda and Maria help me up and keep on walking. I look back at the girl, still holding her knee, and look back at my friends, a good 30 feet in front of me.

I turn towards the girl, about to walk towards her, but Wanda calls out my name, urging me to catch up to them. Carol backs her up and runs towards me, grabbing my hand pulling me towards everyone else.

I realize that my chance is gone, and that I'll probably never see my soulmate again. I glance back at her, only to realize that she is gone. I keep on walking forward, trying to forget the fact that my life could've just been very different.

TIME SKIP TO A FEW YEARS LATER (POST BLIP)

Y/N POV

It has now been 5 years since all my friends have left, thanks to the blip. I have been able to get back on my feet but still haven't fully recovered. I found a new job, a new dog and cat, and found a couple new friends. I miss my old friends dearly, but I know that they won't come back. A few of their soulmates are still left behind, and I feel bad for them, because they had finally found their other half and were finally happy. Then there was me, who had never found mine, so I was never truly happy. But I knew that they were still out there, because I could still feel them. Which means that they could still feel me. This was something that brought me hope. Hope that I might still find them.

I went to work one day, as usual, and started my day there. It was boring, long, monotonous, work, but it paid the bills. Then suddenly, I felt something that I've never felt before. It was a pain that I've never had like anything else. Everything in my body hurts, especially my back. I felt empty, lost, a new kind of pain. I could tell that it was from my soulmate, but this time it was mental and emotional too, not just physical. I feel like I was at my lowest point, worse than when the blip happened. I'm not sure what had happened to my soulmate, but I sure felt bad for them. 

I had read about the feeling people have when their soulmate dies, and I start to wonder if it is something like this. I sure hope that wasn't what happened. Oh God please no, that can't happen. I would do anything for that to not happen.

TIME SKIP TO LATER THAT DAY

I was home, in the apartment that I used to share with a couple of roommates before they blipped. I was watching SNL, when suddenly a few celebrities appeared in the scene, ones who had previously blipped. I didn't know if it was just CGI or what, but everyone else seemed confused. That's when it happened to me. My old roommate, Katie appeared on the couch next to me. I screamed a little, and started to panic. Then Zoe walked out of the room that used to be hers and walked into the living room where I was. I had no idea what was going on, and I really was panicking. 

I just ran to my room, and could feel the panic attack come on. My breath started to get shallower, and my head started to feel like it was spinning. My heart rate was getting faster, and I just bent over, sitting on my bed. I could hear my old roommates talking in the living room, and this only made everything worse.

As the panic attack passed, I decided that I'll have to confront my problems sooner than later, and so I left my room to go talk to them. I saw them sitting on the couch watching the news, trying to figure out what was going on.

I take a seat on the couch, at the side furthest away from them, and we just sit there in silence, watching the news that interrupted my show. It was hectic, but the message that they were able to get across was "the Avengers were able to bring back everyone who blipped. But at a cost. Both Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff died. Tony Stark died right before everyone was brought back, and Natasha Romanoff died at some point earlier in the day. The world has been saved."

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, not out of joy, but out of sadness. I realize that that is what I felt earlier that day. I felt my soulmate, Natasha Romanoff, dying. I had no idea that it was her, and I realize now that that's why I was always getting hurt. My soulmate was an avenger. One of earth's mightiest heroes. And now she's gone. I'll never have a chance to meet her, to be with her. I feel this pang of sadness and guilt in my chest, realizing that I'll forever be lonely. I didn't even realize it, but I'm full on sobbing now. I don't realize it until it gets pointed out to me by Zoe, when she asks me if I'm alright.

"My soulmate- she's gone." I say between sobs.

"What do you mean? Everyone's back." Katie replies.

"She died today. I felt it. Natasha Romanoff, the Avenger, on the news, remember. I was her soulmate."

"oh y/n, I'm so sorry. I know how much you always wanted to meet your soulmate. I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you right now." Zoe says. She comes over to me and gives me a hug. I just cried into her.

"I did. It's all I wanted in life. And now she's gone."

[myouicieloz]

Tell me why

Minatozaki Sana x member!reader

Synopsis: The hate, the pressure, the shows... doing it all while recovering has been getting to you. Yet, you can't seem to rely on your sisters like you used to.

Warnings: reader is recovering from an od episode. mentions of drinking. angst? it sure is something. tw: overd0se, recovery.

Word count: 1.7k

Notes: -

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6

“Unnie?” Sana turns and finds you looking at her rather hesitantly, making her heart hurt. You haven’t been talking to each other as much these days… She’s been busy with the crazy routines of the tour and her debut, and just living overall, and you guys were a part of a big group, so it wasn’t odd that you two hadn’t been as close as before. She misses you, though. You’re the maknae, the girls’ little sister. You’re wearing a green dress for today’s event, one Sana knows it’s your favorite. Your hair has been straightened and is falling up to your hips, with big earrings flowing beautifully with your soft makeup and equally enchanting doll eyes. With a traditional green converse on, you look flawless. Yet, you have the resemblance Sana has seen many times before, lips quivering ever so slightly and your gaze never resting on something for more than a few seconds— one of your signs of showing when something’s wrong. “Hi darling. What happened?” Sana asks, tugging your arm and gently scanning you to check on any possible injuries; nothing’s noticeable, though. But again, the main problem has never been your outside.

You look at both sides before taking a step closer, not eyeing her as you speak. With both of you close like this, your height difference is noticeable, as is your attitude. The older, shorter one with assurance and confidence while the tallest, lithe girl stands quietly besides her, shrinking like she wanted to disappear. “I… I don’t feel so good. Perhaps I’ll leave? You can all handle it without me, sure.” Sana knows it’s against the rules to leave you alone, she really does. But you’re her baby sister, and you’ve promised to do no harm to yourself anymore. Your eyes are tired, and you tremble, clinging softly onto her like you were silently saying please. However, the pictures will be taken shortly, and all the girls should be present— you included. The image of the group together— specially after the rumors regarding you, is essential. Image is everything. “Could you wait a bit more? We’ll get the pictures taken soon, then I’ll take you home.” Sana sees it as she gently asks you to stay, the hurt flashing into your eyes. You know she is still wary of leaving you alone, after that night, not trusting you completely. So, you take a step back, nodding delicately. Before Sana can say anything else, someone taps her shoulder. “Sana unnie! I was looking everywhere for you. Where have you been? Come on, the fashion show about to start. I saved you a seat.” It’s Miyeon, smiling at Sana while exhaling in relief. When the older woman looks behind again, you’re gone. She lets her shoulders fall as she allows Miyeon to guide her to their seats, wishing she wasn’t such a failure. What happened to you? You used to be so close, with her taking care of you ever since you’ve first set your foot at JYP— guiding and comforting you whenever things were tough. That was gone long before the… incident, though. Now, you barely see each other, even though you were constantly near because of the tour. Sana misses you. Your sweet smile, your passionate conversations about stuff you both liked, the way you always used to ask to get her makeup done, refusing anyone’s help but hers. All gone now. Sana was such a failure.

— The pictures, both of the group and individuals, will be taken soon, Sana knows it as she observes the sudden movement in front of the fancy stand. She sees the girls not far from her; Jihyo talking to Dahyun on her left, while Momo sits with Mina on her right. Jeongyeon will be here shortly, as she went to greet a friend just before the show ended, and the rest of the girls were near enough that she could see what they were doing, too. You were the only one who was nowhere to be seen. Whose thoughts can be impulsive and too dangerous to be left unsupervised. If you fuck up the photoshoot, your management will be furious, and you’ll be in even more trouble. So, Sana excuses herself from the rest of her bandmates and scans the darkest spots she can observe, walking fast to waste no time. The woman’s phone buzzes brightly, with her leader’s name displayed on the screen. Is Yn with you yet? We’ll take the group pics soon, but I can’t see her.

No signs of her. She can’t be too far, though. It’s not like it’s a massive place anyway.

Want me to go looking for her, too?

I don’t think it’s best; it might overwhelm her.

Wait, I think I’ve seen her, actually. We’ll be back soon.

Text me if you need any extra help, ok?

“Aren’t you coming, Sana? the girls are all together, over there.” She hears her friend, Somi ask as she passes by and sees her worried face, frowning. “I still have to find Y/n. Have you seen her after the fashion show started?” Somi has mischief on her face and giggles a bit before answering. “Yeah, haven’t you? Like always, she was with that shithead as her escort. I seriously don’t know how he does her so good, he’s an asshole. Everybody knows it”. Wait, who was she talking about? You weren’t hooking up with anybody, Sana’s sure of it. She would have noticed it, of course. Right? Or at least heard something about it. Her mouth moved before she could, suddenly forgetting of her shortage of time. “With whom?” Somi opened her eyes as her hand met her mouth, suddenly turning and walking away quickly. Sana managed to hear her mumbling incoherent stuff, but decided to let her go. She’d handle it later, definitely. You owed her some questions. Urgent questions. “Fucker.” Sana cursed, walking in a different direction, hoping to find you soon. — Precious minutes went by and nothing, still.

She could feel her phone vibrating with people demanding her presence at the photoshoot, but she refused to come back without her maknae. It had to be the whole group, or it wouldn’t be the same, even if you were hiding from God knows what. Sana decided to go to the bathroom to wash her face for a bit, since it was ridiculously hot inside the event. Then, she noticed green converse shoes on a cabinet, as if someone was sitting on the ground. Someone wearing a green dress. Ok. “Yn? Is everything okay?” She asked softly, hurrying closer with light steps. An alarm rang in her head and she immediately started breathing fast, thinking of a hundred scenarios. The last time things were similar to this, the ending was not… ideal. The dor opened and revealed you, sitting weakly on the side of the toilet seat, which would be disgusting if you weren’t so pale, your hands shaking much more now and your forehead drenched with sweat. Sana immediately knelt in front of you, noticing your fever. “I didn’t mean to, unnie, I really didn’t. It was just…” Wet tears were running down her baby sister’s sweet face; making her feel like shit. She’d known it. You asked for fucking help, and she ignored it. Setting her heart aside, she gestured for you to take deep breaths, touching your hair affectionately. “It’s okay, darling, it’s okay. Did you take anything? Did you…” She couldn’t say it, still. Thankfully, you got the message and shook your head, making her a tiny bit less worried. She let out a relived sigh. At least you didn’t succumb again. “I ate some chocolate sweets they were having. It was just a bite of one, and they seemed… so good. I thought if I just had a little bite, it’d…. I’d feel better.” Your voice was weak, too, and you let out a dry laugh. “Obviously, it wasn’t the case. My body’s still not ready, I know. I’ll respect my time of recovering. It just, sucks, you know?” You don’t let Sana answer, looking at the ceiling. This time, your voice’s bitter. “What am I saying; of course you don’t. You know nothing of being less than perfect.”

Once again, Sana stopped to focus on her baby maknae. Sana believed her when you had told them the attempt was an accident. She truly did. Not only that, but she also knew of how you were doing everything you could to prove to everyone you were better and recovered. Going to therapy, exercising, eating healthier, being extra patient… almost seeming good, despite people treating you like crystal glass. Because of that, Sana didn’t really wonder about how you still had to be careful about things that were normal to the rest of them. Seeing you crying and being vulnerable like this made her hate herself even more.

“I’m sorry, darling.” It was all she could offer, pulling you for a hug. She was surprised to have you clinging onto her as you burst out crying, like you did as a trainee, after being yelled at by one of your stupid mentors, who were always so hard on you. It felt like millions of knives were entering her heart, and she wished so fucking much that you didn’t have to feel that pain. Wished it was hers instead.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She murmured, rocking you back and forth to keep you from shaking. After what seemed like minutes, you did. Then, you dried your tears and looked at her with a faint smile and a long sigh. “I’m sorry for that, unnie. Did the photoshoot happen already?“

Still confused, Sana answered quickly, observing the youngest get up and fix her dress, going to the sink to wash her mouth and hands.

“Huh… no. They’re waiting for us. We’re just a bit late.“ “Perfect. Let’s go?” You went to the door without looking back, and all Sana could do was follow your lead. And blame herself for being such a failure to you.