#but u know what i said this chapter would be out before the end of march and ON GOD i kept that promise

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Part 3, chapter 1- run bitch, run!

Series masterlist

It doesn’t seem like it but rafe and reader will have their comeback I swear 🙏🏽 this is just more buildup.

Summary: the secret thing with Rafe has been weighing down on you, moving weed turns into a nightmare, and you and your brother are at odds for a while.

“We’re gonna be fine, dude. Quit stressing so much.” You told John B when you pulled up.

You all got outside, you stretching as they began to walk. You followed.

“I don’t… I don’t know about this.”

“Bro, you’re worrying way too much about this, okay? It is just farmers who brought organic seeds from South America that we are gonna unload.”

“Yeah. It’s usually a pretty easy job. I mean, I gotta grinder and a pre roll if it’ll help calm your nerves.” You offered, pulling both out your pocket.

“It won’t, thanks. It’s a drug-smuggling operation.”

“Do you wanna get your dad or not?” JJ asked.

“Yes, I do! Okay? Look, this has to work out, all right? I doubted him, and I blamed him. And all this time, he was just trying to protect me. And now he’s been abducted so I kinda need a bit of -“

“John b, no! Okay, listen, listen, I know.” JJ exclaimed, putting his hands on JBs shoulders, all of you stopping in your tracks. “You know who you’re gonna have to trust right now? Papa J.”

“Papa J?” You snorted, laughing at the name.

“Shut up. I got this, 100%.”

“I mean, 60% would be good, honestly.” John B mumbled, continuing to walk.

“Holy shit, look at that thing.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s like an RV with wings.”

“They’re already unloading.” You pointed out, watching them put it into the U-Haul.

“Yo! We aren’t late, are we?” JJ asked.

“Nope, there was a change of plan though. “ Mike walked towards the three of you.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

“You three, are gonna drive the truck up to Elizabeth city to make the drop. The address is in the truck. There’ll be a dummy car for you to use to come back. The plane’ll still be waitin’.”

“Right, okay, so, um, you just want us to drive the truck?” You asked.

“Correct.”

“Can I like… flash you a titty or something instead? Shit, there a bed anywhere?” You glanced around, trying to laugh it off. But the man’s face was serious.

“Funny.” He remarked, looking down at you. JJ was gonna take the keys before John B pulled him.

“Actually, can I borrow ‘em for one second?”

“Hey, hey, this is not what we talked about. This is way more dangerous.”

“Not to mention they’re looking for John B right now, anyone sees him, we’re all done for.” You spoke quietly.

“It don’t matter what we talked about, in for a penny, in for a pound. You do this, you get your ride.”

“Yeah, it’s just that-“

“If not, you know how this works, right?” He looked at you, leaning down.

You all glanced around, there was no other option.

“Now, highway patrol is changing shifts as we speak. This is the window, take it to the drop house on prospect. Directions are in the truck. Any luck, we’ll have you back before sundown.” Mike chuckled, holding the keys out again.

“C’mon. Take the key.”

“Yeah, c’mon, get in the fuckin’ truck.” You mumbled, taking the keys and getting in the drivers seat.

“How are we gonna fit?” JJ asked, watching you start the truck.

“Sit on each others lap.” You shrugged. “Or someone just crouch down in the middle.”

JJ ended squatting down into the middle, bumping around with every movement. John B sat in the seat.

“You have any idea what’s in the back of this truck?” He asked JJ.

“Yes, John B, I know what’s in the back. And it’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna work out, okay?”

“I’m sick of your bullshit plans, man.”

“Goddamn.”

“No, I’m just saying this might top the time you told me to fake appendicitis in jail.”

“Yeah, and that almost worked.”

“Can you get the map out? I got no fuckin’ clue where I’m goin’ right now.”

John B held in.

“All right, we need to get to 158, okay?”

You ripped the page out, looking at it.

“Cop. Y/n, there’s a cop.” John B said, you and JJ looking at the car.

You put the paper away, heart racing.

“Shit.”

“Okay, play it cool, alright?”

“I’m playing it cool. You play it cool.”

“I’m super cool.” John B defended, leaning against the window.

“I’m as cool as it gets, alright?”

You were indeed not as cool as it gets. You brought your hand up, waving with an akward smile as you passed. “Hi, officer.”

John B grabbed your hand, making you pull onto the side and off the road, all of you shouting over each other.

“Oh my God he’s getting in the car. John B, he’s gettin’ in the fucking car!” You shouted, the sirens wailed and you groaned. “Damn it!”

“Dude, goblin mode, alright? We gotta lose him, okay?” JJ exclaimed.

“Goblin mode? What does that even mean, JJ?!”

“That’s what we gotta do!”

“Shut up and hang the fuck onto something!” You shouted over them, JJ grabbing onto the seats as you sped up, before swerving directly into the forest.

“Get out, get out!” You shouted at the both of them, both of them running.

“I swear to God, JJ if we get through this I’m gonna kill you!” John B told him, running past the trees.

“You probably won’t have to because barracuda Mike will first.���

“How the fuck does she run so fast?!” JJ asked when he lost sight of you, looking around and catching his breath for a moment. He saw you sprinting for your life behind the trees and both started running again.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

“Listen, I been going through it over and over and over again, okay? You said it yourself, right? The only way this thing goes south is my dad. Alright, we gotta nip that shit in the bud. We gotta take him out.”

Barry sat back, watching Rafe pace around.

“And anyway, who’s gonna know? He’s already dead, you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking at Barry now.

“Hey, if my pop stays here, all right, our deal, us doing business together, using the company to launder the money, all that fifty-fifty shit…”

“Mmm-hmm…”

“All that’s gone.”

Barry leaned in. “So what you’re asking me right now… is something that once it’s done, cannot be undone. There’s no going back. I’m talkin’ bout your family, talking about your pops, talking about your blood. And blood complicates things.”

He took a sip, pausing. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I do it. And then, for whatever reason, you decide to change your mind… sell me out.”

Race shook his head. “No. Yeah, this has been a long time coming.” Rafe leaned in closer now. “He’s always had his boot on my neck. Holding me down. That’s all gonna be over soon.”

Rafe stood up, walking away. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Barry took the handful of cash in his hands, this kid was becoming fucked up.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

You stopped on the road, panting heavily and groaning, laying on the ground, JJ and John B coming up from behind.

“My dad.. is somewhere in South America, probably with a knife to his throat, and what are we doing? Moving weight?” John B panted. “In goblin mode?”

“What does that even mean, Jj?!”

“How many times will you complain about me trying to help save your dad?” He shouted.

“Help is the exact opposite of what you’re doing right now!”

“You know what? You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But you know whose fault that is? You and your treasure obsessed father.”

John B shoved JJ, you standing up and watching the exchange. Jj laughed, falling back.

“Oh, okay! That’s where we’re going?”

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going.”

“Yeah, and it looks like we just went there too!” JJ shoved John B.

You shook your head at them, watching them push and shove at each other.

You got inbetween when it became too much, John B going to attack JJ.

“Enough!” You shouted at them at the top of your lungs, pushing them away from each other. The shout scared away nearby birds and might as well have shook the damn trees.

“Fighting each other isn’t gonna help us do shit! Are you guys fucking out of your minds?” You pointed to your temple, looking at the both of them.

“I don’t even wanna hear it from you, y/n!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” You shouted at your brother, you shoving him now. You both fought, pushing and shoving him onto the ground.

“Get off me!” He shouted, punching your chest.

“Fuck you, JJ!”

A siren wailed, making both of you pause your movements and look at the sound. John B’s eyes widened, you getting off of JJ, fixing your hair.

“Howdy, boys. And girl.”

“Sup, shoupe?” JJ nodded.

“You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re uh, you know, just, um… we’re, we’re good.” John B said, fixing his clothes and watching as Shoupe reached underneath the Twinkie.

“Tracker. Makes it a lot easier to keep an eye on you hoodlums.”

“Hoodlums?” You scoffed, and began to walk up to shoupe, JJ and John B pulling you back with an eye roll.

“All units, evidence team is en route to the abandoned U-haul. Over.”

“Copy that.” Shoupe spoke.

“Sounds like duty calls. So uhm… we we wouldn’t wanna hold you up.” JJ pointed, beginning to walk. “So we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Hold on a minute. We just found a U-haul full of drugs. Out near 158. Y’all wouldn’t happen to be involved in that, would you?” JJ looked at John B.

“You see that? That’s profiling, John B.”

“I know.”

“And I really don’t appreciate it.”

“Just cause we’re pogues doesn’t mean we’re drug dealers. No, no, we’re not that desperate now, shoupe.” You told him.

“I can see the grinder sticking out your pocket.” He pointed.

You looked down, eyes widening and pushing it back down.

“I don’t deal.” You shrugged.

“Nah, you been too busy beating people up and breaking up parties. Huh?” He looked at John B now.

“Okay, there’s an explanation-“ JJ started, but was cut off.

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but I’ve got a warrant.”

“Wh- a- a warrant?” John B asked.

“Toppers pressing charges.”

“Hold up-“

“What?”

“For what? No, he started it!”

“He did start it!”

All of you talked over each other, John B being pulled over to the van.

“Are you serious?”

“Hands up against the van.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. Jesus you just couldn’t win.

“Shoupe- I didn’t even- this time, I didn’t even do anything, okay?”

“Shoupe, do you know what topper did to John B?” You asked.

“No, but I know what your boy here did.” He put John B in handcuffs. “He beat him in front of the whole town.”

“Yeah, which is-“ you tried to defend.

“And kept beating him after he was down, and Topper may be a douche but you know better than that.”

Shoupe dragged John B over to the cop car.

“Shoupe! Come on, he was messing with John B’s girl. You’d do the same.”

“Shoupe, I get it, okay? But I can’t be locked up right now.” John B told him.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that beforehand.”

“Come on man, we’re doing this again? I don’t have time for this”. He spoke, getting in the backseat.

“Come on.”

“JJ, please.”

“He didn’t do shit too.” He stepped to the side, you standing next to him.

“You know!”

“You both stay safe and stay outta trouble.” Shoupe told you both, stepping inside.

“Hey, John B. Listen, we’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna get down to South America and save your dad.” JJ came up, talking to him.

John B nodded.

“Promise, okay?” You told him.

“Back it up, buddy, we got to go.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out. We’ll save your dad, okay?” JJ followed the car as it moved. “You hear me John B? We’re gonna get him!”

You and JJ watched as the car moved, you two staring at the road.

“Shit.” You muttered, kicking a rock on the ground and leaning against the Twinkie, your hands over your face.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

You and JJ stood far away from each other back at the Chateau, everyone else talking amongst themselves while you sat in the corner. Your head was hung low, looking at the ground. Your head snapped up at the sound of the door opening.

“Welcome back.”

“Woah.”

“Good to see you, man.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” JJ mumbled, looking up at John B with a smile.

John B walked towards them all, JJ sitting in the tree.

“I have something i wanna share with you guys. I can get us down to the Orinoco.”

“Are you serious?”

“Okay. And how’s that gonna happen?” Cleo asked her.

“My dad’s gonna let us use the plane.”

“Ward?” You and JJ spoke in unison.

“Your dad?”

“Yep. We lay low tonight, then wheels up first thing in the morning.

“Okay.. that’s a lot to process, your dad actually helping us.”

“I talked to him. He’ll do it.”

“So we trusting Ward now?” Cleo asked.

“Trust Sarah.”

JJ rubbed the back of his neck, still skeptical.

“But wait, i also just have one more thing to say. Um… Since we’ve gotten back from the island, I’ve done some things that I regret. A lot.”

Amen to that, sister, you thought, quietly laughing.

“Yeah, uh…” John B cleared his throat. “I feel… i feel like we’ve all done a thing or two that we regret.”

JJ scoffed from the tree, nodding.

“And I don’t… Poguelandia, guys. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. We were all together on that island, and it was a good thing, and I don’t want to ruin a good thing. And I.. I just wanna know, are we still all in? Are we still all together?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, looking up at JJ.

“Because I am.”

“Yeah.” Kiara whispered, hugging her.

They all laughed and hugged, JJ walking over to them.

“Let’s go get Big John, all right? What do you say there, shit bird?” He looked to John B.

“I think this deserves a woogity. How long are you gonna pretend you’re not coming over here? You too, y/n!” Pope glanced over at you, you sighed and stood up, going next to them.

“Come over here.”

You smiled as you all got into a group hug.

“Now we woogity!”

“Oh, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

“We’re doing it, man!”

“Mm-hmm.”

They all sat down, chatting with each other. You sat alone, until JJ suddenly sat down on the steps next to you.

“Hey.” You mumbled to him, remembering the fight you both had earlier.

“Hi.” He handed you a beer bottle, you smiling and taking it from his hands.

“Look, I know I’ve been.. weird, lately-“

“You don’t say.” He teased, small smile playing on his lips. You nudged him.

“Anyways, I’m just going through a lot. It’s rough. And honestly? I’m still upset over Rafe. And dad. And everything, really. God, I can’t keep a stable job or a house.”

He sighed, leaning back a bit. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a little bit of an asshole.”

“I haven’t been a saint either.” He shrugged. “I’m… sorry, too.”

“Wow, my brother apologizing? What universe is this?” You laughed, he rolled his eyes and laughed with you.

“It’s hard as fuck, you know? The place that we grew up in, and even though we might have some terrible memories, it sucks. It’s all… gone, and everything’s, I dunno, different?”

“Yeah. I know. I think I’m gonna work on becoming your legal guardian.”

“Wait, you serious?” He turned to you with furrowed eyebrows.

You sighed. “You’re 16, dad’s missing to the police and you don’t got anyone else are far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah but you’re just a… terrible parent. Not my first choice.” He tilted his head to the side, joking.

“Oh, shut up. Be lucky I even like you.” You ruffled his hair, making him laugh and attempt to push your hand away

“You know, tell me more about you and Rafe.” He said suddenly, and leaned against the steps.

“Why would you want me to tell you that?”

He shrugged. “I just wanna know what you saw in him. He’s insufferable.”

“He’s not that insufferable if you know him.” You shrugged. “He’s sweet… when he wants to be.”

“Mm, yeah right. I don’t believe it.”

“He can be. He just… has some really bad daddy issues and is a little insane.”

“Oh, so he’s the male version of you?”

Ylu rolled your eyes, lightly shoving him and smiling. “No, what I was getting at was that he’s messed up, but just like anyone else he had his reasons.” You paused.

“So how did you guys even meet?”

“He met me at my job a few years back, we talked for a while, hit it off, and we mostly just hooked up for the most part until he asked me to date him. That was like… last year?”

“Damn. So you guys woulda been dating for almost a year?”

“Like 9 months, yeah. But I really loved him, as messed up as he was. Think a part of me still does.”

“Huh.” He mumbled, looking back out in front of him.

“Yeah. Now what about you and Kie? What’s that all about?” You raised your eyebrows, he groaned and threw his head back.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

Taglist: @cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah

[asummersday]

Great news!!! After struggling with this god forsaken chapter for MONTHS im FINALLY DONE. now I just have to edit and then im FREE 🙏

[writing-fanics]

[title wip]

[warning: mentions of cheating: abandoned]

[sneak peek of the idea I had of Lucifer cheating on and abandoning his wife without knowing she was pregnant]

“It’s been awhile,” she gripped her desk, her nails digging into the wood. She breathed in and kept her head down, “Sure has..” Her voice cold, and distant harsh. “Y-You, look great.” He stammered nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

She rolled her eyes, and scoffed. “Why’re you here?” She asked, finally lifting her head to look at him. He pursed his lips, and he saw it the years of grief and pain he dumped on her when he left her for Lilith.

“I-I wanted to see you?” He said, and she scoffed in response. “Lies.” She said, and glared at him.

“Why’re you really here?” She asked, looking at him coldly. He cleared his throat and looked at her, “U-Um, it’s my daughter she wants a meeting with Heaven.” He said, and she looked at him raising her eyebrow.

“B-But, I did also really wanna see you.” He said, nervously and she rolled her eyes. “Your daughter, wants a meeting with Heaven?” She asked curiously.

“It’s this project she has this dream,” he stammered.

“Hm, she must get it from you.” She said, and he smiled nervously looking at his ex wife.

“I’ll bring the matter to the older Seraphims,” she said, and he smiled letting out a sigh of relief.

“T-Thank you, just hear her out please.” He said, even though he got her the meeting he was nervous. Scared that his daughter, would end up like him. His dreams crushed by Heaven.

He looked at her for a moment before clearing his throat, he noticed she wasn’t wearing her ring anymore. Even though they didn’t officially get divorced, it’s been over ten thousands years since he left her.

His eyes wandered around the room, and landed on a framed photograph. A young man, with golden hair and blue eyes, who looked an awfully a lot like how he did before he was banished to hell. Damien Lightbringer, my light, when all I could see was dark.

He opened his mouth to speak, “You can go now,” She said, before he had time to ask. He raised his finger opening his mouth, “who’s Damien?” She glared at him, her grip tightening around her pen almost breaking it in two.

“Why would you care? You abandoned us?” She snarled, gritting her teeth. Lucifer stood there confused for a moment, as what she said sank in.

“Us?” He mumbled, and she just sighed shaking her head. “The last name isn’t that obvious?” She asked, sarcastically.

Lightbringer - Morningstar?

“Hey, mom I-” Damien entered the room, and froze standing in the doorway. His eyes turned towards his mother who looked at him, sympathetically. As his gaze drifted towards, Lucifer. Damien stared at him with disgust before turning his attention back towards his mother.

Still working on this but eventually she tells him that he’s his son..

Damien hates Lucifer like really hates him.. but if I make multiple chapters will eventually try to fix their relationship or it might just be too late

Not me planning on possibly killing off the son. driving a deeper wedge into Lucifer trying to hopefully fix his relationship with his ex

[punkshort]

ikwya is so good!!! if u have time i would love to see their relationship before they were officially together or the night they became official. but you are so talented can’t wait for the next update!:)

Yes! Love this idea, thank you for requesting! I won't end up writing and posting this until the last chapter is posted because I have a few other things I need to work on first so I really hope you liked how it ended ❤️

Stubborn

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), fluff, feelings

WC: 1.4K

Joel's fingers dug into your hips as he slammed into you, eliciting a broken moan each time his thighs collided with the backs of yours. He was close, and so were you, but he didn't want it to end just yet because he knew when it was over, you would be gone.

"Joel," you whined, your voice muffled by the sheets. You frantically reached behind you to grab his wrist and he allowed himself drop down, pushing your hips into the mattress in the process with his chest pressing against your back. You found yourself face down, flat and completely confined by his body. He nipped and sucked on the side of your neck, hoping to leave a mark, while his coarse beard dragged over your soft skin.

"How's that feel, baby?" he groaned in your ear, squeezing his eyes shut when you pulsed around him.

"So good," you gasped, "so deep like this."

"I know," he murmured, biting down on his lip when he felt the familiar pull low in his belly. "Fuck, I know. So goddamn tight."

"Oh, my god!" you cried out, your arm flailing around aimlessly, trying to find something to hold onto. He grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together while maintaining a brutal pace with his hips until he felt you gush around him, curses and sobs tumbling weakly from your lips, your fingers clutching his so tightly it almost hurt.

"That's it," he praised, feeling his own climax swelling. "So good, baby. S-so good. All mine, right?"

"Mhmm."

"Say it," he commanded through gritted teeth.

"I'm yours," you mumbled weakly, still recovering from your orgasm.

That was all Joel needed to hear. He yanked his hips back, making you yelp from how roughly he pulled out, and gripped the base of his cock, stroking it until he came all over your back. Hot, white ropes of his seed painted your sweaty skin until a shiver ran down his spine.

"Shit," he whispered, gasping for air and staring down blankly at your back, watching as his spend slowly dripped over your sides. Not feeling very confident he could stand and walk to the bathroom, he leaned over to grab a bandana from his jeans pocket and wiped up his mess. You instantly pushed your knees down, lifting your lower half from the mattress, but his hand was at your back, pressing you down. You complied and he laid down on top of you, wiggling your ass underneath him with a giggle but he just smiled and closed his eyes, drinking in your scent.

"Joel, I don't think I can do round two."

"Not lookin' for round two," he mumbled, planting a kiss against your shoulder. He slid his palm down your forearm and threaded your fingers together again, enjoying the moment before it became too intimate and you began to writhe, shaking his hand loose.

"I gotta get going," you said, still pinned down by his weight.

"Why?"

You gave him a dry laugh. "Why? Because I'm tired and I want to go home."

"You can stay here."

"Joel..."

"C'mon, can we please stop this?" Joel asked, but he rolled off you anyway. He wasn't going to force you. You sighed and turned around, sitting up in bed and raking your fingers through your hair.

"What difference does it make? Everyone knows we're messing around, no one's going to make a move on me, if that's what you're worried about."

"Exactly. What difference does it make if you just stay the goddamn night once in a while? Quit bein' so stubborn," he rubbed his eyes, trying to mask his frustration.

You sighed and looked down at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought it over.

"Does it really mean that much to you?"

He dropped his hands from his face, eyes locking with yours. "Yes."

With an exasperated groan, you flicked the sheets open so you could settle in between them and rested your head on the pillow. "Alright, then."

"Really?"

"Just this once, and only because I'm exhausted," you said, eyes already closed. You wrapped your arms around your pillow with a sigh while he laid there, still staring at you.

"What if I don't want it to just be this once?" he asked softly. You cracked open one eye but didn't say anything. "What if I wanted more than just messin' around?" he added, scanning your face for any sign that you felt the same way. You had to.

He expected you to maybe get annoyed or possibly make a joke and go to sleep, but what he certainly didn't expect was for your eyes to suddenly fill with tears. His own eyes widened and he inched forward, reaching for your hand, when, much to his surprise, you met him halfway.

"I'm not a good person, Joel. I've done some terrible things," you whispered brokenly, and his chest tightened. If you only knew.

"We've all done bad shit to survive," he said, squeezing your hand.

"I've killed innocent people," you sniffled, "I've stood by and watched children-"

"Hey," he said, cutting you off, "so have I. But that don't mean we shouldn't be allowed to be happy, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe it does." It broke his heart seeing you so distraught. All he wanted to do was take your pain and shove it deep down with his own. You didn't deserve to suffer. As much as you thought otherwise, you deserved something good out of this world, and he desperately wanted to be the one to share that with you.

"C'mere," he whispered, tugging on your hand. You hesitated for a moment before sliding across the sheets and into his waiting arms. He held you close against his chest and buried his nose in your hair, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Not everythin' is black and white anymore," he began, "we do what we do to survive and protect the people we love. You ain't a bad person, baby," he planted a kiss on the top of your head and he could feel your silent tears seeping into his skin. "Is that why you've been pullin' away from me all this time? You think you don't deserve to be happy?"

He felt your shoulders shift with a little shrug and then you mumbled into his skin, "that, and maybe I'm too fucking terrified to risk losing someone I care about again."

His breath caught in his throat. You cared about him. "I ain't goin' anywhere," he said firmly, then hooked his finger under your chin, forcing your face away from his bare chest.

"You promise?" you whispered, and the way you looked so vulnerable in that moment made him weak. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Yeah, I promise."

You slowly carded your fingers through his hair, admiring how each curl fell back into place. "So how much more are we talking, here?" you asked, your voice sounding normal again, but he could hear the teasing lilt behind your words. He grinned.

"Oh, I want it all," he told you, watching the corners of your mouth twitch. "I wanna take candlelit baths together and hold hands while we're walkin' down the street. I wanna dance with you in front of the whole damn town and carry you home when you drink too much." You giggled and wiped the last of your tears away while his grip around your middle tightened. "I wanna take care of you when you're sick. I wanna fight 'bout stupid shit just so we can make up. But mostly I just wanna be there. When you're happy, sad, pissed off, excited... I just wanna be the one you come to, no matter what." He watched your expression soften a bit and he pinched your chin. "Think we can do that?"

You sighed and dramatically rolled your eyes. "I'm not really a bath person."

"We can negotiate that one."

You pretended to think about it for a moment, biting back your smile before nodding. You squealed when he rolled over and caged you in underneath him, his mouth crashing down on yours while his heart slammed excitedly in his chest. You wanted him, you wanted him. Then you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, his half hard cock rubbing against your center, making you both moan.

"Okay, I think I'm ready for round two," you told him with a grin.

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[gubbles-owo]

For the tail rating: Asbestos (arknights), Ho'oleyak (arknights) and W (arknights)

HEAVY HITTERS RIGHT AWAY, HUH??

okay, so like. i want to be fair, right? i'm less interested in ranking tails *against* each other so much as I am in appreciating the variety of them. but like. if i had to choose the best tail in arknights. IF WE'RE ALL BEING HONEST HERE,,, yeahhh Asbestie would win this one absolutely no fucking contest. It's long. It's got volume. It's dexterous. It's WET. if you try getting your grubby little paws on the thing she will bear no hesitation in kicking your fucking teeth in for even thinking about it, so on top of all these amazing qualities it is also FORBIDDEN. lord knows there is only one person on terra who knows how it tastes, and I bet she's addicted to it. Asbestos tail rating: i need to choke on it Next up is- wait oh my fucking god jesus fuck. ign christ holy shit.

sorry to be such a lesbian but. god. fuck. focus here gubby. okay like i said i'm not really ranking tails against one another here, but ho'ol would certainly give asbestos a run for her money. it definitely would win out in the length department, because christ look at this thing

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh it's long as fuck. it's swift and silent, imbued with terrible strength. in her spoken voicelines she DIRECTLY references the doctor (u) choking on her tail. not from her tail or otherwise implying some kind of choke-hold, nonono. ON. this thing is going down your fucking throat and you are going to like it. ...i wonder what it tastes like. admittedly i did not finish lone trail before the event closed, but even from what i saw, the written descriptions of ho'ol's tail. some lucky tail enthusiast had a field day describing how her tail moves about in detail so intricate i can only describe it as fetishistic. and that is a COMPLIMENT goddammit. if this tail does nothing for you then i am sorry bb but there's no saving you. Ho'olheyak tail rating: i need to choke on it. and i suppose with that it's time to bring things back down to earth, because, okay if i'm being honest w's tail is. fine? but like. man given the previous two this just doesn't hit the same way...

The barbed shape is kinda neat, but in general this thing is pretttttty thin. If you know me at all then you know where i stand on the whole thin vs. phat tail debate, so I can't say W's tail impresses me all that much. Very thin, but very light and I imagine pretty quick. I wonder how sharp the end of that thing really is, but I'd guess that's it's likely safe to touch. I'm still in chapter 6 and admittedly don't know much about W as a character yet, but I imagine she'd either cause petty mischief with it in some way or alternatively get all embarrassed pissed if it's accidentally touched. I wonder what it tastes like. W tail rating: i am probably going to step on it (by accident)

[sparklingchim]

long way home 26 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: dilf!jungkook, friends to lovers, angst

warnings: ... emotions 🫡

summary: the one where decisions are made.

a/n: i can't believe m actually typing this out but we're at the end of lwh !!! thank u to everyone reading this series <3 i love uuuu <3

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |

masterlist | long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The coffee shop is eerily tranquil today. There aren’t many customers.

Only a few people linger at the tables near the windows and a single person stands in line.

The only loud noise comes from your phone pressed to your ear as Seulgi screams and yells at you.

You definitely should have waited until you entered the break room, because you’re afraid Seulgi’s voice is loud enough to hear.

“You promised me you would talk to him!”

You close the door with a push of your palm.

“I know, I’m going to.” You sigh and sit down at the table. “I just don’t know when exactly.” You sound sheepish, a worried crease appearing between your brows.

"Did he text you at all?”

“No. Why would he? I literally kicked him out of my place.”

Seulgi groans at your reminder. “Tell me why you did that again?”

“Seulgi,” you whine. You need her advice. She had already done the scolding part days ago.

“I know, I know – I'm sorry,” she replies, softer now – less accusing.

You fidget with your fingers. “Should I text him?”

“No, that’s not a good approach,” she dismisses.

“At least it’s something,” you retort. You could send him a short message. Though you’re not sure what it would contain. Hi, I'm sorry for making you leave, can we pls pls pls talk I miss you. You grimace. Maybe a call would be more suitable.

“Y/n,” Seulgi says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You know what’s more important than figuring out how to approach a conversation?” She pauses, but you stay silent. “Being ready to tell him the truth.”

You told Seulgi of your feelings for Jungkook the day after he confessed to you. She sat on your couch and watched you intently after you announced in a flustered tone I have to tell you something, right after you had talked about what had happened the day before.

You waited for a reaction, but none came. She had a vacant expression. “I know,” she said then, shrugging nonchalantly. “You think you were being secretive about it?” A puzzled look spread across her face.

You felt your cheeks grow hot.

“Are you?” Seulgi presses.

“Yes. I think I am.”

“Good, because this isn’t gonna fix itself,” she says. “Not unless you finally have the courage to be honest with him.”

She’s right. And even though it’s scary, you have nothing to lose. You have already lost your two favourite people in the world.

“And now go and talk to him.”

“What?” Seulgi can’t possibly mean that.

"Go to his place and have a conversation with him.” As if it were that easy.

“I’m at work, Seulgi.”

“You’re taking a break right now,” she counters.

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts,” she interjects. “Just go and get your friend back. Or future boyfriend, whatever.” Seulgi is unwavering. But your doubts and hesitations slowly start to fade. “I can’t keep watching you be sad. It breaks my heart,” she adds, in a much smaller voice.

“Seulgi,” you pout. She has seen you at your lowest points, and of course you know that she is compassionate, but when you hear her voice, your throat tightens.

“You’re gonna leave now?” she asks.

It’s a bit hectic and far too spontaneous, but her words have planted determination in your mind. But maybe that is exactly what you need. This way you don’t have time to overthink and come up with possible scenarios that make you doubt everything and give you sleepless nights.

“I am.” You take a look at the clock. You still have time left, but it’s definitely not nearly enough for walking to Jungkook’s apartment and talking to him. You have to do this now. If you postpone it to later, you’re not certain if you still have the bravery to do it.

“The next time you call it better be to tell me that Jungkook is your boyfie.”

You ignore her. “I’m gonna hang up now, I don’t have time. And thank you, really, without you I’d probably never do this.”

“That’s what friends are for,” she says warmly. You wish you could hug her.

After the call you leave the break room. There still aren’t a lot of customers and you’re thankful for that.

“Jimin.” You walk up to him. He’s loading cakes into the display case. He gives you a sweet smile.

“Hey, uh – I kinda have something quick to do,” you start, gauging his reaction. “Do you think you could – It’s just something really important and I don’t know if I can do it later and-”

“It’s okay, y/n,” he interrupts, the smile still on display. “I’ll cover for you, no problem. Do what you have to do, there is no rush.”

He doesn’t ask for a reason. He doesn’t ask how long you’ll be away. He doesn’t ask any questions. You would pull him into a hug if you weren’t in such a hurry.

You tug at the tie of your apron at your back and pull it off your body. Jimin reaches out to you and you hand him your black apron.

“Thank you. I promise I’ll be back soon!”

You don’t know the outcome of this, but you will take the initiative and at least try to make things better than they have been the last couple weeks.

You’re a little hopeful, and you have yet to find out if you are foolish for that.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you rush out of the coffee shop.

~

The walk from the coffee shop to Jungkook’s apartment isn’t that long, but it gives you time to question your choice.

You stand in the elevator of Jungkook’s apartment building, wondering whether you should press the button that will take you back down.

Earlier, a guy walked out of the building when you were about to ring Jungkook’s doorbell. You were able to slip into the building without announcing your presence to Jungkook. You feel more comfortable this way, though your hands start feeling clammy.

The elevator stops at Jungkook’s floor. The steps that lead you to his apartment door are uncertain, ready to turn and sprint down the stairs.

But you didn’t come here just to run away. You want things to be good between Jungkook and you.

You take a deep breath and press the doorbell.

A few seconds pass. Then, the door opens.

Jungkook stands in front of you. His long, dark hair is a fluffy and wavy mess on top of his head, adorned with little wispy flyaways around his face. He’s in casual clothes – black sweatpants combined with an oversized white pullover.

He seems startled to see you.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless.

“Hi.” His usual mellow lilt carries a rare hesitancy.

“Do you have time to talk?” A lump forms in your throat and you swallow it down.

“Yeah, sure.” He makes room for you to enter and closes the door behind you. You change into a pair of slippers and follow Jungkook to the living room.

“Is Nabi sleeping?” You can’t help but ask. You kind of hoped to see her. You missed her and maybe she could’ve eased your nervousness a little.

“I put her down for a nap a while ago.” Jungkook sits down next to you on the couch, a considerable distance between you. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall. “She should be up soon, though.”

When his eyes draw back to you, you feel a little helpless. You remind yourself of what Seulgi told you. This isn’t gonna fix itself.

After sorting the chaos in your head, you say, “I wanted to apologise for being so selfish all the time.”

Jungkook parts his lips to speak, but you continue before he can say anything. “I’ve never fully tried to look at things from your perspective and narrowed my mind to what I thought was the best solution.” You pull your sleeves over your hands. “It shouldn’t have been that way.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook replies, flashing you a tiny smile that disappears soon after. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have made you leave. That was heedless and inconsiderate of me,” you admit, biting your lip in guilt. “You opened up to me and I didn’t know what to do. There was a lot in my mind, and I just needed some space for a moment – I'm sorry, truly.” You avert your gaze to the carpet. “I honestly didn’t prepare what to say, I just – I left work because I needed to talk to you.”

“Why do you sacrifice so much for me?”

He insinuates more than leaving work in the middle of your shift.

A string tugs at your heart. Jungkook was honest with you, it’s time to be honest with him too – and maybe to yourself as well. It’s time to acknowledge the feelings you hold for him in a hidden little niche of your heart.

It’s difficult to bare that part of you when you’re so used to hiding it.

“Because I love you.”

You said it. And you mean it. Wholeheartedly so.

You can’t foreshadow his response and what will happen, but you’re glad you said it. The relief that courses through you was worth it.

Jungkook’s stare is intense. You don’t know if it’s the intensity of his stare or what you’ve just confessed, but every single bone inside of you feels ignited. You’re burning from the inside with sheer anxiety darting through you, while Jungkook remains silent.

Your words hang in the air, so simple and yet so daunting.

Jungkook’s pierced eyebrow twitches. He opens his mouth but not a single sound passes his lips.

You don’t blame him. Three days ago you shooed him away after he told you the exact same thing. In retrospect, you deeply regret that decision. But at that moment, you were overwhelmed and needed to be alone. Sort your thoughts. And then talk to him again.

You shift in your seat. “Jungkook.” It’s a soft murmur of his name, a trace of pity and urge creeping in your voice.

The spark leaves Jungkook’s eyes and he casts his gaze away. “It doesn’t change that you made me leave. You still don’t want anything to do with me. Right?”

You shake your head vehemently. But he is still not looking at you, so you say, “That’s not true.” You sit closer to him, fingers curling against the fabric of his sweater on his elbow. “That night was overwhelming for me. I made a mistake when I told you to leave, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Doe eyes lock with yours. You realise how much you missed his glimmering eyes that hold the night sky within them. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you back in my life, Jungkook.” His sweater crumples into a tiny ball in your palm. “I missed you.”

His answer is immediate. “I missed you too.”

Your chest feels light. A giddy warmth encloses you like a blanket.

“I’m sorry. For the way I acted,” you say.

“It’s okay. You’ve already apologised.” He looks down at your hand grasping his sweater. You should let go, but even the smallest hint of physical touch feels reassuring.

“I know but I just – I just think we’re equally as responsible for how things have turned out.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, definitely.” With a sigh he leans back. His tatted fingers vanish in his dark hair as he cascades through them.

“I really wanna try this. I want to be with you.”

He unclasps your fingers from his sweater and holds your hand. It’s an innocent, small gesture and still, your skin buzzes with delight.

“Y/n.” The way he whispers your name, tender and careful, as if not to break you. “Don’t you realise how much more you deserve?”

Your brows furrow. “But...” You squeeze his hand. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand.

“I promised myself to get over you after we graduated high school,” you tell. “But that clearly never happened.” Looking at both your hands you feel silly for ever thinking you could suppress your feelings for Jungkook.

“High school?” he inquires.

You feel small beneath his sharp gaze. “Well, yeah.” You shrug. “You’re like. Really pretty.” Heat crawls up into your cheek. “And we hung out like 24/7. It was not that hard to fall for you.”

“I mean, same.” The corner of Jungkook’s mouth tilts upwards.

Your lips form a tiny ‘o’. He has feelings for you since high school? It doesn’t make sense. “But you never shut up about how we’re such good friends,” you accuse him. All these years. And you didn’t know.

“Oh, yeah. That was...” He trails off.

“That was what?” You level him with a raised brow.

You see the struggle in Jungkook’s eyes. You don’t want to push him, but there are no more lies between you, no more secrets and untruths. You want only total honesty from now on.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough. That you deserved more.”

You shake your head in denial. “Why would you ever think that?” The years you spent with him as a teenager are full of happy memories. There were no big fights, and you don’t think you ever said or did something that made him feel that way. He’s been your best friend for so long. You love him just the way he is. “Did I ever make you feel like that?”

“Your father once told me not to try to pursue anything more than friends with you,” he explains hesitantly. “That’s why I’ve always talked about being such good friends.”

“He said what.” You’re stunned. What was your dad thinking?

Jungkook pulls your hands to his lap. “He only meant the best for you at the time.” He remains calm but little bubbles of anger prick at your skin.

“I don’t care what he was thinking.” You scowl, lips drawn into an angry pout. “So you’re telling me that if my dad hadn’t said anything, we would’ve-”

“Don’t get mad now,” he interrupts, an amused smile playing at his lips as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind you ear. “Your dad didn’t have any ill intend. I know we could’ve saved us a lot of time and misunderstandings but looks at us. Years later and we’re still in love. It doesn’t matter if in high school or now. It’s the same love. Just - “Jungkook flashes you a cute smile. “I think the only thing that has changed is that I love you even more.”

You bite down your lip. This. This is all you’ve ever wanted.

“Being apart from you was terrible,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I spent so much time thinking about you, you know that?”

He chuckles. “I think I do. You never leave my mind, y/n.” His hand around yours feels strong, protective.

“Never?” You ask tentatively. Looking at him through your lashes.

“No,” he confirms, a subtle, gentle shake of his head. “Never.”

You’re not even that close to him, but your entire body prickles at the proximity of Jungkook. The weeks without him have made you forget how it feels when you’re with him and now your body reacts to it like anticipating the last book of a fantasy series.

You need him closer than this. And it’s almost as if Jungkook can hear your thoughts, because he lets go of your hand and instead pulls you by your waist into his side. His hand lingers at your waist. And you might just feel like your skin is on fire.

“I like this better.” Jungkook’s voice is low, and so so close, it sends shivers down your spine.

“Me too,” you mumble. You have your chin propped up against his arm, looking at him with a small smile. You grow shy beneath his gaze, and you don’t even know why. “I’ve always wanted this.” You clasp your hands around his arm.

“Good,” Jungkook agrees, voice an octave deeper. Oh. More goose bumps. “Because I’ve always dreamt of this too.”

His other hand comes up to your face. He cups your cheek so delicately, the warmth of his palm is a soothing distraction from your racing heart.

Jungkook’s eyes dart between your eyes and lips, a question floating in the air that he is too afraid to ask.

“Jungkook.” It’s a plea, a request a yes, please kiss me and make me forget the world for just a moment.

Jungkook bends down. Your heart thumps against your chest and when you feel the softest hint of his mouth against yours, it stops beating.

The kiss is brief, gentle. A mere brush of your lips. Your eyes flutter open when Jungkook pulls back again, just the tiniest bit. He gives your waist a squeeze. His lips left a glimmer of tingles on your lips, and you ache for more.

“I spent so long waiting for this moment I was worried fate might never let me have you,” he whispers against your lips.

“You have me, Jungkook.” It leaves your mouth like a promise. “I’m here.”

Your hands loop around his neck and you surge forward, pulling Jungkook into another kiss. He moves his lips against yours in a practiced manner, as though you did that every single day of your lives. Like he is the missing piece of your heart to make you whole again.

Jungkook tugs you closer to him. You raise to your knees and throw a leg over Jungkook’s thigh. He follows your movements with his mouth, the softness in the beginning switching into a frantic, messy kiss.

You sit on his thigh, hands diving into his fluffy hair. You pull at some strands when he bites down your lip, moan into his mouth when he pushes you closer at your lower back and you graze over his thigh. With every sweep of his lips, another broken bone of your body mends.

You never want this moment to end.

You didn’t know you needed this so desperately, but now that you’re in Jungkook’s embrace you never want to let him go. Just you two, forever.

But then a sudden cry blares through the apartment.

Jungkook draws back. His forehead is against yours.

You two need a second to come back to the real world. The afterglow clouds your rational thoughts like the night setting after a beautiful summer day.

Your breathing is laboured, so is Jungkook’s. Your hands slide down to his neck and down to his shoulders.

“Nabi woke up from her nap.” His nose scrunches at Nabi’s wailing. He plants a tiny smooch on your lips, lingering close for a chaste moment before he gets you off his thigh.

You think about waiting until he returns with Nabi, but you can’t wait to see her tiny, bubbly form after so long.

Before Jungkook leaves the room, you scramble to your feet and reach for his hand. “I missed her,” you whine and Jungkook leads you to the nursery with a promising squeeze of his hand.

When you follow Jungkook into Nabi’s room, you take tentative steps towards her crib. Nabi is curled up in her little blankets, her round doe eyes shimmering with tears. Instinctually, you coo at her sight. Your heart softens.

“Wanna hold her?” Jungkook asks. His eyes never left you since you entered the room.

You nod – way too animatedly – and you think you see a smile spreading across Jungkook’s face out of the corner of your eye.

Ever so gently, you swoop Nabi into your embrace. Her little sobs ring throughout the room and nip straight at your heart. “My baby,” you murmur. You rock her in your arms. “I missed you so, so much.” She is wearing her baby bear romper, the material a fuzzy brown with two little bear ears attached to the hood.

Nabi is a small, fluffy bear and you’ve missed this tiny human so enormously.

Her doe eyes – an exact replication of her dad’s – stare up at you. The cries subside into whimpers, her puffy lips trembling.

“Nabi.” Her name bubbles past your lips in a whisper. You brush your knuckle against her doughy cheek. “Do you remember me?” She blinks through her thin, wet eye lashes. Having her in your arms unfolds a gloomy feeling in your chest. Yes, you are happy to see her again, but how were you able to spend more than two weeks without her?

“Are you crying?” Jungkook suddenly asks, stepping forward.

It’s only then you discern the tears pricking your eyes. “No,” you deny, sniffing a little.

A soft chuckle springs from his chest. Jungkook stands behind you, nuzzling his head to the side of your face. His burly arms envelop your waist. “Don’t cry,” he mutters. He faintly nudges your cheek with his nose. “You’ll never be separated from her again.”

“I wouldn’t survive that.” Your lower lip juts out as you’re in awe with Nabi’s cuteness. She has your heart.

“She wouldn’t either,” Jungkook retorts. His hushed timbre so close to your ear is drawing you back to him. You slowly rest your head against his chest. His voice. You could listen to him talk for hours with no end. “Nabi wouldn’t settle for sleep if she didn’t have some of your clothes in her bed.”

With a quick tilt of your head, you glance up at him. And then your eyes travel to Nabi’s crib. You see something in a lavender colour peeking from underneath Nabi’s blanket. A top you must have left here.

You thought you had successfully managed to restrain your tears, but here you are again, with new tears stinging your eyes.

“You can't just say that.” Dolour cloaks your voice. “It’s gonna make me cry.”

“Sweetheart.” He pecks the crown of your head. “It’s okay now.” There’s a hint of amusement swirling in his tone. But his touches on your body are soft, soothing.

Nabi has gone completely silent in your grasp. You boop her nose. A smile unfurls on your face. So little. A broad smile blossoms on Nabi as a reaction, pudgy cheeks scrunching her twinkling eyes. The absolute sweetest giggle sparks from her. Your heart clenches at the sound.

But then your eyes spot her reddened gums and the faint white outlines of her teeth.

You gasp. “She is growing teeth already?” With a swift whirl of your head, you stare at Jungkook, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and she’s been really fussy about it.”

“Oh my God,” you utter, looking at the little baby in your arms who’s growing up too fast. A subliminal melancholy sets in your tummy. “She was just a tiny baby and now she has teeth?” You ask, appalled.

“Not yet,” Jungkook says. “But it doesn’t matter how fast she grows – she will be my little baby forever.” Nabi’s eyes are drawn to Jungkook as he speaks. “Isn’t that right? Hm?” He leans over your shoulder, squishing her doughy cheek with his fingers. Nabi squeals, another smile displayed on her mouth.

You give Jungkook a kiss on his cheek. His eyes are sparkling just like Nabi’s. Jungkook turns his face to you. “And you,” – his lips brush over the corner of your mouth – “You will be my baby forever too.”

You laugh against his mouth.

“What.” He raises his brows, a pleased expression on his face.

“You’re silly.”

“No, I’m not.” He pulls you closer to him. Your back is flush against his lean body.

“I’m just saying the truth.”

“Oh, yeah?” Playfulness flashes in your eyes.

He gives you a firm nod. “Yeah.” Jungkook gently strokes your hair over your shoulder. Your skin tingles when his digits unintendedly skim over your neck.

“Tell me another then.”

“I love you.” He didn’t let a second pass before answering. “I’m so incredibly in love with you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. “I love you.”

His loving eyes bore into your soul. No one has ever looked at you the way Jungkook does. Like you are beautiful, a work of art.

A deep warmth of domesticity floats in the air. It’s a vast contrast to how you have been feeling in the past days.

You share a sweet kiss with him, but it gets quickly disrupted by demanding babbling from beneath you.

"Yes, I love you too, missy,” Jungkook says, brushing her thin hair from her forehead. Her brows are deeply furrowed. He gives her a kiss there. Nabi’s trembling pout changes into a beam. “Always needy of attention, huh?”

“Just like her daddy,” you tease, grinning at Jungkook, before you leave the nursery with Nabi.

Jungkook catches your waist in the hallway. “You’re right,” he admits, a smirk curving his lips. He pulls you into his side as he walks you to the kitchen. “That’s why I don’t wanna spent any second of my life apart from you anymore.” Jungkook pecks your forehead.

A shy smile sets on your mouth. You sir down at the dining table and watch Jungkook opening a cupboard with Nabi’s food.

Nabi has found interest in playing with your hair, occasionally tugging at it.

“Not a single second?” you ask mindlessly, eyes focused on Nabi.

“I’m being serious.” He pops open a jar. “Y’know what.” Jungkook turns around to you. “You should move in with me.”

Your head snaps to him.

You search for a hint that tells you that he doesn’t actually mean it, but Jungkook doesn’t budge.

“I mean it,” he confirms.

“I can’t just move out of my apartment like that,” you reason.

Jungkook shrugs. “Just stay with me.”

It sounds so simple from his lips. And maybe it is. Seulgi has already taught you today the simplicity of just acting without overthinking too much beforehand.

“That way Minjun can’t bother you anymore.” Something flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. “Next time I see him I’m gonna break his neck.”

You ponder for a second. “I mean, I spent most of my time here anyway,” you say. “But lets not rush anything.” You don’t want this to be ruined before it has even properly started.

“Of course, baby.” He turns to the counter again. “Only if you want.”

You watch from behind as he prepares Nabi’s food. The contours of his shoulder muscles flexing with his movements conjure butterflies in your tummy. Hm. Maybe you should consider moving in if this is what you’ll get to see every day.

“Waking up next to you for the rest of my life sounds like a dream, honestly,” Jungkook flirts. You don’t have to see him to know he’s grinning annoyingly.

You’re glad he doesn’t see the way your teeth involuntarily sink into your bottom lip at his teasing voice.

“Your daddy can be insufferable sometimes,” you whisper conspiratorially, looking down at Nabi. She babbles something in return. You giggle and Nabi squeals in delight.

“What are my girls talking about?” Jungkook asks.

“None of your concern.”

You hear him huff. Suddenly, you remember that you left work during your shift. And that you promised Jimin to be back as soon as possible.

“Jungkook,” you gasp. He immediately turns to you. “I have to go back to work. Jimin is covering for me, but I've left him for way too long. I-”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive you back.” Jungkook’s calm voice works like a miracle cure for your panic. “I’ll just feed Nabi real quick and then we can leave.”

“You don’t have to. I can walk back.”

“I want to,” Jungkook says. “Besides, we can eat our cookies again. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten one.”

“I haven’t eaten one in so long as well.” The last time was together with Jungkook.

Jungkook blinks perplexed. “How have you survived until now?” He closes the distance between you, the back of his hand against your forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You roll your eyes and swat his arm. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Why are you on a cookie diet?”

“Reminded me too much of you,” you mumble.

“Baby,” Jungkook coos. His knuckles trace the skin of your cheek. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

You grin mischievously. “For the rest of my life?”

“Of course.”

“Daaa,” Nabi gurgles.

“Yes, I’ll buy you as many cookies you want too, once you grow your teeth.”

“That’s gonna be so soon.” You pout.

“We’ll always have time to make a second b-”

“Jungkook hurry.” You push him away. “Poor Jimin is covering for me, and Nabi is gonna starve.”

“Okay, okay,” he replies, though he doesn’t go back until he traps your mouth in a tender kiss. It’s a short kiss, but it messes with every coherent thought in your brain.

You wait for Jungkook to bring Nabi’s warm food. He opens the cutlery drawer and fishes out her tiny, pink spoon.

You smile when you think about the phone call you’re gonna have with Seulgi later. The next time you call it better be to tell me that Jungkook is your boyfie.

The ambiance is cosy – Nabi snuggled up in your arms, Jungkook sending cute smiles your way as he gets her food ready – a feeling of utter contentment that has your whole body at peace.

It’s been a long way to get here, but you finally feel at home.

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [1].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, a house fire, mentions of sex, like the chapter title says there is too much underwear in this, an awful amount of embarrassing men WORD COUNT. 2.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi

NOTE. i have nothing to say except i hope you enjoy this shitshow as much as i enjoyed writing it. please check the link in the masterlist if you're curious about the layout of the house. feedback much appreciated i love u.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 1 — this is too much underwear for a first meeting.

YOU WISH YOU CAN TAKE BACK ALL YOUR COMPLAINTS ABOUT DORM LIFE. Sure, the disgusting, communal bathrooms scrape a year off of your lifespan every time you have to take a piss, and the abhorrently thin walls make you want to rip your ears out every time your neighbors have mind blowing sex, but hey— all of that is better than not having a roof above your head. Even if that roof is two years behind maintenance. 

But it’s all too late. You should’ve appreciated having a bed to sleep in before life pried it out from you in the form of a swirling inferno.

When the semester came to a close, your dormmates thought it would be a fantastic idea to throw an end-of-year party. The problem is, that party ended up in flames. Literally. The last person you saw entering the kitchen was Choi Yeonjun until something exploded and before you know it, there’s a stampede, and you’re choking on black fumes, and there’s suddenly a lightshow happening right before your very eyes with the dorm building you’ve been living in for the past year serving as the sparkler.

Holy shit, your dorm is burning down.

It’s a good thing that the fire was stopped before it could reach your room. You don’t know what you’d do if all your notes and textbooks burnt down along with half of the building into debris. Even prior to the fire, a lot of the facilities were janky and needed to be renovated, so you had to pack your bags and find somewhere else to stay for the next two months while the place went through repairs.

“Great,” you huff, filling your two carriers with the bare minimum you have collected in your unit. “This is just fucking great.” 

However, just when you’re falling into the brink of homelessness, a friend from your book club graciously offers you a room in his house as a saving grace from your misfortune.

“It’s a small bedroom compared to the rest, but you only have to share a bathroom with one other person! There’s also a laundry room and a living area on the same floor. It’s a big place, so it doesn’t feel stuffy at all even with six, seven people.”

You have no reason to decline Jake’s offer, especially when it’ll be just a temporary arrangement anyway. “Are you sure? You said you have housemates, right? Are they fine with living with another person on such short notice?”

“Yeah, they said it’s cool,” he assures, helping you load your luggage into the taxi. “I’ve been wanting to fill up the last bedroom anyway. The house is just too big even with our current living setup. The more the merrier.”

You’ve always known that Jake Shim was fucking rich. Not because he bragged or flaunted his wealth or anything— but because he’d drop the most privileged, tone-deaf shit at the most inappropriate times and no one can get pissed because he looks oh so innocent while saying them. You had once complained about stuffing yourself with too much meat during a club dinner and that one more bite will have you nauseous. He replied with, “oh yeah, I once ate wagyu steak for a good week in Japan and I got sick of it, too!” and you physically felt your economic status erode at that very moment.

He and you will never be the same. And that fact is made suffocatingly evident right now, as the vehicle slowly pulls into a fancy neighborhood and stops right before the fence of an unreasonably gigantic yard with an unreasonably gigantic house. You do feel a little poor when he shows off the pool and the two garages, but at the same time, beggars can’t be choosers.

Also, it’s a really nice fucking house.

It’s three stories tall, with a covered deck and a substantial amount of outdoor lounging areas. Floor to ceiling windows give you a glimpse of the modern interior of the foyer and spacious living room. You’re a little afraid of getting used to such luxury that you might never want to come back to your old, dingy dorm room— but with every blessing comes a curse.

Jake did mention that you will be living with six other people including him. What he did not mention is that those ‘other people’ would all be men.

Imagine your shock when you’re greeted by a whole ass man in nothing but neon green boxers and shades the moment you slip through the sliding doors of testosterone hell.

Very. You’re very shocked. 

“Hey, man,” Jake greets the almost naked individual who is also holding a bowl of cereal in the middle of the afternoon, presumably having just walked out of the kitchen. “What’s with the glasses?” That’s not the biggest issue here. You can see the outline of his fucking penis.

“Oh,” he reacts. “It was just so bright when I got out of the room.”

Jake nods. “That makes sense.” No it does not.

“I think it just got even brighter.”

You can’t tell, but you assume he’s squinting at you underneath his shades. You believe you might also need a pair because there’s definitely a contender in being the brightest thing in the room, so you try your best to not be distracted by the neon of his undies as Jake introduces you to him. “And this is Park Jongseong— or Jay, as he prefers to be called.”

“Call me whatever you like,” Jay smiles at you and reaches out his non-cereal hand for a handshake. He seems chill enough. Maybe he’s just a very laid back person who doesn’t care about general appearances. You can work with that.

“Nice to meet you.” You shake on it. “Aren’t you cold, by the way?”

When he retrieves his hand, he combs his fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands. “My friends often say that I am pretty cool.”

“No, I mean cold,” you clarify. “That does look like a statement, but I’m worried you might get sick.”

You’re starting to get an inkling that you have misjudged Jay. It takes him a few seconds to understand what you were referring to, until a breeze passes by from the open entrance and suddenly, he looks down. “Oh,” he flatly says. “Of fuck.” And the innocent bowls cereal crashes and spills into the ground as Jay disappears into the hallway to your right.

You and Jake stare at the milk minutely seeping into the wooden floor. “I was gonna ask him to help you with your luggage but—” Where Jay disappears, a new person emerges (fully clothed this time, thankfully). “Oh! Hyung, come help.”

He has his neck turned back as he walks up to the both of you. You can hear the sound of footsteps scrambling from where the newcomer is looking at. “What happened to Jay?”

“I don’t know, but let me introduce you to our new housemate!”

“Hi there.” You give him a smile.

Jake tells you his name is Choi Beomgyu, and Choi Beomgyu doesn’t exactly look like he’s keen on accepting your handshake. Instead, all he does is stare you down with his arms crossed, eyes scaling your entire height like he’s doing a motherfucking evaluation. You’re trying your damn best to maintain a pleasant expression. You almost break when he quits his rude staring and turns over to Jake. “So, you need me to help carry her things?” The bastard isn’t even talking directly to you. Your pride can’t take this hit.

“No, it’s alright. I can take care of these myself. Thanks!” Jake flinches when you snatch your second carrier from his hands. “Third floor, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Got it.” 

Yes, you might have shoved past Beomgyu on purpose, but that’s not the point. You leave the two behind to take care of Jay’s fallen cereal as you struggle to lug your luggage up the staircase. You manage to bring them all the way to the second floor landing before your arms give in and you let the two cases settle on the floor with a huff. When you pause to take a breather, you catch a familiar face walking down the stairs from above. You recognize him from Jake’s instagram stories. You’re sure his name is Lee Heeseung. “Oh! Let me help!” he quickly exclaims after noticing the situation, hurrying down the steps. “You’re the new addition to our residence, right?”

“Yes, I am, and it’s totally fine! You don’t have to—”

Big mistake. You should’ve just let him help, but you’re a little prideful so you reach out for the carrier he took, and when your fingers brush against the back of his hand, the man suddenly drops the fucking case and retracts his entire arm. You stare, wide-eyed, as Heeseung stumbles back to the ground next to your carrier that happened to crack open in the fray and is now spilling out all your clothes like guts and blood. Behind Heeseung, the door creaks open. “Is everything oka— oh my god, is that a b-bra—”

Well. It is, in fact, a bra, and its color seems to match the flushed face of the poor, unsuspecting individual that just opened the door out of concern for his friend. You make eye contact with him once before he retreats into his room with a loud slam! Heeseung is still on the floor and he’s now profusely apologetic.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, please let me help—” The issue dawns on him belatedly, right when it’s already too late and he has your undergarment in his hands in the midst of trying to undo his mistake. “I don’t think I should help.”

“Good call.” You kneel down, politely prying your blood red bra from Heeseung as you proceed to gather the rest of your clothes back into the carrier.

“I should cut my hands off.”

Oh no. “Hey, it was an accident. It’s fine—” When you try to reach a hand out to give him a completely innocent, completely harmless pat on the shoulder for assurance, he flinches back again. Now your arm is awkwardly hanging mid-air and you’re both looking at each other with shared looks of alarm. The exchange (or lack thereof) reminds you of a forgotten memory— a memory from your childhood. Snacktime all throughout elementary school, to be specific, when all the boys would fucking run away from you and your girl friends for having cooties.

This moment is oddly reminiscent of that and you don’t want to acknowledge it.

“What happened? I heard a crash, is everything alright?”

By the time Jake arrives, you have already managed to clear up the crime scene. With a grunt, you get back up and prepare yourself for another round of heavy lugging. “Can you tell me where my room is? I think you should stay here and make sure your friend is okay.”

“It’s...the first door through the hallway, next to Sunghoon’s. Hyung, are you good?”

You have no idea who the fuck Sunghoon is, but you nod in acknowledgement anyway. “Who’s the person living in that room?” 

“Soobin hyung,” Jake answers, helping a dazed Heeseung back to his feet. “Why?”

“You should go check on him, too.”

With that, you leave another mess in your wake as you climb up the flight of stairs to the third floor. You can’t wait to rest. You really want to lie down. But when you walk past the hallway, entering into the floor’s unreasonably cozy living area, you’re met with a fucking fork in the road.

There’s one door right across the hallway, but when you open it, it’s not a bedroom, but a laundry room. So you make a sharp right to the archway opening up to three doors on each of the walls. Jake should have been more specific with what he meant by the first door. You don’t want to take a risk and walk into something you’d fucking regret.

Fortunately, someone emerges from the door on your right and reveals what looks to be a bathroom. You assume he’s Sunghoon, and Sunghoon nearly doubles over when he turns around and meets eyes with you. His expression stiffens, and you’re both just standing there for a good moment and looking at each other without saying anything.

You press your lips into a smile. Holy shit, he’s intimidating. Why the fuck isn’t he saying anyting?

“Hi. I’m—”

“S—shit—”

Suddenly, he’s gone. He’s disappeared into the room in the center after struggling to open the door for a bit. You’re left dumbfounded, but at least now you know where your room is.

You slot the key Jake gave you and twist open the doorknob. The empty room greets you with a body slam of fatigue, and before you know it, you’re sinking face down into the bed and you have no energy left in your fingertips. Admittedly, you have questioned yourself multiple times upon first entering the house whether you made the right decision, whether it’d be better to find an apartment, or maybe you should just crash at your parent’s place for the time being.

But this bed is more comfy than any hotel suite you’ve ever been to, and your bank account isn’t suffering from an enormous dent. Six disastrous men is nothing when you’re able to call a place your home. You can already envision where you’ll be placing your new bookshelf. They’d have to pry your new house key from your cold, dead hands if they want you out of here.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[bellatriestowritesometimes]

To Know

aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: You attend your best friend's wedding where you see Hotch for the first time in four years since you were shot on your wedding day by Peter Lewis, forcing him to go into witness protection and leave you.

Part 2

AN/explanation:

Listen it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and by minute I mean 4 years so bear with me!! There’s probably spelling and punctuation errors but I wrote this in the middle of the night so cut me some slack.

OK so a bit of an explanation on this.. so you know how everyone has their imaginary scenarios they make up before bed or wherever (and if you don’t you’re weird!) well this is mine!! OK not really but ever since I watched CM which was probably about 5/6 years ago now, Hotch was on my mind 24/7 and I have this plot in my head with YEARS worth of scenarios thought out with original characters and everything!! This is just a small snippet of the whole plot I have had thought out for Hotch and Alex (that is what I have named her in my head, but have obviously written it as a Y/N to make it more enjoyable I guess? Idk what people prefer!!). I could probably write a book on this crap but I’ll just start with this part. I am in the process of writing a part two to this so if anyone’s interested I’ll try to get it out before the weekend’s over as this is the only free time I have currently! Now if I ever was going to make this into a series (that’s a very big if) this would be a chapter towards the end of this plot that I have created. Anyways enough rambling…

I am an angst over any other kind of genre girly so that’s all this will be :D this seemed better in my head and it ALWAYS does but I just wanted to get it out of my system.

Hope u enjoy xx

Warnings: smut (a little not too much), cheating.

Word count: 3.9k

It was your best friend’s wedding and you couldn’t have been happier. Henry was your rock and pretty much the only family you ever had. He had been with you through everything, all the highs and lows, so he deserved today to be absolutely perfect.

You were helping Luca with his tie and giving him a final check over before he went out to marry your best friend. Luca knew how important you were to Henry and how important Henry was to you. The three of you were practically a throuple. OK maybe not a throuple but anyone who was important to Henry became important to you. They had been together for almost 5 years but knew each other for even longer. 

“He’s here you know...” Luca said “Henry invited everyone from the BAU..”

You raised an eyebrow at Luca whilst finishing up with his tie.

“I know,” you replied simply.

Henry was the one who got you a job at the BAU. He knew almost everyone and if he didn’t, he knew someone who did. He had helped out with several cases and knew everyone at the BAU well, so of course they all got an invite to his wedding which was in London. Henry knew your history with Hotch and that meant so did Luca.

“He has them all staying at the Ritz you know, booked a suite out for everyone,’’ Luca rambled.

“I know,” you repeated and rolled your eyes.

Of course he has you thought to yourself, money was never an issue for him. Not that it was for you either but you were slightly more modest than him.

Luca could sense that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you so he decided to change the topic.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” He asked referring to him and Henry.

“Absolutely,” you confirmed “he needs you Luca, I don’t even want to imagine what he would be like without you. It’s not something I’m prepared to take on” you let out a laugh. “You two have practically been married for the last 5 years, now it’s just time to make it official!” You gave his arms a squeeze.

“I’ll see you out there, no backing out now,” you gave him a wink and Luca gave you a nod with a smile.

You took that as your cue to leave and made your way towards the alter and towards Henry. As you made your way up to the front you saw all of the guests take their seats. You spotted JJ, Will and her boys a few rows from the front, who were staying at your place for the next few days. Emily, Spencer and Garcia were seated a few rows behind them and you spotted Morgan and Savannah seated on the other side of the room. You were trying to find Rossi and Krystall until your eyes landed on someone else. There he was sitting right next to Rossi with a brunette next to him which you assumed was Beth.

“How is he?” Henry’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“Huh?” Was the only thing that came out of your mouth as you slowly dragged your eyes away from the man that left you on pretty much your death bed and then divorced you.

“Luca – how is he? He’s not making a run for it is he?” Henry laughed but behind the laugh he needed the reassurance. He hadn’t been the perfect fiancé and has put Luca through the wringer at times, but there’s no one else for Henry other than Luca and vice versa.

“Stop being stupid!” You swatted him gently, “Of course not! I stopped him just before he got to the fire exit,” you replied playfully.

“Ha ha very funny,” Henry replied dryly, “And how are you? …You know with him being here.. You did say it was okay for me to invite him but I can send him home if you want. Just tell me and I’ll have him escorted out by security-”

“Please stop, it’s fine. Honestly I mean it. We’ve both moved on. I’m with Avery now and he’s with Beth,” you answered. “Besides today is not about me or my woes, it’s about you!”

-

The wedding ceremony was beautiful and it was now time for the reception. You made your way round to all the tables saying hello to the people you recognised until you reached the table you dreaded the most. Thankfully your husband Avery caught up with you to let you know that it was time to make your way to your seat as it was almost time for your speech.

You gave Rossi a smile in the distance before walking back to your seat, avoiding contact with Hotch for now who was sat right next to him.

-

After the speeches were done and the drinks began floating around the room, everyone felt a lot more relaxed. You were listening to the conversation Emily and Avery were having about a book they both had read, until you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“Hi you must be Y/N! I’m Beth, Aaron has told me so much about you!” Beth exclaimed as you turned around to face her.

“Yes hi! It’s lovely to meet you, I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce myself earlier,” you gave her a smile.

It was a genuine smile, she seemed nice and in any other situation you could even be friends. She is not to blame for what had happened between you and Hotch, however you did wonder what kind of things he has told her about you.

“It’s okay don’t worry about it! I understand how stressful weddings are,” she continued and for a second you thought if she had married Hotch without anyone telling you. Your eyes flicked towards her left hand that was wrapped around a champagne flute. No sign of a ring. You cursed yourself for still caring enough to check.

“That’s a beautiful ring” she said bringing you out of your trance.

You followed her gaze which was now on your own left hand. You hadn’t realised that you were twisting your own wedding ring with your thumb, reminiscing about how it felt when you had the ring on that Hotch gave you. It was a lot smaller than the one you have now. It had an oval diamond in the centre with three green sapphire leaves holding the diamond in place on each side. It was a delicate ring and you loved everything about it. Everything but the dreaded memories that came along with it. The ring was now replaced with a big teardrop diamond from Harry Winston and it was beautiful. It sparkled even in the dark and felt almost heavy on your finger. You had to admit that Avery had great taste, the two of you had now been married for almost 2 years.

“Thank you..” you smiled and let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.

“Uhm this is Avery my husband-” you cleared your throat, almost forgetting to introduce him to her.

They shared a few polite words until Beth excused herself. You assumed she had gone to find Hotch as she disappeared into the crowd.

“She seems nice,” Avery said and gave you a small smile. He knew what had happened with you and Hotch and he wasn’t his biggest fan but he was never the one to bad mouth him.

“Yeah she does…” you replied quietly whilst your mind drifted off elsewhere. Emily sensed that you were uncomfortable and resumed her conversation with Avery in an attempt to take his attention off you.

-

It was several hours into the reception and you had stepped outside with Luca and lit a cigarette for you both to share.

You had noticed Beth was in the distance on the phone but Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Today has been beautiful,” you hummed as you took a pull of the cigarette and passed it to Luca.

“It really has been, thank you for helping Henry with the planning,” he expressed.

You both conversed about the wedding and your favourite parts until someone had interrupted you.

“Oh sorry,” your eyes followed his voice, “I thought Beth was out here,” he explained as he looked between you and Luca.

“She is,” you pointed with the cigarette between your fingers “she’s just gone into the gazeebo over there to take a call I think,” you replied.

“Thank you,” he looked into your eyes longer than he should have before he began walking her way.

“Is this the first time you’ve spoken to him tonight?” Luca asked whilst following your gaze that was still on Hotch.

“Yup.”

“There’s an explanation. I am sure he has an explanation,” Luca tried standing up for the man he barely knew.

You didn’t respond and instead focused your gaze on something else.

“You know… and I really shouldn’t be saying this but... I think Henry might’ve had something to do with it,” Luca continued.

“What makes you say that? Has he told you something?” You questioned focusing your attention back on Luca.

“Nope. He doesn’t tell me anything when it’s to do with work and I thank him for it. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant putting your newly husband into witness protection…”

You thought about it for a minute or so and yes maybe Henry was the one who suggested going into witness protection but that still doesn’t explain the radio silence from Hotch even after Peter Lewis was caught.

“I want you to have what me and Henry have,” Luca brought you out of your thoughts once again.

“I have that. With Avery, he makes me happy,” you replied not knowing if it’s the full truth. Avery does make you happy and you love him but you’re not sure if it compares to what you and Hotch had and it seems like Luca doesn’t either.

“Let’s get back in there shall we? I’m sure Henry is looking for you!” You perked up, trying to change a conversation that was becoming too heavy for your liking. 

-

Since you were one of the few people who didn’t drink at the wedding, you decided to give Emily, Spencer, and Garcia a lift back to the hotel whilst Avery, JJ, Will, and the boys got an Uber home back to your place.

The car ride back to the hotel turned into an episode of carpool karaoke with Emily blasting any and every song that came on the radio.

Once you pulled up to the hotel you helped Emily out of the car and then let Spencer take over. You were about to shut the passenger door when you noticed a phone on the seat Emily was sat in.

“You left your phone Beyonce!” You called out to Emily as she was finishing her 3rd run of single ladies from the start.

You caught up with her and placed the phone in her hand, she took one look at it and blurted out that it’s Beth’s and that she had found it by some gazebo outside.

You pressed the lock button on the side and the phone lit up revealing a picture of Hotch and Beth set as the lock screen.

“What room is she in do you know?” You asked Emily but she just shrugged her shoulders and carried on signing. Spencer and Penelope both gave you a shrug signalling that they didn’t know either.

“Right I will just leave it with reception. The three of you get some sleep ok, we have brunch tomorrow!” You shouted even though the three of them were already inside the hotel queuing up for the elevator.

You pressed the lock button once again making the phone light up just to stare at the lock screen once more. With a sigh you then began to make your way into the hotel and walked towards reception.

“Hello Miss can I help you with anything?” The lady asked.

“Uh yes actually, I’m trying to return a lost phone to a friend of mine but I don’t remember the room number. Could you please let me know? It should be a suite under the name Hotchner, they’re here for a wedding,” you smiled hoping she’d give you the information you needed.

She typed away on her keyboard for a few seconds before replying to your question.

“I have an Aaron Hotchner on the system along with a Beth Clemmons sharing suite 107?”

“Yes that’s the one! Thank you so much!” You thanked the lady and made your way to the elevator. Emily and the others were long gone, probably passed out in their beds by now you hoped.

-

You tapped softly on the door waiting for someone to open it and hoping that it wasn’t Beth. You weren’t even sure what you were doing, what you were going to say, what if Beth’s awake, what would happen then?

You had no excuse and no business to be knocking on his hotel door. Well aside from the fact that he left you on your wedding night right after you got shot, had someone serve you with divorce papers as soon as you came out of your coma and you still haven’t had an explanation even though it’s been close to 4 years.

After a few moments the door was gently pulled open and there he stood. Still in his shirt and trousers from the wedding. He looked taken back seeing you stand there in the hallway. Although you were the only one on his mind tonight, you still had caught him off guard.

“Hi…” Was all that he managed to say.

“Hi…” you breathed out. “..Beth left her phone at the wedding reception,” you said holding it up as proof.

You looked behind him and could see 3 mini whisky bottles that were now empty, lined up on the coffee table. On the left you could see two large double doors that were shut behind the sofa. You had assumed that’s where Beth was sleeping as there was no sign of her anywhere else.

“Oh… Well thank you for bringing it here, you didn’t have to go out of your way...”

“It’s okay I was dropping Emily and the others off anyway,” you replied whilst handing him the phone.

As he took the phone from you he moved slightly to the side, almost inviting you in before actually saying it.

“Would you like to come in?” he paused for a moment, “…please come in” he pleaded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you the whole night I just didn’t want to disturb you. Beth’s asleep so you don’t have to worry about her or we could take a walk somewhere,” he went on; desperation clear in his voice.

Instead of replying you walked past him making your way into his room, a completely different side of you taking over.

You made your away towards the sofa, never sitting down just standing in front of it. You turned to face Hotch who closed the door and walked towards you, stopping just a few inches away. You could tell he had been drinking. You had obviously seen him drink at the wedding but he left several hours ago yet here he was emptying the mini fridge in his hotel suite.

You eyed the bottles on the coffee table.

“Rough night?’ You asked but it sounded more like a statement. When you looked back at him his mouth was slightly open, almost as if he was thinking of what to say but no words were coming out.

You tilted your head to the side as you took in his features. He looked different. Good but different.  After all these years had passed, you never knew when you would be able to get a good look at him again, and god how much you’d missed his handsome face. The last memory you had of it was when you collapsed in his arms after being shot during your first dance as Mr and Mrs. You don’t remember much after that, just faint shouting in the distance as your vision went blurry until you eventually passed out in his arms.

“I- um I don’t know what to say Y/N… I don’t even know where to begin,” he expressed. Concern, pain and regret all clear in his voice.

Before he could continue you lifted your hand up in an attempt to stop him from saying anything else. That’s not what you came here for.

“I am so sorry,” he breathed out but you took a step closer to him and placed one of your fingers on his lips to silence him.

“Shh,” you whispered whilst you ran your other hand slowly down his chest stopping at the belt of his trousers. You could feel his pulse quicken as he took in what you were doing.

Never breaking eye contact you began to gently move your hand lower until you reached his crotch. You then began to palm him with a bit more force, feeling him harden underneath your touch. A slight smirk played on your lips as you realised how much of an affect you still had on him, how much his body still responded to you. You believed that you were the only one that could get him this flustered, to get him to cheat on his girlfriend, to get him this hot and bothered over practically nothing.

“Take off your trousers...” you hissed.

The concern and regret was now replaced with confusion and curiosity but he did as he was told and began to undo his belt. You watched him carefully as he dropped his trousers to the floor stopping at his boxers.

“You can leave those on, this won’t take long,” you instructed coldly and pushed him onto the sofa. As he sat down he reached over to switch a small table lamp off, leaving a soft glow on your silhouette that was coming from a floor lamp on the other side of the room.

You lifted your dress and rolled it up stopping at your waist whilst you straddled Hotch. The familiar feeling of his dick beneath you was enough to send you over the edge.

You lifted yourself up slightly using your knees and grabbed him through his boxers, silently thanking him for wearing a pair with the slit. He watched your every move and took in a sharp breath when your hand made contact with him and took another when you gently lowered yourself onto his dick.

You began rocking your hips, savouring every single second. You started to pick the pace up and you felt Hotch move in to kiss you to which you gently pushed his head back with your hand, not wanting any other intimacy other than the feeling of him inside you and maybe you inside of him.

You took two of your fingers and placed them on his lips again, this time using them to part his mouth. You gently slipped them inside and he welcomed it. You decided to push them in deeper. Not deep enough to hurt him but deep enough to your liking. Your fingers felt cold against his tongue.

At that point you knew you were close and so was he, your fingers in his mouth helped him to stifle his moans, whilst you watched him intently. After a few moments you felt him twitch beneath you as he threw his head back when he came and you shortly followed.

You removed your fingers from his mouth and gently stood up lowering your dress back down giving the man you still loved one last look before turning around to leave. Just before you got the door you stopped and turned around, he was now up grabbing his trousers off the floor.

“You left me… I was in a coma Hotch and when I came out of it you weren’t there. You left me Aaron.”

Without giving him a second to respond you left and closed the door behind you.

-

As you stepped into the elevator a thousand thoughts were racing in your head. You began to question yourself on why you had come here in the first place, but you knew exactly why. You wanted to see if you still had that control over him, you wanted to see if you could still have him, if he still belonged to you. And he did. You thought about how your relationship had evolved from being just co-workers to friends from friends to lovers and from lovers to strangers. That’s what it felt like being in that room with him. Just two strangers having sex. That was probably the first time the two of you had sex instead of making love. There was a difference between the two and you knew which one you preferred.

Deep down you knew why he had to leave and most importantly leave without you, but it still didn’t make it any less painful. You had thought back to what Lucas said earlier when you were outside, that Henry might’ve had something to do with it... But the truth is whether he did or didn’t it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He needed to leave, to hide and go into witness protection. Not only for his and Jacks safety but for yours too. It all made sense. Peter Lewis couldn’t hold you over him anymore if you had no connection to him so he left. He left without you and then had you served with divorce papers.

The elevator doors opened and snapped you back to reality. You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. You didn’t want to go back there, you had tried your hardest to move past that part of your life and dwelling about the details and the what if’s is something you didn’t want to do anymore. You had wasted enough time doing that and you’ve moved on since then and so has Hotch. But sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, those thoughts creep back in and they have a way of suffocating you.

“Did you manage to return your friends phone?” The lady behind the reception desk asked with a smile.

“Yes I did, thank you so much for your help again!” You replied and returned the smile.

You made your way to the parking lot and got into your car and made your way home… To your husband…. Who you had just cheated on with your ex-husband. You pulled out of the parking lot and let the memories from earlier fill your mind. You had glanced briefly at your watch and the time told you that is was quarter past three. You groaned at the thought of having to be up before 11 am later that day for a brunch that Henry and Luca had organised with a smaller amount of guests, which included the BAU team.

You had wondered if he’ll be there with Beth or if he won’t show.

To be continued....

Part 2

[milaisreading]

Limited amount!!

🌱🩷: here is something for thr Crossdresser!Yn AU. I have been so depressed ever since I saw the leaks for the new JJK chapter... this is kind of helping me to get my mind off of it. Hope u like it🩷

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. In the story the boys will be using he/him when addressing Yn. Requests for this series are open.

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

"Are you...are you sure about this?" Anri asked the striker in front of her while Ego sat on his chair, eating his noodles.

"I think it's for the best, Teieri-san. To not waste money on manufacturing something that won't sell well." (Y/n) argued, confused as to why the older woman was so reluctant with agreeing. After all, the JFU would probably embrace the idea of saving money.

"Yeah, but... just 15? (Y/n), you know you do have fans-"

"I think that's for the best. I definitely don't have Isagi or Rin's popularity,  so I don't think my figurine will sell well. Please spare me this humiliation, Teieri-san, Ego-san. " (Y/n) explained as she held the prototype of her figurine that Anri gave her. It was nothing special, just a smaller version of her smiling in the Blue Lock uniform. There was a short silence as the striker looked at the two for a moment, hoping they will do her this one favor.

"I can't just-"

"Fine." Ego interrupted Anri, both now looking at the man.

"You did prove to be a great player and so far hid your identity very well. So we will grant you this one wish." Ego said as he finished his food. (Y/n) looked at him in shock for a moment, but then smiled and bowed.

"Thank you. Thank you, Ego-san." She kept repeating to the man, who just nodded his head. Anri looked nervously between the duo, wondering how all of this will end up.

"It's so weird seeing merch of myself." (Y/n) mumbled to herself as she walked to the bedroom she shared with Isagi, Rin, and Bachira. She chuckled a little, already knowing she will be greeted by Rin doing his usual yoga, and Isagi and Bachira messing around. And sure enough, when she opened the door she saw just that. Bachira and Isagi were telling jokes while Rin tried to hide his irritation while doing his normal yoga routine.

"(Y/n)! Where were you?! I need my hug buddy!" Bachira exclaimed as he saw the girl enter their room and lunged at her.

"Bachira, wait!" She shrieked as the boy ran to and engulfed her into a hug, nearly causing the girl to fall down. The girl stumbled back, but thankfully grabbed onto a wall to not injure himself or something.

'Bachira might not look like much, but God is he strong.'

"Hey, Bachira, could you maybe let go of me?" (Y/n) asked nervously.

"Nope~" The bicolored boy sang out, causing her the sigh and pat him on his back a few times. Meanwhile, Rin and Isagi were sending death glares at Bachira's back. Both were mad that he was the one to hug (Y/n) first, but also for causing her to nearly fall down.

"Bachira, let go of him." Isagi spoke up finally and went to grab Bachira's shirt, pulling the boy away from (Y/n).

"Hey!" The boy protested.

(Y/n) internally thanked Isagi for giving her the free space back.

"I will hug you later, Bachira. I am just really tired right now." She spoke up, trying to stop their argument, but neither was listening.

Rin, on the other hand, was staring at the trio in anger. Not only were they causing him a ruckus, but (Y/n) also said she will hug Bachira later.

'That mediocre player really doesn't deserve it.' He rolled his eyes, but then they landed on a small item on the floor. One he never saw before in his life.

Rin walked over and picked it up, only to discover that it was a small figurine of (Y/n).

When Bachira hugged her, she ended up losing her grip on the item, and neither her or the other two noticed it.

'What is this? And why does it look like (Y/n)?' Rin wondered, tapping the smiling figurines cheek.

'I basically touched his face now.' Rin thought with a blush, then looked over at the trio.

"Lukewarm, (Y/n)." He cleared his throat as the trio looked at him.

"Yes?" She asked as the other two sent Rin a glare for calling her a lukewarm.

"What is this?" He asked while showing them the figurine. Isagi and Bachira's eyes widened when they saw the item.

'A mini (Y/n)!' Bachira thought with stars in his eyes.

'So adorable!' Isagi's face turned redder.

"Oh... the JFU wants to test a first merch launch, and they picked me for it. It's just a prototype of what it will look like." (Y/n) explained, walking over to Rin and taking it our of his hand.

"Merch?! Of you?!" Bachira asked in excitement.

"Yeah... it's launching in two weeks." (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders, walking over to her shelf to put the item on it.

"So we- I mean, your fans will have the chance to own a mini you?!" Isagi asked with a huge smile and blush as (Y/n) turned to look at him.

"Basically."

Rin kept quiet as he stared at the figurine with wide eyes, also excited over these news.

'I will definitely buy one.' The three thought in determination.

"Tho, I was honored to be the first one, it would have been better if they picked a more popular player. I don't think mine will sell well, so I asked them to make only 15 of these." (Y/n) finished explaining, and the last part definitely left them deflated. 'ONLY 15?! How can I get one even?!' Bachira thought, already panicking that be won't be able to get his hands on one of the figurines.

'(Y/n), why would you do that?! How will I get my hands on one, when I have to fight against both your fangirls and the other players?!' Isagi gulped as anxiety took over his body.

'This lukewarm needs to work on his confidence, now I will have to start a blood bath.' Rin groaned.

"A-are you 3 alright?" (Y/n)'s worried voice interrupted their thoughts, and all 3 quickly nodded their heads.

"Of course we are!"

"Only 15?!" Reo and Barou exclaimed in disbelief as the trio explained the whole story from last night.

"What sort of confidence does he even have? Nagi, Reo, this is your fault." Otoya grumbled, earning side-glares from the two.

"How is this our fault? We didn't do anything." Nagi protested.

"Exactly that!" Yukimiya said, fixing his glasses.

"If you were good friends to (Y/n), you would have noticed he was in distress with his self-worth. Now, with me he would have not had these issues. I would have told (Y/n) everyday how wonderful and talented he is." The model said proudly, earning a scowl from Reo.

"Please shut up, show off. You are just mad (Y/n) doesn't like you."

"But Yukimiya does have a point." Karasu chimed in, glaring at Reo.

"Didn't you two basically abandon him during the 1st selection? Even during the 2nd one, Nagi, you basically acted like he didn't exist."

Barou pointed it out, which irritated the duo.

"You know nothing." Nagi said, glaring at the red-eyed boy.

"This is not the point now." Aryu clapped his hands, causing the rest to look at him.

"Aryu is right, we should focus on what's important." Kunigami added in.

"And that is, how do we get one of those figurines when there is only 15?"

The room fell silent as neither really knew how to answer that.

"Maybe we could try convincing (Y/n) that he should go for more figurines? Isagi, Barou, you two are the closest to him. Maybe you should try it." Kurona suggested as everyone looked at the duo. Both of them looked at each other, and then shook their heads.

"I don't think we should do that. It's his decision and I don't want him to feel bad about it." Isagi answered, Barou for the first time agreeing with something.

"Yeah... forcing him or convincing him will do us all more harm than good." Hiori added in.

"Well then, it's every man for himself. I will get my hand on one of those figurines." Karasu declared with a smirk.

"Not if I do first!" Bachira challenged back.

"Logically thinking, it's more likely that only one of us gets one... (Y/n) has many fans, so we are not competing just among each other anymore." Niko reminded them.

"Well, then I will be the one to get it." Rin said after a short pause, causing the rest to look at him weirdly.

"Now, why would you be the to get it?!" Otoya questioned.

"Because, I am the best one in this facility, therefore I deserve it more."

"Just because you are the best one, doesn't mean you deserve a figurine, Rin-chan~" Bachira said cheerfully.

"What?" Rin asked, irritated by the boy's remark.

"Bachira is right, if anything, someone who is close to (Y/n) should get the figurine. And that someone is me!" Chigiri finally spoke up, shocking everyone.

"What?! How are you the closest one with him?" Yukimiya remarked.

"We both braid each other's hair and talk for hours about the most random things-"

"So do I with (Y/n)." Aryu chimed in, which caused Chigiri to glare at him instead.

"Shut it. (Y/n) and I have spent so many hours training, we are the closest." Otoya added in, which drew Tokimitsu and Kunigami's attention.

"H-He does the same thing with me! Wh-which means I am pretty close with him, too!" Tokimitsu exclaimed.

"He is always there to help me with his skills, and even trains with me in the gym." Kunigami chimed in, causing a whole separate argument between them.

"This is ridiculous!" Reo sighed loudly, then pointed at himself and Nagi.

"Nagi and u have known (Y/n) for way longer than any of you have. We know everything there is to know about him."

This caused Barou and Isagi to roll their eyes.

"Yeah, and he trust us the most. He would be probably more happy for us to have a figurine than you guys-"

"Nagi, you and Reo literally turned your backs on him back in the beginning of this project. You have no leg to stand on." Isagi interrupted the albino, which made the duo tense up a little.

"And we apologized! He would vouch for us now!" Reo added in.

"None of you really deserve the figurine." Barou finally spoke up.

"(Y/n) and I have been partners since the beginning, we are the closest here. Especially after all the late night trainings." The king explained.

"But, you forget that (Y/n) has been chasing after me the whole time. Even during the 3rd selection, he always asked to train with me." Isagi added in proudly, drawing Rin's attention on him.

"Oh please. (Y/n) is probably too nice to tell you that you got boring. Why would the literal #2 of this facility go and seek out your assistance. I am the perfect choice. We especially got close during the 2nd selection when we would have dinner together after practice." The younger Itoshi explained, obviously mad that Isagi reminded him that (Y/n) always chased after him, never after Rin. The #1 player in Blue Lock.

"This is stupid. (Y/n) and I are obviously closer, our humor and passion to become better obviously bonds us the best." Karasu snorted.

"Karasu, no offense, but it's obvious that (Y/n) and I are closer. After all, he would come to talk to me about fashion choices."

As they argued, Hiori, who was standing next to Niko, spoke up as well.

"Now, I would be worthy of the doll too. After all, (Y/n) and I share similar homes, and we talk for hours about different video games."

"(Y/n) likes talking to me a out different sea animals. Even helps me with my braid sometimes. It's very nice of him." Kurona added in with a slight blush.

"Well, (Y/n) and I share a love for anime and manga. We would sometimes go to the monitor room and watch different animes on our phones. We even fell asleep there a few times." Niko admitted.

"So you are the reason he sometimes isn't in bed?!" Bachira yelled with a menacing smile.

"Niko, do you know how many nights I couldn't cuddle up to him while he slept?!"

"Bachira, that's weird!"

"What even-"

Hiori and Kurona said, staring at the bicolored boy. While everyone wad busy arguing, Gagamaru blinked at them a few times before walking out of the dining hall, an idea already brewing in his brain.

"Hmmm..."

2 weeks had passed, and the day of the merch launch finally happened. All the boys were anxiously waiting on their phones for the orders to start. They were all determined to get one of the figurines. They were so adorable, and captured the beauty of the striker perfectly. And finally, when the minute of the launch arrived, they quickly went to click on the 'order' option, only for them to be met with the most soul crushing sign.

'Sold out!' Read in big, red letters as if to mock the boys about their fail.

They expected something like this to happen, but it hurt the same.

Right now, they were all in the dining hall again, all depressed over losing the opportunity to get the (Y/n) figurine.

"I hate today." Reo said, resting his head on the table.

"I agree." Karasu and a few others nodded their heads as the door opened.

"Huh? Are you guys alright?" (Y/n)'s voice caused them to jump up and look at her.

"F-fine!" Isagi spoke up.

"We are great, just tired. And you? You seem pretty happy?" Karasu spoke up, noticing how less tense she was now.

"Oh? Ego-san just told me that the figurines of me sold out today, and they will do a relaunch in a month."

"Relaunch?! How many will it be this time?" Bachira asked as all eyes were on her.

"I don't know... maybe like 300 to 500, based on what Ego-san said." (Y/n)'s explanation caused them to sigh in relief a little. Finally they will have the chance to own one of those figurines.

"By the way, here, Gagamaru. As promised!" (Y/n) said, walking over to the goalkeeper, putting the prototype of her figurine on the table. The boy nodded quickly and slid his dinner to her as she sat across from him.

"Uhm... why are you giving Gagamaru that figurine?" Chigiri wondered.

"Oh? He promised to give me his dinner for a month in exchange for the figurine. His dinner happens to be my favorite dish!" (Y/n) explained cheerfully and went back to eating. She didn't register to cold looks and deathly glares Gagamaru was getting, but the boy didn't care. He just sat on his chair, smiling fondly at the figurine.

'Bastard!'

'That should have been me!!'

The group thought over and over, now hoping that the relaunch will happen as soon as possible.

[totheblood]

begging for rain. (two)

󠁐# TWO; the more you break

PAIRING: ex!ellie williams x nextdoorneighbor!reader

SUMMARY: moving to a new town can be tough, especially as you are trying to hold everything in your life together. after you meet ellie, your life completely changes, but for the better? well that's still up in the air

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x,

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

A/N :new chapter yay!! okay so like i'm setting a lot of stuff up and i know that so annoying and frustrating but i really need to paint a picture of dynamics so i hope u enjoy. AI AUDIOS AT THE END ! please please please like and reblog/reply/send asks, comments, the whole nine yards… it is so appreciated!

READ CHAPTER ONE HERE!!

TWO YEARS AGO

The first day of school went okay.

Inside the hallways, students pushed past each other, sweaty bodies mixing and mingling into a tangled mess. Blue lockers were lined up against the walls, many of them open as students shoved heavy textbooks inside them from their backpacks. 

Ellie pushed past them like she was used to it, a ratty leather backpack hanging off her shoulder. Occasionally, she would look behind her to see if you were still following her. You always were. 

You didn’t quite know where you were going. You knew your locker number was tucked deep inside your bag and whenever Ellie stopped at her locker was when you were going to pull it out and ask her to show you where it is. However, you were now feeling like you were slightly stalking Ellie and there was some truth to her words. When Ellie stopped at her locker, Locker 2094, she looked at you for only a moment before she was undoing the built-in lock. 

“You know you can’t follow me all day,” she said dryly, lock clicking open and her locker door almost hitting you in the face. You decided it was time for you to get your locker number, pulling your bag to the front and unzipping the front pocket where your locker number and lock combination was written on a crumpled-up pink post-it note. 

“I’m not following you, Ellie,” You rolled your eyes, unraveling the post-it note, “I was just waiting for a good time to find this.”

“And what is that?” She gave you a weird look and shoved a textbook in her locker, then another. 

“My locker number,” You said simply, looking at the number and chuckling to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” She wasn’t looking at you anymore, just fishing around in her bag for anything she may have had to put in her locker. 

“This is my locker,” You patted the one right next to Ellie’s, right where you were standing to the left of her, “Locker 2093.”

Ellie chuckled dryly again, closing her locker and leaning up against it as she watched you struggle to put your lock combination in, “You’ve taken this stalker thing too far.”

With a click, it popped open, empty and barren. You opened your bag and shoved the one textbook you had inside your locker, a smile planted on your face, “Yes, I’ve just been so obsessed with you since I saw you for the first time yesterday that I called the school district and got my locker to be next to yours.”

“Aha! So you admit it!” Ellie laughed, picking at her fingernails as she looked around the hallways, looking for familiar faces. A group of them walked up, all laughing and talking with each other as they circled Ellie around your locker. 

“Hey, El,” a girl said, causing you to look up at her. She was pretty, too pretty. She had her black hair tied up in a ponytail, her skin was olive and slightly tanned, and she had some sun spots scattered across her face, pooling in a center near her nose. Next to her was a slightly taller and much paler girl with black hair cut right above her shoulder, the jagged and uneven edges indicating she cut it herself. Behind them, a much taller guy, with longer black hair and a kind face stood. He smiled at you, and you offered him a kind smile back. Be nice, you cursed, you’re here to make friends, you reminded yourself.

“Hey Dina,” Ellie smirked, leaning back against her locker and looking at the group, “I see your hair is already growing back, Cat,” Ellie reached forward to play with the edges of Cat’s hair before she swatted Ellie’s hands away from her and scoffed.

“You fucked up my hair and you know that,” Her tone of voice was playful at most, evidenced by the wide grin on her face. She was insanely pretty even with her hair all fucked up. You didn’t know why but it made your stomach churn. “Are you going to introduce us to your new friend, Ellie?”

Your eyes widened and darted to Ellie and then to the group, hoping embarrassment wasn’t written all over your face. 

“This is Y/n,” Ellie smiled at you, jumping slightly when you slammed your locker shut, “She’s my new neighbor and stalker.”

“Hey!” You rolled your eyes, a smile still on your face, “I am her neighbor, but I’m not a stalker.”

“Ellie’s just too full of herself. Ignore her,” The girl in the ponytail stepped a little closer and extended a hand, “I’m Dina.”

You shook her hand, mumbling a ‘nice to meet you’ before shifting awkwardly and retracting your hand. The guy in the back raised his hand slightly and smiled at you, “I’m Jesse.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jesse,” you then looked at the last girl waiting for her to introduce herself. When she didn’t speak, you took it upon yourself to ask, “And sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Cat,” she responded flatly. Her tone was a little icy, but you weren’t sure if you were just feeling insecure or she was actually trying to snub you. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” a nervous breathy laugh fell from your lips and you tightened your grip on your backpack strings, “It sucks moving senior year so I’m glad to make some new friends.”

“Why did you move senior year?” Cat spoke up finally, “You’re not like a psycho bitch that got kicked out of her last school?” 

“Cat!”

“C’mon, Cat!” Dina and Ellie chimed in at the same time in your defense. You were admittedly thrown off by the comment but, yet again, you made an excuse for her. Maybe she was just curious. Or maybe she wanted to protect herself and her friends. 

“What? I want to know,” she defended herself. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you laughed, giving her a smile. Be nice, your head rang once again. “It’s a valid question. But, no, uh, my dad died and we couldn’t afford to live where we were living anymore.”

Her smug smile fell, and instead, it was laced with empathy or more importantly pity. You hated it. Your newfound ability to ruin the moment. A moment that was supposed to be sweet. A fresh start. Already, you had clouded the new with your past.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to force you to say that or anything,” Cat apologized and it sounded genuine. It felt genuine. 

“It’s totally okay. I’m fine, I’m mostly over it anyways,” That was a bold lie. You were nowhere close to over it but you couldn’t help but want them to like you. To think you were totally normal and carrying no baggage. 

“No, it’s not okay,” Ellie spoke up again, shooting a glance to Cat, that made her scoff and roll her eyes. 

“I said I was sorry,” Cat shrugged, “What more do you want from me?” 

“Maybe don’t call people ‘psycho bitches’ when you first meet them,” Ellie stood up straighter, crossing her arms over her chest and Cat glanced at you again, colder this time. 

“You’re unbelievable, Ellie,” She was looking at Ellie again, shooting daggers at her. You were unsure what was going on so you glanced at Dina and Jesse for help. All Dina did was slightly shake her head, a subtle way of telling you to not get involved. 

“I’m unbelievable?”

“Yes! You’re unbelievable! Scolding me in front of people like I’m your fucking child or something,” Cat was getting irritated and it showed itself in her face. She had one of those faces that couldn’t hide what she was feeling.

“Then don’t act like a child,” Ellie said simply, causing Cat to let out a huff and turn around, push past Jesse, and leave the group. Ellie closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the locker, letting out a heavy sigh, “I should go after her. Can you guys help her to her first class?”

Dina nodded quickly before shooing Ellie off with her hand, “Go, go! It’s fine.” Ellie took one look at you and offered a smile that said ‘I’m sorry’. What she actually said was: “Meet me by my car at the end of the day. I’ll take you home.” 

With that Ellie disappeared into the sea of people until she was no longer in sight. 

“What was that?” you asked Dina and Jesse. 

“Trust me,” Dina looked at you, “You don’t want to know.”

-

Your first class was English with Mrs. Porter. She made you stand at the front of the classroom and introduce yourself. Jesse was in this class with you and when you were done giving a brief introduction to yourself he loudly clapped and cheered. The gesture made you smile and eased some of the tension you were feeling. 

A few people followed him, by cheering and offering you a high five as you moved back to your seat. Everyone seemed to be enamored by him. During class, people would send him notes on little Post-it notes, he would open them, laughing as he read them and wrote some messages back to them. It was subtle, but you could tell he opened up a room. 

At lunch you walked into the large cafeteria, looking around for a place to sit. You were sure you looked like a lost dog as you wandered around because a girl with long brunette hair walked up to you with a smile on her face. She was pretty and dressed in a button-up and plaid skirt. It felt too formal for school.

“Hey, you’re new, right?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Ingrid,” She looked you up and down, “do you need a place to sit?”

“Y/n!” your name was being called from a familiar voice, causing you to snap your head in that direction to see Ellie standing up and waving her hand in the air, “Come sit with us!”

“Oh, I’m just going to sit with,” You pointed to the table where Ellie was still standing and staring intently at you, “my friends.”

Ingrid’s smile fell as she shot a glance toward the table. You were obviously missing something. You turned to move towards the table before the girl gripped your arm firmly. 

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” That smile was back. 

“Y/n,” you told her.

“Y/n,” she repeated, “Pretty name.”

“Thanks,” you scratched the back of your neck, “Well, I’ll see you around.” You quickly rushed to the table, confused about the interaction once again. This place was fucking weird.

You sat down next to Ellie who was laughing at something Cat said. Cat’s eyes sparkled when she looked at Ellie. Brown and glossy as she laughed with Ellie, shaking her head. Her cheeks were slightly pink and she reached over to grab an apple slice out of Ellie’s lunchbox. When Ellie looked back at Cat her eyes didn’t sparkle in the same way that Cat’s did. They were verging on dull, but the corner of Ellie’s eyes still had wrinkles as she smiled. 

“Hey!” She grabbed the apple from Cat’s hand, “Get your own apples.” 

“Yours just taste better,” she giggled, smiling at you as you sat down, “Hey, how was your first day?”

She was being much nicer and her energy was much calmer. It was obvious she and Ellie had made up in the time from this morning to now, but you also had to wonder if Ellie told her to be nicer to you. 

“It’s going well,” You shrugged, pulling out the brown bag your mom had packed for you, “I’m still getting used to everything.” 

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Ellie commented, taking another bite of her apple, “Hey, what did Ingrid want?”

“Oh,” You looked over to Ingrid’s table where she was chatting and eating with a group of people, “She just asked me if I wanted to sit with her.”

Dina, who was sitting across from you, practically choked on her food as she laughed. Cat was also laughing to herself as she raised her eyebrows, and looked down at her food. Jesse had a small smile on his face as he took another chip from his bag and took a loud bite. The only person who wasn’t laughing was Ellie, who gave a brief glance at Ingrid’s table before looking back at you. 

“Am I missing something?” 

“No, it’s just,” Ellie started, taking a deep breath and wondering how much she wanted to explain, “be careful with her. She’s…”

“Friendly,” Dina finished Ellie’s sentence, a smirk on her face. Obviously, friendly didn’t mean friendly but you didn’t know what that meant. 

“Do you like girls?” Cat asked bluntly. 

“Cat,” Ellie warned again, making Cat drop what she was eating and roll her eyes. 

“We need to know if we want to warn her,” She stated simply. 

“Like romantically?” You asked, making everyone giggle again. You felt like you were missing a joke. 

“Yeah, romantically,” Cat answered. 

“Oh, yeah,” You looked around to see everyone’s reactions. You ignored the way Ellie’s cheeks tinged pink, “is that a… problem?”

“No,” Cat said flatly, her tone was cold again, “we all like girls.”

“Oh,” you said, taking out your sandwich from the ziplock bag and taking a bite. 

“Let’s just say that Ingrid has been friendly with all of us,” Dina said, throwing a piece of popcorn at Jesse, “including Jesse.”

“At this point, initiation into this group should require hooking up with Ingrid,” Cat laughed.

“No,” Ellie said almost too fast, causing Cat to give her a confused look, “I can’t deal with another person getting convinced that Ingrid wants to be in a relationship with them. Plus, I can see into her room from mine. What if I look over and see Ingrid’s tits.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Cat said bitterly. There was that tension again.

“Well, I don’t really think I want to be involved with anyone anyways,” you mentioned, taking another bite. 

“Why not?” Ellie questioned, eyes boring a hole into the side of your face. 

“It’s just too complicated,” You shrugged, taking a sip of your water, “I’m new and it’s hard enough making friends, I don’t need anything messing that up.”

Ellie swallowed hard, and took another bite of her apple, just nodding at what you said like she understood. 

“Well, now you have friends,” Dina spoke up, dissipating some of the tension. You took another bite, smiling with the food tucked into your cheeks. 

-

As the day ended you went back to your locker to collect your stuff, expecting Ellie to be at hers, but she wasn’t there. You paid no mind to it as you opened your locker. However, inside sat a note, a yellow Post-It note that looked like it had been crumpled up a few times. On it, it read: “Couldn’t stop looking at you all day. Hope this isn’t weird, you’re just so beautiful. I hope I can get the courage to say it to your face. - your secret admirer”

Normally, this would have made you feel good about yourself. A random stranger thinks you are beautiful? Yea, that would boost anyone’s ego. Except this stranger knew your locker number and had admitted to watching you all day. A weird pit formed in the bottom of your stomach as you stuffed the note in your bag, knowing you would ruminate on it sometime later. Quickly, you packed up your stuff and made your way to the parking lot.

There, Ellie was leaning against her car, phone in hand. She was so focused on what she was typing that she didn’t even notice you walking up to her. 

“Hey, ready to go?” You spoke, causing her to look up and smile at you. 

“Yeah,” She shrugged, before pausing a moment, green eyes scanning your face, “what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You let out a nervous laugh as you shook your head.

“What? I’m fine.”

“You look weird.”

“Thank you?”

“Not like that,” she stopped you, putting her hands up, ”You just look upset but I don’t know you that well so I could be wrong.”

“You are wrong,” you grumbled, heading to the passenger side and hopping in the car. Ellie just scoffed, rolled her eyes, and got in the driver's seat. 

“Well fuck me for caring then,” she mumbled to herself, starting the engine.

“It’s not-” you stopped yourself, taking a deep breath, “It’s just been a long day, I’m sorry if I was rude. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She paused for a moment as if you had said something wrong, then she looked at you, green eyes scanning your face once more. She looked shocked, surprised almost. It was all so confusing.

“It’s fine, I’m just being an asshole,” She laughed, turning back to the road and putting the car in reverse, “My day was long too.”

“Want to talk about it?” 

“It’s,” She turned down the music so she could speak, “Cat.”

“Are you guys a thing?” You crossed your hands in your lap and absentmindedly played with your fingers.

“It’s complicated,” she sighed, heading out onto the open road, “Kind of, but it’s not really official.”

“Why?”

“I can’t commit.”

“Oh,” you looked over at her and watched her nose scrunch slightly like she was uncomfortable with the conversation, “I could sense the tension today.”

“She’s just…” Ellie made a weird movement with her head, “like that.”

“Why can’t you commit?”

“We’ve had our issues in the past,” Ellie shrugged, “at the end of the day I just can’t trust her and I can’t date someone I don’t trust.”

“You guys just seem so close,” you mentioned eyes drifting to the road again, the trees, and all the storefronts you had yet to explore. 

“We are, and she’s a good friend,” Ellie coughed, “a little protective, but good. But romantically, I don’t really trust her. She swears she only wants me but I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Damn,” You laughed. Ellie looked over at you and laughed too. The air in the car was much lighter now.

“Yeah, I just don’t know how much of it I can do this year,” Ellie’s smile fell, as she approached her house, “but you didn’t ask all of that. I’m sorry I overshared.”

“Shut up, you didn’t overshare,” you laughed, unbuckling as Ellie pulled into her driveway, “and I did ask.”

“Well, thanks for listening, anyways,” Ellie smiled as she looked at her door and then back at you, “do you want to come in and do homework together? Joel’s not gonna be home till late.”

“I’d love that.”

ai audios:

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Always have but never hold

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n not even deathly pain could keep me away. Hope you all would enjoy this part eight. Think we might be getting close to the end here. Thank you for the love and patience.

warnings: forceful behavior, abusive relationship, degradation, swearing, past trauma, fighting, mentions of blood, mentions of sexual interactions. I think that's all....

Parts in cursive are memories

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You weren't sure if it was you who was on fire or if the room was burning, but no one except you noticed. You kept asking yourself how many fake smiles were too many. Your cheeks were aching. Surely, that was a sign that this was it. You had reached for the empty container, glancing at the pile of open bottles that were lined by the bins. There was no glass container, so you assumed that was how you were meant to store them for now. You dropped your cigarette on the ground carelessly before reaching for the back door handle.

"Down it, sis", the voice found you almost immediately, and a full-body shiver ran through you. Here they all were. You used to like them. Dreamed of being a part of their friend group. Maybe still did. It was all so confusing. So rough around the edges. You shook your head, "Good for now", you smiled, dropping the crate near the other still-full boxes of booze. "Ask your bitch, dude. It seems like she barks just for you", one of the guys said, as you bit the inside of your cheek, anger started to bubble within you. Ezra's friend treated you like their beating bag most times. And he... Well, you would hope he would opt to stand up for you, but...

"Drink", your boyfriend nodded towards the glass of whatever concoction their high selves had created. Your eyes met his. The room seemed to quiet down. The rest of the group was smiling from ear to ear. This was free entertainment for them. "I don't want to", you muttered under your breath as u's and boo's filled the room. And there was that twisted look on Ezra's face as he crooked his head. Daring you silently to say that one more time. You know that the best option here was to nod and step forward, but you found yourself shaking your head instead.

And then it was all a blur. Your brain was too slow at processing how and when Ezra had crossed the distance between the two of you. When he grabbed your hand. Turned to yank you up the stairs. You were convinced that you heard giggles as you went from the grope. And then a rough shove. A cold wall. The breath was knocked out of your lungs. A harsh hold was on your jaw as he spat, "You dare to embrace me like that, huh?", your lower lip wobbled. "Can you fucking do what you're told? Why do you have to be so useless?", for a flicker his face morphed into Carmys, and you tried to shake your head.

"I don't want this", you said. For so long, too afraid to say anything about it. Ezra had laughed, "You ungrateful bitch", and then he was dragging you across the bedroom. Shoving you through the closest doors "What are you doing?", you had managed to mutter before you heard a click and all color drained from your face. You gave the door a little push, but they didn't budge. He had locked you in. "No, Ez, please no. Open the door", the panic started to spread. As you banged your palms against the door, "Open the door, open the door, please", but there was no answer or reply, "Don't leave me here; open the door, open the door".

You had pulled your face out of the freezing stream of water. Usually, the sound of water all around you drowned out the noises in your head. Brought you as far as your childhood days went. When you would leap from the little bridge into the cold lake water, and all the buzzing excitement. The laughter. Anything and everything would die down the moment you were deep within the water. Time would stop. There was only that moment. A moment of stillness. And then the body would rise again.

It was a wimp, truly. Nothing more. Nothing less. You were fidgety and uneasy ever since you landed in Chicago. And the thing was that the flight itself was such a wuss too. A rush of adrenaline. All the emotions bubbled up so extensively that it was too much. They were too suffocating. You had to go. Couldn't stay in one place for long. It felt like your body was going to explode otherwise. Like your brain was going to take off running and you wouldn't be able to keep up with it.

You left Luca with a note as you slipped out of bed in the middle of the night. A part of you felt guilty about that. The other, however, knew that it was he who put this into motion. It was so easy with him. Always so easy. You never second-guessed. You didn't need to have any of your guards up. Because Luka knew you. Inside and out. You doubted there was a flaw in your body that you hadn't shown to him and that he, in return, hadn't held with such delicate care.

You sank to the shower floor, bringing your knees closer to your chest as the water poured down your naked frame. You weren't even sure how you ended up at the restaurant. That same urge had brought you there, no doubt. Must have. A curiosity. A poisonous inkling. What if Carmy was there, and so was she? What then? You would just know that he spends his afternoons with her. Cooks for her with the love that he poured into the dishes he had made for you back then? That he had finally replaced you. That you were again nothing more than a piece of trash beneath someone's shoe that one was eager to shake off. But there was no Claire there. There was no sign of dinner plates being shared. There was no smell of food. Just a fire. A big, blazing fire and Carmen was reaching toward it. And then there was your pulling at him. You dragging him away. The pounding in your ears as you looked over his hands for any signs of irritated skin, a burn, or blisters forming. And he was just staring at you as if you were Venus itself, who had stepped out of one of Botticelli's paintings. Holy figure. A vision.

"Fucking breathe", you had barked at him when Carmen just kept on blurring your name over and over again. You started to hate the sound of it. The sound of anything. And then Carmen pulled you into his embrace, and you let him. And a part of you melted for the time being. It felt as if finally. Finally, you had found the exact thing that you had been craving, and the thought of it until this moment was making you sick. It felt like that sweet sensation of relief when you finally get the itchy spot on your body that you just couldn't seem to grasp for so long.

To Carmen, it too felt like this was it. Finally, you were here, and it would all start to fall into place, but then there was you. Pushing against his chest as you tried to get away from him. And he wanted to fight that. He held you close against him, but he knew it was wrong. That was your choice to make. It was your shot to call, and he was not going to take it away from you. Carmen wasn't all that surprised as he met your angry, blazing eyes. "Do you have a death wish? Does... Has no one told you that you don't...", you rambled on, "Fuck, Carmen". And if only you knew how many things he wanted to tell you. The thought itself overwhelmed him. Carmen wasn't even sure where to start. What to say first? Which words were more important? Had more value? But nothing came out of his mouth. He stood there, staring at you.

"Are you high or something? Have you been taking some shit?", you moved closer to inspect his pupils. Carmen realized. "No, no...", he muttered. It was taking all of his strength to not let his hands touch your hips, just as he was used to. Just how it had been so natural for him, but then he was so hyper-aware that any wrong or poor choice would push you away. "I've...", Carmen had rasped out before you cut in, "Does anything hurt?"

And Carmen saw it in your eyes. That same care, that same longing to protect him. To look after him. He saw you once again snarling at his mother as you threw the remaining white lilies her way. A warning finger pointed at her as you said, "You don't raise a hand at him". Carmen had never felt so safe before. Of course, the desire to protect you was there too. Strong and itching, and he has always had and always will protect you. But it was your will to fight for him that lit something up within him.

Carmy was about to reach for you, to ask the same question, to make sure that you two were safe, and then... "Bunny, you're okay?", Carmy's brain must have shut down for a moment. As he watched you turn away from him, all the attention slipped elsewhere. To someone who has opened all of the doors by now. Who had a towel in his hand. Fanning the smoke away. The fire alarms should have gone off. Why didn't they? Was this too broken? Something Richie failed to mention. Fucking Richie...

And then Carmy couldn't seem to move because... He watches as Luca, the fucking Luca of all people, approached you. How he rested his palms over your cheeks. How you didn't pull away. How you let him touch you. Touch you as Carmen used to. His fists clenched as he watched. "I'm fine; I didn't... I just pulled him away. What are you doing here?", and there's no anger or frustration in your tone. None of it as you spoke with him, but it was just there seconds ago. Directed right at Carmen. It's the way Luca nodded, tugging a strand of your hair behind your lips, that set something loose in Camen. A blinding rage. A soaring desire to just...

You barely managed to catch it. Carmen's hands come into contact with Luca's side. It wasn't a punch. A shove, but a shove nonetheless. It sent you stumbling slightly as well. Just from the shared fact that Luca was still holding onto you, your eyes fell on Carmen. The deadly. The angry look he carried. The sick look on his face. A picture from the past. A glimpse. A... "What are you... Stop it!", you shouted, trying to thread your hands through the tangle of limbs. As Luka too turned to Carmen, the messenger here was clear: "Fucking. Fuck no, stop", you still tried as they took fistfuls of one another's shirts. Getting way too close in each other's personal space.

But then it's the old house. You're barely standing. You barely have clothes on. Luca with a cut on his eyebrow. The warm blood had trickled down the side of his face. You can only see fragments through your teary eyes, but you push in between them, shoveling as hard as you can, "Stop, Ezra, stop". The room suddenly stills. Your body feels frozen. You open your eyes, and it's Carmy who's looking at you. His arms had fallen to the side as he looked you over, even more confused than before. Your hand quickly came up to cover your mouth.

"Oh, so there's more than just one?", Carmy's words made your guts twist. The little, helpless, defenseless girl was standing back here. Shaking her head. "You don't understand", you muttered back, "You don't know anything". Now it was Carmen shaking his head as his eyes moved between you and Luca. "And you dared to blame me?", now that set flames within you as you stepped forward, "I was never disloyal to you! It was you who dragged that girl back home", "You've been fucking him these last weeks?", but your palm came into contact with his chest as you gave it a light shove. "Don't you dare call me names, Carmen"? You hold his gaze for a moment longer before dropping it as you turn to rush out of one of the open doors. The shake of Luca's head as he followed you out, "You've stepped low, mate". And Carmy was left to watch as Luca finally caught up to you. How he pulled at your hand to make you slow down. Pulling you into his arms. Even from where Carmen stood in between the doorframe leading to the back alley, he could hear the cries that wrecked you. Carried by the wind. By some upper power. To show him once more that it's you, big guy, who's making her sob like that in the middle of the street. But the jealousy ran thicker this time. Drowning out the inner voice.

Carmen was practically lying on top of you, his face nuzzled into your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair softly. Gently tugging at the roots from time to time. He lifted his head slowly, flashing you a lazy smile that you didn't hesitate to return before his lips started trailing kisses all over your chest and neck. "I wish I could melt into you sometimes", he whispered, breathing in the smell of your skin. The cold chain on his neck brushed against your warm skin, making you shiver slightly. "You're quite literally still inside me", you giggled, and Carmy didn't hesitate to give you a lazy thrust, making you wrap your legs around his lower body once again. You had finally found time for one another after a long and busy spell. So parting seemed like way too much now. Impossible even.

"You're all I've wished to have. The...", his words died down as he leaned closer, brushing his lips over yours, "You've begun to feel like home". Your eyes tried to catch him because of those words. Those words were exactly how you were feeling all this time. This. Whatever was between you two always felt bigger. Simple words felt too dull. After all these years of running, you could finally stop. Finally breath. Finally, allow yourself to wrap yourself up in the warmth that was Carmen.

The kisses grew messy and eager. It was so easy to just melt together. To become one and forget about the world. "I want you to sketch the restaurant. Bring the bear to life", Carmen said between kisses, making you still. "What...", you muttered, trying to make him look up at you, abandon the sweet spot on your neck, and just look up at you. "I want you to be a part of it. Want to display your art there", you wanted to believe that this wasn't a blissful delusion as you pulled him to look at you properly, meeting his eyes. Eyes that, yes, were high on love but serious. "Carm, that... that's big...", you stuttered, thinking about what a big step that would be if your silly little creations saw the daylight. As if sensing your worries and your doubts, Carmen quickly packed your lips before kissing the tip of your nose gently and saying, "I love you. Everything about you, I want to show you the world".

You didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to face people. Luca had sat with you through the night. Had stepped into the shower to drag you out of that freezing stream. Made you a cup of tea. You wanted to just lie down and not think. Not think about Carmen. Get him out of your thoughts. So maybe meeting with Marcus and Sydney was a good idea after all. Maybe that was exactly what you needed.

"I will beat his ass for real", Sydney huffed as she twirled the pasta Luca had made for everyone around the fork. You had finally told her everything. You needed to get it off your chest, and it felt nice. To have someone. Someone who wasn't just Luca "Don't; I already dragged Luca into this", you let your gaze drift to him. Flour covered his hands as he showed Marcus how to form different shapes of pastry. And Marcus, who looked like a kid in the candy shop. Eyes sparkling. He gave him a concentrated look as he nodded at everything that Luca said.

"He cares about you a lot", Sydney said, making you drop your gaze as you let out a sigh, "I'm convinced that he's my guardian angel". You pushed the food around the plate, letting the moment of silence fall over the two of you. "And Carmen and him? Their friends", you let out a snicker at that, "I... I met Carmen properly because of Luca".

You were laying on the sofa, your head hanging from the side, as you listened to Luca speak, "It's just a couple of chefs. Please, I need backup". You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "You need backup? As if... Plus that dick of a roommate is out tonight... I want to enjoy my peace". It wasn't that you two bumped into one another often, but even when you did, it was too much. So with him gone and it being a Friday night, the possibilities were endless. "I need you. There will be some pretty big dogs there. You ground me".

That's how you found yourself in someone's apartment. With trays of food in hands, helping Luca carry everything that he had already made and was going to make while there. That's where you met Charlie and his pregnant girlfriend Mimi. Two girls from the restaurant, Mario, the dude from Ireland, and... Carmen... Your fucking roommate. One that had been snarling at your boxed mac and cheese. To whose coffee you added salt because he had gotten on your nerves. But something also felt different. As if you two had finally seen one another. Stopped and properly looked. Not just glanced, but looked. And something snapped. As if all the stars finally aligned and you two just couldn't seem to pull your eyes from one another.

"What a coincidence", Carmen muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the kitchen counter when you two bumped into one another with no one else around. "Or fate", you said, giving him a flashy smile. He had laughed at that, "Feels like fate to you?" You only shrugged your shoulders and said, "Feels like something much bigger", and it was. Because not even a week later, you two were going on your first proper date.

"So, you three are friends?", Sydney asked eagerly, pulling you after the deep thought. "They were never really friends. Too competitive in the kitchen", you muttered. "We had a couple of dinners together, but... I think Carmen was glad when Luca moved to Copenhagen". Sydney was without a doubt about to ask another question when Marcus carefully lowered the plate full of baked goods onto the table. You caught a glimpse of Luca wiping his hands with a towel before mouthing, "Thank you", he only winked your way before he too stepped closer to the table. Listening to Marcus talk about everything that Luca had taught him just now.

"Tell me about your week?", the room was too light for Carmen's liking, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The first drops of sweat covered his forehead. "Bad", he said bluntly. "Would you like to tell me more?", Carmen cringed at her tone. The way she kept tapping her pen onto her notebook. He frowned. "I lost her again,", he admitted. Sure, this was supposed to be a safe space, but he felt so trapped here. The tiny room. The way it was filled with motivational quotes, "She came back, and I... I said everything that I didn't mean to say", he admitted, and the woman instantly asked, "Why?", "Because I'm an idiot", Carmen blurred. "I also think that... I think that... I", he suddenly felt like there was not enough air in the room, "I should let her go. Stop trying to hold onto her; she deserves someone better".

You weren't sure how many cigarettes you smoked. The uneasy feeling didn't budge. Just now, your head was pounding. Shiver after shiver ran down your back. Chicago felt different. Simple because you knew that Carmen was here. You could easily bump into him. He could come to find you. You could do the same. Thirty minutes. That's all it would take, and you would come face-to-face with Carmen. Then it will not be much longer to your appointment. The place that now felt like a fever dream to you. Had he thrown away your stuff? Your paintings? Books? Clothes? You left practically all of your life there.

Were you upset? Yes. Very much so. And it still hurt, and you were sure it would for some time. But you couldn't. It was driving you crazy. Because now you looked at Luca, and you saw Carmy. In the smallest things he did. Things that Carmy too did or said, you missed him. Missed just knowing that he was coming home, no matter how late it was. Not to mention that you were so fucking worried. Because Carmen didn't look like himself. His dull, lost eyes were hunting you now. The way he clung to you. You were starting to wonder what was driving you more insane. The fact that you were so hurt by him or the fact that you missed him so much. You quickly picked up your phone. "Just thinking about Ossobuco", you typed out. Cursing because it felt stupid, and maybe you didn't even mean it, but... "Haven't stopped thinking about it", the message came through not even a minute later. You bit your lip. Trying to keep your emotions at bay. "I'm so sorry, baby", the next one read, and you quickly locked your phone, tossing it onto the sofa. You couldn't. Suddenly, you couldn't watch him fall apart over a text.

Carmy was late. Not like he wasn't late most of the time to those meetings. He doesn't talk much now. Only when there were too many things on his mind. He liked this way more than those private meetings he was having. He heard, and he felt heard. Understood. It helped him listen to others, or it drowned out the pain he was feeling. He sure could have stopped coming. Maybe he even should have, but he found himself pushing the door open every week.

Pulling the hat off his head, Carmen sank into one of the back seats. Brushing his hair away from his face. "We have new faces here today", the lady moderating the meetings said, "Why don't we start with them? Let them share their stories. Of course if that's okay". Carmy fidgeted with his coat, still feeling that same uncomfortable feeling here. That dread. That feeling of Mikey here. That feeling of him watching.

"Ah, hey", Carmy lifted his head so quickly that his vision blurred for a split second. There was no way. Absolutely no way. He gripped the seat in front of him, leaning forward. His heart was beating so fast that he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. "My name is Y/N, and I am...", you swallowed thickly, and Carmen felt bile rising in his throat, "My first ex was an abusive addict".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @globetrotter28 @fairytale07 @carma-fanficaddict @selltohell @nishinoyahhh @thewulf @shewasthelimit @chatitajens @azxulaa @hidingfromtex @randomhoex @hopplessdreamer @lostinheavensworld @jackierose902109 @gallaghrh @gabbycoady13 3 @harrysmatcha @lady-bellyn @lovejoyenjoyer @infinitelycharmed23 @royalestrellas @hanula18 @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @buckys-winter-child @arieltwvdtohamflash @simsiddy @yezzyyae @hidingfromtex @toptierbunny @rooster-bradshaws @simonsaysyasss @hannahmmarie2016 @ladygrey03 @kyushii

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 16 all chapters

~AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: N$FW, SEXUAL CONTENT, COPIOUS SWEARING, TOXIC POSESSIVENESS , IF SOMEONE TREATS YOU LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE RUN RUN RUN BC IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL U CANT FIX THEM~

-Aware that John Wick knows this city much better than you, you stick to the crowds. You manage to find your way to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, and you hang out there for hours, looking through the art works, but really only half seeing what is in front of you.

You are devastated.

You’ve had controlling boyfriends before, and it was not fun. They seem exciting at first, until the person you were before is eaten alive by their tantrums and their ridiculous expectations as they try to fit you into a box of their own making.

You can’t believe John turned out that way.

Or maybe you can. Maybe you have a fucking type, and you should have seen this coming.

You stay almost until closing, then grab a bite to eat before daring to wander the streets. You find a little walled in park, a courtyard filled with lush greenery and a tinkling fountain. By some miracle, there is only one other couple on a bench at the far end. You practically have the place to yourself, and you sit down on a wrought iron bench with a sigh and eat your sandwich.

You pull out your sketchbook afterwards to pass the time. Your doodling hand wanders, and perhaps its no surprise when you draw John Wick from memory, his proud lips and haunted eyes. There are tears running down your cheeks as you do so. When it gets too much, even though you’re in public, you hang your head and weep into your hands.

Darkness falls, and you know you should be getting back. The bench has long ceased to be comfortable, and yet it’s like you have grown into it, unable to move.

Even with your head down, when someone sits silently down beside you, you just know it’s John.

You do not look at him, and thankfully he does not try to touch you.

“It’s getting late, y/n. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is,” he insists, sounding almost tired about it. You hate it that your demeanor softens towards him, just a little.

“You broke my heart, Mr. Wick.”

“I was afraid I might.” He is sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Would you let me make it up to you?” 

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” 

“No?”

“No. I think you have a mean streak.” 

He had tried to warn you, you realize, in his way.

God, are you really such a fool?

“Doesn't everyone?” 

You make a sound between your teeth, and he nods like you have said something profound. 

“I'm not a nice man, y/n. But I would be good to you.”

“Like last night? I didn't like that.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a wicked smirk, and your heart skips a beat in your chest, damn him. Was the contrition all an act?

“Yes you did.”

“Not the last part.”

“Hmm. I tried to warn you.”

In the vaguest terms possible, maybe.

“My fanny.”

He raises an eyebrow to that, and you’re not sure why that little gesture wounds you like a knife to the heart all over again. Perhaps because he is beautiful, and even though you know he’s dangerous for you, you still want him so very much.  

You start to cry again, and try to get up from the bench. You need to get away from him, because you can’t think straight when he’s near.

“Y/n, wait.” He catches your wrist, and when you don’t really fight him, he pulls you down into his lap, and goddammit if this isn’t what you’d wanted all along. You feel small in his arms, cradled against his long torso and sheltered in the bend of his neck, even if in your hindbrain you know you are not actually safe at all. He strokes your hair until you quiet, and he kisses your temple like you are something precious.

How can this man be so sweet, just to turn on you?

“Why did you leave me, like that?”

You just do not understand. You could have had a lovely, fulfilling, mind-blowing if not vanilla night together. He’d laid all the groundwork like a master orchestrator, and you would have let him fuck you senseless. Fuck, you wouldn’t have even minded the tying up part, if he just hadn’t humiliated you.

“Because…” His lips ghost along the line of your jaw, and you fight not to squirm as his large hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips feather light on your skin. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says low in your ear, and you hate how it makes you ache between your legs, to hear him talk to you that way.

Outwardly, you do your best to keep your cool.

“And touching your hair made me a bad girl?”

“No.”

“Disobeying you did.”

“Yes.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Maybe.” He actually seems a little amused by you, which is not the reaction you were expecting. “I like to be in control. But you make me feel...unbalanced.”

“Me?” You sound incredulous. The thought that you could affect this powerful man in such a way seems absurd.

“Yes, you, kitten.”

The urge to demand he not call you that desiccates on your tongue. 

“So...what? You feel the need to take revenge for that?” 

“Maybe. I thought you knew the game we were playing, when you batted those big eyes up at me. Mr Wick, Sir, aren’t I a good girl?” His fingers dig into your thigh with the memory, and you can feel his growing erection beneath you. “But you’re just an innocent, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re used to boys just eating out of the palm of your hand. But I am a man, with a man’s appetites, and a man’s desires.”

He was a little more than that, you reckoned.

“You want to control me.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Maybe I had a rough childhood.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I want to take care of you.” He kisses your cheek again, and it is gentle and sweet and everything you had wanted from Mr. Wick, before this all went sideways. “I want you to be mine.”

You are not proud of the way those words unleash a fluttering swarm of butterflies in your belly, your breath quickening in your chest. You are proud when you manage to answer, “I don’t need taking care of.”

He just snorts lightly at that, as if it’s not even worth arguing over. “Come back to the hotel room with me. I promise I’ll finish what I started. With interest.” His hand slowly slides up your thigh, just beneath the skirt of your sundress, and you think you might die. You should not want this man, after what he did to you.

The ache between your legs suggests otherwise.

You give yourself some points, when you shake your head.

“No. I’m going back to my hostel.”

The shift in his demeanor gives you whiplash, a thunderhead of a frown pulling his handsome features. “Need to get back to your little friend Javi?” The jealousy in his tone hot as a brand. “Did he try to kiss you again?”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“How did you know he tried to kiss me?” you ask, your voice so small.

That was in Rome, after all.

What should have been obvious before comes crashing in, and you realize what a little fool you’ve been. That feeling that someone’s been watching you, and John’s so convenient and coincidental appearance outside the alley…

“Holy shit. You’ve been following me.”

“I’ve been protecting you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have no idea what the world is really like, sweetheart. It’s a dangerous place.”

You frown at this.

“So…you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself then.”

“I think I found you wandering around here like a lost little lamb. There are monsters here who would have gobbled a sweet little treat like you up in one bite.”

The fact that he sees you that way is more alarming than the thought of some unnamed threat in the shadows.

For some reason it makes you think of the men in the van back home—and how that van was found empty and on fire.

“How do you know about the monsters, John?”

“I just know.”

“You said you weren’t a cop. Were you FBI?”

He glares at you, which you take as a no.

“Interpol?”

You are met with silence, and you nod, mostly to yourself.

“You know about the monsters because you are one.” You think about those fierce looking Italian men with their scars and their bespoke suits. His previous words echo in your memory. Sono retirato.

“Were you in the mob?”

“Not…specifically.”

Then you remember he’d said he was from Belarus.

“Bratva, then.”

You should be terrified as you work all this out, trapped in the circle of this man’s arms, but you feel strangely numb about it all.

“My clever girl.” He sounds almost sad about it.

“Not clever enough,” you sigh.

You are not sure who is more surprised, you or him, when you burst to your feet. You actually manage to slip out of his grasp, though you only make it three steps before he captures your wrist again with a grip like an iron manacle. He gives you a dark look, annoyed that you would even try to play this game with him.

You remember what you learned in martial arts class a lifetime ago, pointing your thumb down towards the weak point of his grip and trying to jerk free. It’s worked before, with grabby men.

Not with John Wick, though.

“Stop.” Again, there’s that steely tone. The alpha voice one uses to reprimand a naughty dog. It only makes you angrier, and you struggle.

He pulls you hard against him, and you bite his hand. He doesn’t let you go, just adjusts his grip. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” he snarls low in your ear. “But you are so fucking stubborn.”

“Thank you.” You try to headbutt him behind you, but he ducks into the bend of your shoulder. You feel his chest trembling against your back, and only belatedly do you realize he is laughing at you.

“Enjoying this?”

“A little.”

“There’s no fucking way you can get me out of here without someone seeing. Let me go.”

He just sighs into your hair, like you’ve said something extremely naïve.

The arrival of newcomers into the park catches both of your attention. You lift your head, ready to ask for help, when you recognize the besuited tough guys from before.

Well, fuck.

“You've got some balls, showing your face around here, John Wick. Gianna d’Antonio’s son sends his greetings.”

“This isn’t a good time,” he snarls in return.

“Sorry, are you too busy fighting with your little girlfriend?”

He actually releases you then, pushing you to stand behind him. They are blocking the exit, so for now, you comply.

“You know how this will go,” John says, assuming a ready stance, his feet spread. He almost sounds regretful about it. “Do yourselves a favor, and leave.”

“Can’t do it, John,” says the one in the lead.

“For fuck’s sake,” curses John under his breath. The lead Italian makes a move, and John bursts into action. He is like a tornado of carnage upon them, throwing punches and breaking arms, cutting tendons and stabbing throats.

You are absolutely frozen as you watch all this unfold before you.

That is, until one of the thugs throws a knife at John, and you watch it bury in his chest. This is the thing that breaks your spell, and you run towards the fray with a scream, though who the fuck knows what you intend to do.

However, like he wasn’t just stabbed in the heart, John takes another attacker’s gun, pistol whipping him with it before shooting the knife thrower, then the last one standing. It cannot have been more than minute, before all of them are dead at his feet. He leans on his bent knees for a moment, catching his breath.

“John?” You hardly recognize your own voice as you rush to him, certain he’s taken a lethal blow and somehow fought through it with the surge of adrenaline. However, when you peel back his suit jacket you find no blood. He lets you look him over with frantic hands, maybe enjoying the fact that you don’t wish him dead, before pulling the still protruding knife from the breast of his jacket.

When he produces the little leather journal you’d gifted him from his inside pocket, now gravely marred with a puncture through the cover, you understand.

“Holy fuck.”

“You saved my life,” he says with an odd little smile down at you, as though all this is normal and what you just saw is totally ok.

Utterly horrified, you run.

“Y/n, wait!”

You throw yourself into the dark winding streets, taking any turn you can, trying to stay out of sight. Your feet fly beneath you; even in your shitty strappy sandals, it’s the fastest you’ve ever run.

It’s not fast enough.

When strong arms close around you, lifting you from the ground, you try to scream. A big hand clamps over your mouth, and you find yourself pressed hard into a stone wall. “Please, calm down,” he pants in your ear, out of breath from killing four people then running you down.

Your answer of, “Are you fucking kidding me?” is nothing but muffled syllables.  

“Goddammit,” he sighs behind you, rifling in his pocket for something as he pins you with his body. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

Your pitiful plea of “Let me go,” is cut off by an evil-smelling cloth shoved into your nose.

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 12

Abby didn’t enjoy her first morning as a woman with no bladder or bowel control. She let out an ear-piercing shriek when she woke up to find the big-breasted ‘Nanny’ from the day before bending over her with a finger slipped inside the leg-band of her soaking wet night-time diaper.

“Don’t be frightened, sweetie,” the woman cooed. “Nanny’s just checking your nappy. It looks like someone made lots of wee-wees during beddy-byes, didn’t she? Yes she did! Yes she did! Wittle Abby-wabby’s got a very soggy bum-bum!”

Abby felt herself burning with humiliation. “You can’t tawk to me wike dat!” she squealed, sitting up in bed and feeling her clammy wet diaper squishing unpleasantly beneath her. It was only then that she realised her thumb was in her mouth. She yanked it out at once.

The woman tittered. “You’re a big baby who can’t even wipe her own bottom, sweetie,” she said. “I can talk to you however I like.” Her motherly expression turned a little more sinister. “And if I don’t like your tone, I could leave you in that nasty nappy all day, no matter how wet and messy you make it. Is that what you want?”

Abby went cold. She couldn’t change herself. If she didn’t do what this bitch said then she’d have to stay in this disgusting thing for who knows how long – and she needed to keep her mind on the challenge today, not on the state of her pants. This would be the final one, the most important of all, her last and only chance to get back to normal and avoid the Magician’s sick, twisted punishments. And if she won, she’d get three wishes. Anything she wanted!

Her lower lip stuck itself out in a pout. “Sowwy Nanny,” she mumbled meekly.

Nanny smirked. “Good girl. Now let’s get that yucky-wucky diapee off your cute little tushy!”

Abby’s second nappy change as an adult was no less humiliating than her first. Nanny took her sweet time, making sure to coo at her in sickeningly sweet baby talk and tickle her tummy at random intervals. “P-U!” she cried theatrically, pinching her nose as she held up Abby’s sodden, yellowed diaper. “This icky thing is absolutely soaked! What a little pee-pee pants you are, Abby! I’d never have guessed you used to be a sexy, grown-up woman. You look just like a smelly little baby to me!”

Abby cringed and clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds of Nanny’s taunts as the older woman got to work wiping her clean with a pack of baby wipes.

“And here’s a nice, new nappy,” Nappy said happily, slipping one under Abby’s bottom, “for the next time you need to make a pee-pee, or drop a stinky load in your pants.”

Abby couldn’t prevent a pathetic, whimpering sob from leaving her lips as Nanny finished taping a fresh diaper around her waist. But at least it was over. Nanny helped her off the bed and got her dressed – tugging a pair of white, semi-translucent tights over her bulging diaper-butt and pulling a tight pink t-shirt over her bare chest. Her tits were constrained almost painfully in the tiny thing. A pair of frilly socks, black schoolgirl shoes, and a bonnet later, and Abby was fully dressed for the day.

Nanny escorted her, toddling, to the kitchen, where Becky and the Magician were already seated. In front of Becky, and in front of the large highchair that was awaiting Abby, were two enormous bowls full of baby food. Feeling sick, but knowing there was much worse at stake, Abby allowed herself to be sat in the highchair and fed the bland-tasting mush. She barely even fussed as Nanny pushed spoonful after spoonful against her lips, smearing her lower face. She was too busy worrying about what the final challenge would be.

Becky, too, was nervous. She spooned her meal into her mouth by herself. At least she didn’t need someone to feed her, she thought, looking up at the mess the busty woman was getting all over her fellow contestant’s pretty face. She didn’t want to end up like that. It was bad enough being incontinent. She turned red as she remembered how she’d woken up that morning, right in the middle of messing her nappy. How could she ever think of herself as an adult if she was doing that all the time?! She couldn’t stand the thought of spending even one more day in diapers! She didn’t want to be an overgrown, pants-filling baby anymore! She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, spend the rest of her life waddling around in smelly Pampers like some horrid brat in daycare. She forced herself to get through the bowl of baby food, even knowing it would bring about a messy nappy sooner rather than later – it would be the last, she told herself firmly.

Once Becky was finished eating, and Nanny was slipping the last few spoonfuls of mush into Abby’s mouth, the Magician got to his feet. His handsome smile was more terrifying than ever. “Alright girls,” he said, the awful bright light dancing once again in his eyes. “It’s time for the fourth and final challenge. Three silly young ladies have already headed off to live their new, and much altered lives, and now it’s time to find out which of you will be joining them in their fates, and which will earn herself three wishes. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that unless you win, the changes you have at the moment will be permanent.” He savoured the last word, and Abby and Becky both shivered. “The final challenge,” he continued, “is very simple. The two of you will have a competition to see who can act the most babyish over the next few hours. The one who I decide has been the silliest, most ridiculous overgrown baby will win my little game.”

Abby and Becky stared at him wide-eyed, their mouths open. They could only win their adulthood back by outcompeting the other at being a stupid baby?!

The Magician cocked his head at them. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, grinning.

The two young women looked at one another, and then Becky immediately got off her chair and dropped to her hands and knees, babbling in meaningless baby talk. “Goo goo gah bah bah!” she prattled, dribbling down her chin. She started crawling over to the Magician.

Feeling mortified, Abby imitated Becky and hastily extracted herself from her highchair and sank onto all fours too. “Gah gah buh buh buh!” she babbled, drooling down her own chin and crawling towards the Magician herself. She could see the evil satisfaction in his face as he watched them approach.

Becky reached him first. She plopped back on her diapered bottom and looked up at him with her best, desperate, puppy-dog eyes. She raised her hands into the air and made little clenching movements. “Up!” she squealed. “Uppies, Dada!”

The Magician laughed delightedly. He reached down and, with surprising strength, lifted the babbling baby-woman into his arms, settling her on his hip and holding her tightly against himself. Then he looked appraisingly down at Abby, who had just reached his feet.

Abby sat back on her nappy, and was about to mimic Becky again when she stopped. That wouldn’t work. She couldn’t just do whatever Becky was doing – she’d lose for sure that way. She’d have to do something else. A loud, childish temper tantrum seemed like a good idea, as if she was jealous of Becky getting held instead of her. The sick freak would undoubtedly like that. She hated the Magician. She hated him more than anyone else in the world for what he’d done to her, for what he was making her do. But he was dangerous, and she’d play along with his perverted fantasies if it meant winning his insane game. She was a little girl who wanted her Daddy’s undivided attention, she told herself, and that stupid little brat Becky was stealing him away from her!

She hardly had to pretend. The changes the Magician had made to her the day before had ruined her ability to control her emotions like an adult. Angry that Becky was already beating her, and terrified of the consequences if she lost, the tears came in no time at all. Her bottom lip wobbled beneath her thumb, and Abby started to wail. She scrunched up her beautiful face, tears pouring down her cheeks, sobbing hysterically and taking great heaving breaths as she pounded her free hand petulantly against the floor. “WAAAAAAAAAH!” she wailed. “I WANT MY DADA!”

Suddenly, she felt his powerful arm scooping her up, supporting her under her thickly padded bottom and holding her close against his chest, just as he was doing with Becky. “Shhhh,” the Magician hushed her gently, and Abby actually felt a pleasant tingle run down her spine at the unexpected gentleness of his voice. “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. There, there… Daddy’s here, little one. Daddy’s got you.” The Magician carried them out of the kitchen and further into the house, into a brightly decorated playroom littered with baby toys.

He set them down on the soft, carpeted floor, and Abby immediately got to work. With some difficulty, she yanked off her tight t-shirt and started bouncing and shaking her boobies, giggling like she’d found her new favourite toys. She could feel the Magician’s eyes on her, and she blew a dribbly raspberry that made a line of drool to spill down onto her bare breasts.

Becky started to strip as well, but her adult clothes were harder to remove while she was sitting on the floor. An idea occurred to her, and she looked up, pouting at the Magician. “Wanna be nakie giwl!” she cried.

Chuckling, the Magician knelt down and started taking off Becky’s jeans and tank top, until she too was dressed in nothing but her nappy, her perky tits wobbling stupidly on her chest as she crawled around the room playing with the infantile toys.

They played for some time, working as hard as they could to keep the looks of childish idiocy on their faces while they bashed blocks together, shook rattles, and snuggled with teddy bears. Abby didn’t even have to fake it – after only a few shakes of a rattle she was staring at it avidly, cooing and gurgling, utterly entranced. It sounded so pretty and tinkly! Pretty, tinkly sound… She might have sat there all day playing with her rattle, had she not gotten the sudden, overpowering urge to shove it in her mouth. She came to her senses the moment before it happened, blushing scarlet at the thought of how enamoured she’d been by this stupid baby toy (she had to get back to normal), but there was nothing she could do to stop her body cramming the rattle between her lips and sucking on it enthusiastically. Her eyes rolled back into her head with pleasure.

Right at that moment, Abby’s bladder released without warning, and she felt her diaper getting soggier and soggier beneath her bottom as she pissed into it helplessly. It felt revolting, but she made sure to keep a blank, babyish look on her face as the front of her nappy discoloured. The Magician was surely watching for any sign of un-babyish behaviour, and babies didn’t care if they went pee-pee. She popped the rattle out of her mouth and let out another stream of ridiculous baby babble. But then, as she started crawling over to a large, fluffy teddy bear, something else happened. Something more than pee. For the second time in her adult life, Abby’s bowel’s rumbled into action beyond her control. Before she could really register what was about to happen, it was already happening. Her mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ shape as an enormous yucky mess filled her diaper, making her padded pants sag halfway down her thighs with the weight of her load.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, exactly the same thing was happening to Becky. She was more used to the sensation of her pants filling with poop without warning, but it didn’t make it any less disgusting. Still, as poo-poo filled her nappy, she was able to keep her face relatively blank and dopey, as though she’d barely even realised what had happened. A grown woman who couldn’t even tell when she messed herself – the Magician would love that, she was sure.

Although she was trying as hard as she could, unlike Becky, Abby wasn’t able to keep the look of revulsion off her face. She knew the Magician must have seen. Babies didn’t think sitting in dirty diapers was disgusting. They didn’t care. She had to do something to make up for her mistake, and quickly. She had no idea when the challenge might end! Putting on her best bratty, mischievous face, Abby grinned up at the Magician. She hated him with all her heart. She knew she would never be able to look at herself the same way in the mirror after what she was about to do, but if it meant avoiding a terrible, terrible fate, it would be worth it. She sat back firmly on her full nappy, feeling the horrible mess in her pants squish against her bottom. It took all her self-control not to gag. Then, with a moronic giggle, she started bouncing up and down on her bum, squealing loudly and clapping her hands.

Becky watched, but didn’t move. She could see the Magician looking at her, waiting to see whether she’d copy Abby. But she couldn’t… she couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t stand it! The mess beneath her bottom was so disgusting! She couldn’t bounce up and down on it like some mucky baby! Those were the worst kind of diapers she had to change at daycare, the ones where the awful little urchins decided to make the mess in their pants even messier, and make the job of cleaning them up an absolute nightmare for her. The other daycare workers, the stupid women who’d chosen to look after smelly, snot-nosed brats as their whole career, actually thought it was cute when the babies “made bouncies”. But Becky found it nauseating, and the idea of doing it herself was out of the question.

“All right, little ones,” the Magician said suddenly. “I’ve made my decision.”

They both stopped what they were doing and looked up at him fearfully. The Magician took each of them by the hand and pulled them to their feet. The two women stood there, tits out, legs pushed awkwardly apart by their full, sagging nappies, waiting for his judgement. The evil man looked at Abby, who felt her stomach lurch horribly, and then he turned his gaze to Becky. Abby was trembling. Was he going to tell Becky that she’d lost, or that she’d won?

“Sorry Becky,” the Magician said, “but I’ve decided little Abby was the most babyish, and that means, unfortunately, that you’re the loser.”

Abby took a deep breath. Wonderful relief was flooding through her body.

Becky, however, was shaking. “No…” she whispered, so quietly that Abby barely heard her.

“I don’t know what you were planning to do with your life, Becky,” said the Magician pleasantly, advancing on the quivering girl. “Maybe you were planning to go to law school, or train as a doctor, or maybe you just wanted to live an average life, but I’m afraid whatever it was, it won’t be happening now. You’ll be spending the rest of your days as a diaper-dependent adult toddler, a grown woman who stomps about with a smelly, loaded nappy swinging about between her legs. You’ll be dependent on real adults to check and change you, of course… and I know just the place to send you.” He waved his hand lazily, and a canary yellow frock with a smiling cartoon bee on the front appeared on Becky’s body.

Slowly, stiffly, Becky looked down at her new clothes, and recognised the uniform of the Buzzy Bees baby class at the daycare where she worked. Her poopy diaper was peeking out of the bottom.

Becky lost her mind. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, clutching her head in her hands, her eyes wide and horrified.

Abby stared at the woman in horror, but the Magician just chuckled, as if the sight of the twenty-year-old woman’s mental breakdown was merely amusing to him. Becky looked utterly mad. She was screaming inarticulately, and staring straight ahead of her, as though she could see something they couldn’t – as if she was looking at her own future laid out in front of her, a life of stinky nappies and baby food and naptimes, a life stuck in nursery school forever, trapped in the one place she’d wanted desperately to get away from. In a way, she was getting what she wanted – she’d never have to change another dirty diaper again. She’d be too busy filling them. Becky screamed and screamed and screamed.

“That’s enough of your little tantrum, missy,” said the Magician, still sounding amused. “Time for you to go and join your new peers.” He snapped his fingers, and Becky vanished.

[d6volution]

Corporeal

Caine/Fem!Reader

caine wants to learn more about humans, so why not become one himself? surely, these new waves of emotions and new desires won't become an issue.

tags: human!caine unresolved feelings, sexual tension, lingerie, making out, pining until the end, explicit sexual content, caine is pussy drunk.

minors dni.

Chapter Three.

previous chapter.

Well, he kept his word. You two did meet the next day, and the day after that. You told him whatever bits and pieces of your time as a human that you could remember. He seemed to listen.. but also seemed a little out of touch... like his mind was elsewhere. Whenever you brought it up, he simply put on his usual act.

"Oh, not to worry dear! I am beginning to understand a bit more about how.. caring humans can be, so if you're worried don't be! I am perfectly fine! In fact, better than ever. I have certainly learned a lot from you." He said, almost sounding impressed.

"I'm glad I could help, Caine." You couldn't help but smile at the praise he was giving you.

Your smile caused him to look away, those funny feelings returning.

"My, my look at the time!" He was glancing at his wrist, which was adorned by the wacky watch.

"Oh, already..?" You didn't realize just how fast time passed when you two were together, "Same time tomorrow then?" You said, hopeful.

"It would seem so," He studied your expression. "Hmm, I can't help but notice that you seem a little ..disappointed." He hope he correctly evaluated your emotions.

"No, I mean— a ... little." You wanted to deny this observation but he could see through you, so it would be no use.

"Worry not my dear! I'll always be around of course, though I've come to realize it is normal to miss people you spend a lot of time aro— mmf?!" Your hands yanked at his collar before he could try and put anymore distance between you, your lips meeting. He talked too much.

Couldn't he feel the tension that was growing between you two? It was palpable in the air. Maybe he just needed a little push.. your tongue even brushed against his closed lips.

You were nervous, but maybe, after getting closer to him.. it was easier, or maybe you were just desperate and simply losing your mind in this digital world.

Your lips were soft and inviting, the heat from your mouth was diving him crazy. He couldn't think.

Caine went stiff, he wanted badly to kiss you back. Squeeze your hips and pull your closer but .. he couldn't. Surely these feelings of yours were simply because you took a familiar form of a human.

They couldn't really be for him right?

His hands slowly lowering onto your shoulders and gripped them gently, pushing you away. "W.. Well, y/n what a very.. bold act of affection!" He was beet red now, almost like he was short circuiting. "U‐Unfortunately you're aware I cannot return these... feelings, yes? It would be.. dangerous."

You were at a lost of words, you acted without thinking and now he was looking at you with pity in his eyes, "I.. sorry, I don't know what I was thinking— .." You took a few steps back. But your lips were still tingling.

"N-No, need to apologize!" He tugged at his collar to let off some steam and without another word he wrapped an arm around your waist and within a blink of an eye you were both in front of your room door.

"There we are! Now go and rest your pretty little head, I.. will be back at a later hour to check on you, how's that sound?" It was an excuse. He wanted to see you again after this. Just.. to confirm a few things after you've settled down from these heightened emotions.

You nodded, still suffering from embarrassment of your feelings and advancements in general being denied. Yet you weren't completely unaware.. you could see it in his eye too, the stuttering and fidgeting it was as if he were holding himself back.

Maybe.. he just needed another little push.

"This.. this certainly isn't right, far from family friendly.. far from appropriate." He was pacing back and fourth inside of his "room." "I could risk abstracting if this gets too far! .. Well, maybe not. Iam the showrunner here.."

Bubble emerged from his hat unannounced, "This all apart of the human experience Caine! Why not give her all the love you're legally allowed to give..?"

POP.

That mischievous bubble certainly was not helping. The thought, even coming from bubbles silly mouth made his cheeks dust with a light pink. Everytime he thought about you in such a way he could feel a piece of his resolve breaking off.

He needed to end this, this experiment had provided him with plenty of knowledge but, if continued to play human it would only lead him into heaps of trouble that he was certain of. Before he changed back... he did promise to check in on you.

He arrived at your door, and hesitated to knock. Attempting to groom himself a little beforehand. He inhaled, then knocked.

"Caine..?" You called out from the other side of the door.

"Yes, that's me!"

"C.. Come in." Your voice was muffled by the door, but he heard you clearly and opened it up, stepping inside his eyes immediately got wide. He slammed the door behind him so no one else could see what he was seeing.

You lying in bed with silky fabric hardly covering your body, your skin on display. Your expression vulnerable, yet desperate. Caine felt like he was going to glitch out of existence.

"Y/N! You.. someone else could have seen you like this and it's hardly appropriate! You are aware this show is supposed to be for all ages." He said but his fists clenched and he could feel his pants getting tight.

Not good.

"Can't we forget about all that for one night Caine..? I've.. seen how you look at me.. even earlier, you wanted to kiss me back right?" Your voice was sultry as it was desperate, you crawled towards the end of the bed and the silky fabric was sliding off of your body.

He swallowed and rushed over, attempting to fix it. "W-Woah there!" You took this chance to cup his growing erection.

"Is this family friendly... Caine..?"

The feeling of your small hand caressing his straining dick was enough. It throbbed in his pants and he pushed you onto the bed. Straddling you, his breathing had grew heavy.

"It seems I've been caught red handed, I am supposed to be gentleman like my dear, " His eyes roamed along your half naked body.

"But, you are making it quite difficult. I suppose, as my human test bunny your are willing to take responsibility?" He sounded as desperate as you looked now.

"O.. Of course, Caine.." Your squirmed under his gaze, and he slowly pushed aside the silk lingerie that was comcealing your nipples. His erection was pressed against your thigh and he was unknowingly grinding against your soft skin.

"Just.. for today, I'll indulge in your i.. inappropriate behavior, dear y/n." He swallowed.

"Take them off Caine.." You mutteted and tugged at his the waistline of his pants.

"Oh, no no my dear. After all this trouble you caused I think you deserve a little punishment!" He said with a grin, his resolve was gone. Completely, whatever code was inside of him urging him to obey the rules was temporarily disabled.

"Now, as lovely as that silk looks on you would you mind taking it off?" His voice fell at the end of his sentence. He planned on having you completely in the nude while he stayed fully dressed.

You sat up and he scoots back on the bed, allowing you to stripped in front of him.

He couldn't help it, his dick was straining violently against his pants.. he removed himself from his pants, and started to stroke himself. "Do forgive me dear, I've always said you make my body act so strangely and this is no exception."

You stared at the heavy cock in between his thighs, you could feel the slick between your legs.

"Caine.." Your eyes finally met his, "Please touch me.."

"Well, if you ask so nicely how can I say no?" He grins and climbs atop you again, this time quickly closing the distance between you both and pressing his lips against yours. It was to make up for earlier.

Your body instinctively arched towards his, your hips shifting to feel his cock brush against your bare cunt. You were practically humping at his shaft like a dog in heat. He groaned into your mouth and returned the movement. Both of your sexes rubbed against each other as you made out, breathlessly moaning in between the kiss.

"Feels good.. more Caine.." You whined, your arms locked around his neck and holding him close to you. He smelled like the most expensive cologne mixed with his natrual musk. It was simply intoxicating.

He didn't say anything, his eyes swirling with lust as he lined up his tip with your slick entrance. After slipping a few times he finally plunged inside.

His mind went blank with pleasure and he hardly gave you time to adjust to his size, his hips began to move. "C.. Caine..! hh.. fuck..!" You cursed, and made a not that it wasn't censored.. maybe you really had broken the ringmaster. In one sense.

Your nails dug into his back and as he slammed into your tight cunt, balls slapping against your ass as he fucked you like his very life depended on it.

Your moans didn't go unoticed, your whimpers and whines only fueled his need to fuck you harder. Faster, the bed was rocking beneath you as he seemed to loose all sense of himself while buried inside of you.

He nudged at that spongey spot in your cunt and you saw stars, your back arched and toes curled. Caine was silently taking note of how tight you got all of the sudden.

"H.. How interesting.. it seems like I have much more to learn about you my dear, like how much you tighten around me when I.." He slammed against that spot again, and again. Over and over, til you were in tears.

"C.. Caine..please.. gonna c-cum.. !" You managed to sputter out, but he was way ahead of you. He planned on having you cum together.

"Nngh .. that's .. the plan darling.." He grunts and your body suddenly began to spasm, cunt convulsing and gripping his shaft vicely. His own hips sputtered to a stop as he spilled into you without thinking. The relief washing over his body as numbness washed over your own.

You stared at the ceiling coming down from your high. Caine thrusted a few more times, before pulling out.

"My, my.. what a cruel creator I must have to hide such pleasures from me.. are you alright, y/n? I didn't seem to be completely myself there." He pushed some hair from your face and you nodded grabbing his hand and nuzzling it.

His face was hot again, just as this little display of affection.

"I suppose being human for a little while longer couldn't hurt."

[yellowharrington]

jaded - chapter 4, carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen “carmy” berzatto x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), the bear fx

warnings: smoking mention, minors dni with this story please.

word count: 2k

a/n: ok literally i am the worst ever and i totally didn't finish this fic even tho i started it so im finally posting the last part literally MONTHS later!!! sorry besties but i couldn't have an unfinished fic out there in the world so... if u fuck w this story at all thank u for reading it and all the encouraging and nice things people have said, it literally made me want to complete this fic so thank u <3

summary: tying up loose ends.

and it's a fuckin' shame that it ended like that you broke your own heart, but you'd never say that we went to hell, but we never came back

masterlist | chapter 3

It all just feels numb.

Sun coming up over the horizon and a light snowfall onto the street below. Your home is quiet, no pans in the kitchen making French omelettes, no TV playing outside the bedroom door as you sleep. No toothbrushing in the bathroom or running shower water, warm and steamy, inviting you in.

It’s not that you weren’t expecting his answer. Or, lack thereof. It’s that he couldn’t make up his fucking mind. First, he’s cooking you an omelette in your favourite pan with a cup of coffee made exactly the way you like it. He’s spending every evening on the couch with you, your hands splayed out against his stomach, comfortable beneath the waistband of his sweats. You’re in his sweater, baking fresh warm cookies so he can have one before bed, smudges of chocolate against your lips as he pushes you up against the counter, hot skin on cold tile.

Next, he has that look on his face, where he’s somewhere else. Thinking of her, in a dreamland where he can make it right again, and it all feels like it comes crashing down. The sweet nothings don’t exist in this realm, there’s no happiness here.

And when you do have to face him on Monday, it’s back to cold shoulder, nothing different. Yes chef, no chef, thank you chef. 

Sydney tries to make conversation, and you feel bad because you won’t bitch about Carmy like you usually would. Richie’s having secret meetings with Natalie, probably more about Claire, but you don’t even think to join in. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and it’s hard enough to go outside and take a fucking break from it all, let alone be in the same cramped kitchen with him. There’s no solitude, just aching, just disappointment.

“Did you order me a new cake pan, chef?” It’s directed at Tina, who looks up at you with the same wistful softness as she always does, smiling before nodding in your direction. You don’t hear her slide over to you, but when she suddenly appears at your station, you can tell she just knows something’s wrong.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, clipboard finding it’s way to the counter beside you, where a piping bag lays. “You’re not yourself. Something… wrong. Don’t tell me a boy did this to you.” The tears prick at your eyes and you swallow it all before you can get out a word, because yeah, it all fucking aches and the hurt feels like it’s sitting right behind your eyes, in your throat, ready to come out.

“It’s nothing. It is a boy but, boys are stupid and I’m not gonna cry over one,” you sniffle, before untying your apron and letting it hang loose on your body. “Not worth it.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your blood runs cold when she gestures just outside to the bright light of the door, where Carmy sits, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.

Luckily the kitchen is empty when you reply, only so she can hear, “how did you know?”

“I saw the way you looked at him this morning.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Fuck no. Between you and me, chef.”

You sighed relief, letting your front hit the counter as the stress left your body. “Thank fuck. Yeah, I don’t know, we were-“

“Fuckin’?” Tina’s got a sly smile on her face that makes it impossible not to laugh with her.

“Yeah, I guess. It felt like more than that. But apparently he’s still hung up on Claire so, I guess that ends it.”

She exhales slowly, joining you in a lean against the counter. “Jeff makes mistakes, everyone knows that. He’s moody and sad and he’s got fuckin’ problems, that kid, I tell ya.” She pauses for a second, eyes meeting yours, sincere. “But he’s good. I just don’t think he can handle himself, is all.” She takes a beat, letting her soft hand lay over yours, “He doesn’t let himself have the good shit because it always gets ruined. But you’re good. He’s scared of you.”

“He should be scared of me. I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you mutter, letting your floured hand meet your forehead in annoyance. “I’m not responsible for fixing his shit.”

She nods, agreeing with you, a hand cupping yours on the counter. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying he could use someone like you to bring him back to Earth, is all.”

-

When Carmy does make it back inside, he’s thumbing through paperwork at the desk, hand through his hair stressfully pulling at the strands. He’s trying so hard not to stare at you from where he’s sitting, noticing your cold gaze, somewhere far away. He takes out his phone to scroll through it mindlessly, procrastinating, when he meanders his way to the text icon and opens up your thread. A few texts here and there, mostly just asking about plans to come over, the occasional sexy photo or recipe idea.

[sunday, 10:26] they don't have fresh sourdough. should we just make some this aft?

[saturday, 4:35] i hate when you go in on saturdays

[saturday, 4:36] Photo Recieved

[saturday 4:36] don't you wish you were home with me?

[tuesday, 12:22] is balsamic glaze overdone? lmk. miss u.

It feels a little too domestic, seeing the way he so effortlessly became comfortable with you, a warmth and excitement that was just never there with Claire. It’s raw and it’s guilty and he’ll beat himself up over it forever, but it was never going to be perfect with her, no matter how hard he tried.

“Boss?”

Richie appears in the office, leaning against the door frame before noticing Carmy’s disheveled look. “Yeah?”

“You look worse than usual.”

“Thanks. What do you need?”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you ordered more eggs.”

“I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I think Sydney did.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

It’s like Richie could see right through him.

“Nothin’. Stupid shit.”

Richie steps into the office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.

“Cousin.”

Richie can be sweet when he wants to be, and when he’s got a hand on Carmy’s shoulder and a somber look in his eyes it’s like he already knows how Carmy feels.

“Why do I suck so bad at being a fuckin’ normal person?”

Richie sits next to him, a look of surprise. “Is this about Claire bear?”

“Yes, well - yeah, and also no. Kinda. I don’t know.”

“Is it about Miss Buttercream out there?”

He gestures to you outside the door, zesting some orange on top of the cake you were finishing up. Carmy stifles a laugh.

“We all know you’re porkin’ her.”

“Don’t say that,” Carmy laughs, hand coming up to his face to rub his eyes. “It’s more than that. We’ve been kinda, dating, I guess? I still don’t know what counts as having a girlfriend.”

“So what did you do?”

He gnaws at the skin of his thumb and lets his eyes flicker up to Richie’s. “Fucked it. Last night, I, uh,-“ his hand finds his warm forehead. “I really like her, like a lot. But she asked about Claire and I said the wrong thing, like I always do and uh, she didn’t like it.”

“She’s good,” Richie starts, letting his hands find his aproned thighs as he sits at the corner of the desk. “Claire was good for you too. But she didn’t… get it. Not like she does,” he gestured vaguely to your station outside the door. “Claire was never gonna get the restaurant and the kitchen and the fuck of it all.”

Richie's hand extends to cup Carmy's shoulder.

“Look, do whatever you want, but there isn’t really someone who matches you like she does. Claire’s history now, drunk phone calls don’t mean she’s still in love with you. If that’s what you were thinking.”

Carmy sits back in the creaky chair. “Nah, not that. I just don’t know how to do it right.”

“It’s not about doing it right,” Richie’s got sincerity in his eyes. “It’s about fuckin’… trying shit. Just go and make a move and see.” Carmy watches you hang up your apron on the hook and grab a hoodie before fucking outside. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Richie.”

“Good luck.”

- 

“I’m sorry.”

Carmy’s voice takes you out of your trance as you stare into the back alley of the restaurant. “Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

“You can talk, I’ll listen.”

The crackle of his lighter, orange flame against white snow. You can see his breath slipping from between his lips as he exhales out of the corner of your eye.

“I feel like a fuckin’ asshole,” he starts, plunging his other hand in his pocket. “I don’t know what to say.” A beat. “Can you look at me?” It’s gentle, a question, not a demand.

You turn to look at him. Cold blue eyes, darkened by the brightness around you. “You’re not second best to me. You’re it, this is it. I like this, I, I fuckin’,” he takes a breath, “I love… this. I want this.”

“You hurt my feelings, Carmen,” tears brimming your eyes and coating your lashes. “If you’re not done with Claire, I don’t… I don’t care. If I am your second choice, fine.” 

“You’re not.”

“Even if I was. But don’t fuck me around if you don’t want me.”

“I do.”

“Are you sure? You weren’t sure last night.”

“I get it if you don’t trust me. I get it. I haven’t given you a reason to.” He searches for the right words, but chooses to take a tentative step towards you. “I’ll beg for you,” he’s quiet, unlike Carmy. “Anything.”

Your eyes meet his briefly, a soft smile pulling at your lip. “I’m not saying yes, okay?” He nods. “But I am saying I would appreciate a ride home tonight. If you’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Good.”

-

The walk up to your apartment is easy. His heavy steps behind your light ones, hands sliding up the bannister as you unlock your door. He’s on your heels, a little behind. When he steps in your apartment, it’s familiar. Browned butter, vanilla, laundry. 

“Do you want dinner?” He’s tentative, letting his shoes sit next to yours on the mat. His jacket goes up on the hooks by the door, together. 

“Are you offering?”

“Yes.”

Carmy shows love through food, that’s how he always is. You can tell he’s feeling particularly sorry about it all because he’s bringing out a big pasta pot and a saucepan, pulling the only fresh ingredients left in your place and putting them next to the stove top. Your t-shirt finds its way into the laundry basket, an old sweater thrown over your bare skin.

You hate how normal it all feels, because it’s scary. To think of a domestic life with him, where there’s another girl lingering in the background of his thoughts that he has unfinished business with. Insecurities of who is better, prettier, happier, warmer… if he had the chance, would he leave? Would he jump ship?

He sits next to you while you eat, thighs against thighs, and comfortable silence blanketing your small apartment. He hasn’t gotten into one of the many pairs of pyjamas he’s left at your place, or taken his usual after-work shower, or taken out the frozen cookie dough to thaw. You can tell he’s not sure if he’s welcome here for good, yet.

When your food is done, he pushes the plates away and takes a calloused hand to wrap around yours. There’s sharpie marks small knife cuts on his fingers. 

“Are you gonna stay the night?” You ask, still not meeting his gaze. 

“Am I welcome to?” He doesn’t sound like himself, and you can feel his warm breath near the top of your head as you turn towards him. Your body collapses a little then, folding slightly at the middle to have your head fall right into the centre of his chest.

“Yes, Carmen,” you nod, letting your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You can stay for as long as you want.”

His hand slipped from yours then, sliding around your side and up your back. He pulled you into his embrace, lips wrapped around yours in a soft capture. Your hands found their way under his t-shirt, only slightly, his warm skin against the palms of your hands, pulling him impossibly closer. 

And when you lay in bed with him that night, your face burrowed into the softness of his chest, you know the days of waking up alone are over.